Best Rockies Poems
Craggy snow-capped crowns,
Skirting skyline’s golden hue.
Windswept clouds, your gowns.
Spring in all its splendor has arrived - what a pleasant relief!
The grass has greened and the trees have begun to leaf!
Robins have returned and cheerily serenade me at the break of dawn.
Alas, those pesky dandelions scourge my pristine, emerald lawn!
The golden sun greets daffodils awakening from hibernation,
And colorful tulips blossom, beautifying God's grand Creation!
Pastel blooms of many hues adorn my cherry and apple trees.
Lord, please spare them from the usual late springtime freeze!
The roses were pruned and ample fertilizer was spread.
The snowblower was gladly stored securely in the shed.
The mower was serviced and its blade was finely honed.
Tomorrow the lawn must be mowed - it cannot be postponed!
But hold on! This morn I'm greeted with a grim surprise!
Drifting snow is piled as high as my shivering thighs!
Yesterday 'twas seventy degrees, now I shovel snow in coat and hat!
Fiddlefaddle! So much for Springtime in the Rockies and all of that!
During Springtime in the Rockies 'tis common modus operandi,
To keep the John Deere snowblower and lawnmower handy.
"Just wait ten minutes, the weather'll change" is an apt old saw,
As my lawnmower idles and I impatiently wait for the snow to thaw!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Carol Brown's "Spring" Contest - January 2012
The sky seems to be on fire,
Almost supernatural,
Burning magnesium bright.
Almost as if Armageddon is coming;
As if it's already here.
It transfers its brillance to the mountains
Turning the rock into pillars of flame,
Makinf them seem even more immovable,
Even more untouchable,
Grander, and more breathtakingly terrifying
Than ocean waves at night.
And if the scholars are right
And my time here is limited,
Almost to the point of being negligible
In the view of the mountains, the sea, and the sky;
If this could be that fabled 'any moment'
Then I am sure that I'll be fine.
This one perfect sunrise;
That one immaculate night on the beach;
Those Holy days, that come every summer;
There is nothing more or less
Than any one of these.
And as the sky starts to lose its color,
As the day starts fading gently into night,
I'll hold on to this one perfect moment;
This one second of blazing clarity,
When the world itself seemed more alive.
Eamon heard the rocks skitter away,
scree tumbling down with his every step,
descending from towering Mount Gilborne,
to a lake below where he could rest.
He knew a spot to set up his new tent,
where the conifers came down to the shore,
vibrant blue waters, the peak high above,
a nature-lover could not ask for more.
After setting up camp he went to the lake
to get water to boil for his food,
when he happened upon a man setting traps
in the water wearing clothing quite rude.
His shirt and pants all seemed to be deer-hide,
right down to the old western type fringe,
he wore a fur hat and long moccasins
that ran all the way up past his shins.
Standing in the shallows, he set his trap,
then he looked up and jumped back two feet,
shouted,”You fool, you could’ve been shot!
What’s the idea sneaking up on me!”
Said Eamon,“I didn’t mean to scare you,
and I see there that you’ve got beaver traps,
I like cosplay as much as anyone,
but I must ask, have you a permit for that?”
The man just gave him a peculiar look,
“Now just what’re you talkin’ about, man?
I came out here to this cold frontier,
ain’t need no permit to be on this land.”
Said Eamon,”I get you are playing a part,
and I don’t work for the Forest service,
but I want to keep the wilderness wild,
so I’m going to have to report this.”
“You’ll ride all the way back to St. Louis
to accuse a man committing no crime?”
The man just gawked and shook his shaggy head,
“Good luck then, you’ll have one hell of a time!
“I holed up here to avoid the Blackfeet,
they’ve been rampaging ’round without care,
you try to go now, I’ll bet you twenty plews,
you won’t escape these peaks with you hair!”
Said Eamon,”I get that you like history,
but I don’t really care who you are,
you can’t just go and trap any old thing,
that is taking this bit much too far!”
With that he turned to his bulging frame pack,
and dug out from it his satellite phone,
he typed in a number, and then turned back,
but the strangely dressed man was long gone…
* * *
* * *
The trapper looked for the oddly-dressed man,
but could no longer see him, or his tent.
He glanced around, so supremely confused,
now where the devil had that darned fool went?
He searched along the whole of the lake shore,
but of the strange man he found no sign,
scratched his head and wondered if the thin air
was somehow playing tricks on his mind?
Though a bit unnerved, he just gave a shrug,
gathered up his gear and headed back down
to where he and Postlewaite had made their camp
in a ravine on a patch of good ground.
Ol’ Post already had a small fire going,
he was preparing the stew for that night,
the trapper walked up, said,”Post, I just had
myself one hell or a troublin’ sight.
“I saw up on that pond I found yesterday
a man in the most peculiar clothes,
his pants made of fabric they use on wagons,
they were slung down on his hips real low.
“He had no hat perched high up on his head,
and spectacles made out of some dark glass,
his coat looked like fleece, but also like cloth,
with fancy leather boots, laces and brass.
“His tent was some cloth that I’ve never seen,
but that wasn’t the strangest of it,
he kept saying that to trap in these peaks
I would have to get myself a permit!?”
Ol’ Post looked at him, said,”Gilborne, my boy,
did you get into the corn whiskey?”
The trapper shook his head,”Nary a drop,
I swear to your, this is what I did see!”
Post looked the young man over once more,
then gave a shrug and let out a big yarn,
“Don’t know what to tell you, since we’re alone,
no good way to explain what you saw.
“Maybe it is like the Injins tell it,
’cause I’ve heard it’s said by the Blackfeet,
that ghosts live up here in crannies and cracks,
haunt the high places of these cold Rockies.
“But we’ll keep an eye out, in case I’m wrong,
being careful out here is always good,
but this here fire just ain’t hot enough,
see if you can go scrounge up some more wood.”
Gil went about searching for dry branches,
wondering what he’d really seen on the strand,
yet neither trapper nor, nor Eamon,
would ever again see the other man.
Loaded up and gassed
Got a four-day pass
Ramblin' in the Rockies
...Coquihalla holiday
Crested o’er the pass
Hope the brakes’ll last
Needle Peak behind me
...Coquihalla holiday
Driver’s turnin’ pale
Down the Devil’s Tail
To Othello. It's a mother.
...Coquihalla holiday
Evening shadows fade
Running down grade
Almost got it made
...Coquihalla holiday
Morning shining in
Y’oughta see my grin
It’s heaven past eleven
...Coquihalla holiday
Appaloosa pony
A meadow in the morning
Nickers at the flicker
...Coquihalla holiday
Cabin In the pines
Think I’ll wet myself a line
Cakes and bacon fryin’
...Coquihalla holiday
Bonfire burning bright
Tamarack alight
Purple sunset fades
...Coquihalla holiday
Okanagan moon
Listening to the loon
Coyote start to croon
...Coquihalla holiday
Hockey on my radio
Oilers putting on a show
Win it in a shout-out
...Coquihalla holiday
Kokanee on ice
Cubans are my vice
“Dominos or dice?”
...Coquihalla holiday
Me and Lady Missy
Getting kind of pissy
Sipping on that whiskey
...Coquihalla holiday
All that I can say,
A Canuck can have a day
Relaxin’ in the mountains
...Coquihalla holiday
https://globalnews.ca/tag/coquihalla/
I just returned from a trip to Montana where the Northern Rockies are still tipped in white traces of snow and the pines grow through crevices in rocks! The valleys peak through in hues of green below the shadows of hills that seem to roll on forever!
the way the sun kisses the mountain beneath pink stained clouds
the traces of white that blend with black shadows on tall peaks
the trees that form in lines from rocky soil
the way the flowers grow so vibrant and wild
the way the thistle glows in silver blue tones
the way you can span the horizon from tops of hills
the golden eagles as it soars above
the horses as they gallop freely on open fields of green
the deer as they peer in your window as you rest
the serenity especially at night
the way the stars cover the ebony backdrop of skies
the meteors as they fall from above in crimson flashes
the way the milky way seems to open to another realm
the shuttle in view as it orbits above
the rings of saturn beneath telescopes
with jupiter not far from site
the glimpses of heaven on earth
the fresh air without heavy droplets of humidity
the slight breezes that whisper through the hills
the simple beauty of it all that leaves you in awe
July 28th 2019
Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List
Sponsored by Dear Heart
Upon the Rockies, where winter unfolds,
A landscape transformed, in white it holds.
Snow-laden peaks, a majestic array it holds
Nature's masterpiece in cold ballet it folds,
Icy winds whisper through the canyon's embrace,
As snowflakes dance, creating a lace.
Evergreen sentinels, stoic and tall, in solace,
Witness the winter's enchanting thrall. In place.
Rocky cliffs adorned with frosty attire,
A crystalline cloak, a shimmering fire.
Silent echoes in the mountain air,
Tell tales of winter, both bold and fair.
In valleys below, a hush holds,
As winter's magic subtly molds.
Footprints of wildlife, a story untold,
In the Rocky Mountain winter, bold.
My quest to walk across the nation,
like vaunted pioneers of old,
started in Maine six months ago,
post vlogs of my progress for folks.
I am deep in Wyoming now,
and I’m on my third pair of shoes,
brown grass beneath, cropped by cattle,
in front the prairie meets its end.
It’s a spread of foot-hills at first,
low and slashed by gullies, canyons,
their slopes half-forest, half-open,
perfect space for elk to graze.
Cannot see any up there now,
though a few buzzards wheel about,
behind them loom big, granite waves,
frozen forever into peaks.
Not the first to just stand and stare,
nor am I the last, I suspect.
There are goats up there, snowy white,
and grizzled bruins, huge and brown.
Mulies with their tall, forked antlers,
and charging, spiral-horned sheep,
darting amidst blazes of aspen,
near soldier-strait ponderosas…
Snow still clings on, up near the crests,
I don’t think it will ever leave.
Nearby, a decrepit wagon,
old wood bleached by endless sun.
Is it a relic of the past?
Or decoration of today?
Who knows, but its path ended here,
mine continues, right through the peaks.
From a high vantage point I see
a vast vista of the Rockies,
through green spruce rises frozen flame,
yellow aspens blazing untamed.
Leaves bright in their autumnal coat,
amaze the eyes of tourist folk,
as if to say, “Winter…match this!”
But we know nothing gold persists.
I can see, in the peaks above,
the mountains clad in a white glove,
creeping lower as days go on,
the frozen fire won’t last long…
and even just the other day,
I saw some flakes that didn’t stay,
harbingers of the cold embrace
that freezes still this alpine space.
A picture snapped for memory,
goodbye my yellow-fringed Rockies…
Sitting by the side of the waterfall,
I have tried to reach the sky,
The air may be thin, the trek may be hard,
But to touch the waterfall so close,
Was the dream of my life.
The splash of water on my face,
wakes my senses tired and asleep,
The water gushes past huge boulders,
making the best music I have heard in my life.
Try to peek under the sheet of water falling off the cliff,
The life time of memories will seem to be wrapped inside the mist,
Once I would lead my children along the trail,
Now I am watched by them if I could make the trail.
The water streams past logs, limbs, trees and stones,
Making its way through rough terrains,
Persistence in endeavors always attains the goal,
The eternal waterfall gives me the subtle message all along.