Best Scree Poems
Grim fog, I praise the shelter of your drear,
the sundown ghost morose not grandiose,
I walk alone - but, no -- with my despair;
a bittern bids a bitter adiós.
The breakers so in agony they gnash
and gnaw the strand with thrash of foamy green,
the tempest witch brings ironfisted lash
alas, the eye-of-storm epiphany unseen.
Free, free! The tern who flies in Gemini
above beloved peak and shore and wave,
sun-painted wings, away you went -- so spry,
so fierce! Bluebird pierced and buried in your grave,
..and the stars understand; a fateful fall into the sea --
Damn the deep! It’s jostle docile.. my scream to meet the scree!
Susan Ashley
June 29, 2021
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mille 11
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Contemporary Sonnet
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
*bittern: any of several tawny brown herons
*scree: an accumulation of weathered rock fragments at the foot of a cliff
*a Modern / Contemporary Sonnet is a poem of 14 lines addressing any theme of the poet's choosing. It does not need to adhere to any set rhyme scheme, syllable count or meter, nor does it need to include a volta. The only true requirement of a modern sonnet is that it consists of 14 lines*
Categories:
scree, 8th grade, beach, bereavement,
Form:
Sonnet
Living on a planet, unsure if I belong
Where only sand grains and fossils, seem to last long
The instinct to breathe air, compelling me along
And the miracle that’s water, strives to prolong
Hear the wind blow bending the trees
Feel the bones crack inside my knees
High upon a mountain, an avalanche gives way
Yielding to gravity, and powerful sun rays
Down below I ponder, will this be my last day
Still all goes over my head, as life balks away
Holding my grip busting my balls
gives a nice twist when in free fall
A juggernaut of lies, hurtled down that slope
Widening debris fields, spreading rumours of hope
Is there any big truths, or just lies to help cope
The past looks basic, viewed under a microscope
Fossils don’t lie rocks are not bones
Sand remodels back into stone
I piece together the fossils, search out life’s source
Scream out eureka, til my larynx implodes hoarse
Scan skies for graviton waves, stretching time with force
Try stop that damn avalanche, least alter it’s course
Raw energy blood upon dust
Time’s eternal cascading rust
Evidence can be sketchy, when life forms a scree
In the end information, is all there can be
Empirical pathways, are straightforward to see
If they postulate a god, good enough for me
I’ve crawled before I’ll walk again
Encased in skin til god knows when
As a kid in confession, I’d mostly tell lies
I admitted made up sins, without compromise
The priest liked forgiving, so telling lies was wise
He went easy on penance, devil in disguise
Shame on us both playing such games
He wore a cloak, I’m still the same
Categories:
scree, allusion, life, meaningful, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
When we are walking…
and we’re stepping on a spiky ground,
Walk lightly without looking down or turning around;
Ahead of us always awaits the finest sand
where we can lay down and laze in the sun.
When we are climbing…
and we’re going to climb a scree,
Dodge those stones that roll down on us freely;
And if we feel disdain and in vain,
remember that we’re unique, with special knacks and strength.
When we’re swimming…
and we’re swimming on distraught of morass counts,
keep dancing the minuet of life in mellow sounds;
When sable clouds and torrents of rain teem down too,
swim at our best stoke, on those clouds we’ll always float and glow.
When we are loving…
and we’re loving too much from the heart,
It hurts, but Cupid also heals wound with his magic dart;
Keep on loving others, never stifle and give up
Love is a berth of comfort, a precious gift, a great reward.
When we are standing…
and we’re lashed by cataclysm that mangled our heart,
Cling to the Lord, He will restore everything from the start;
He will reshape whatever was deformed
And make us stand straight, a forever cypress amidst the storm.
Dec. 9,2014 10.50pm
©2014Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
-I hope this humble poem of mine can inspire or uplift. God bless! This was not entered in a contest because it’s too late but it’s ok with me.
Categories:
scree, inspirational, uplifting,
Form:
Rhyme
Dawn broke
The eastern pink sky
Drew across the stars
As they faded and lost to the night
I called the eagle
To guide me
Piercing whistle
That I learnt as a boy
Running wild and free
I walked in the company of men
High above, eagles flew
The wraiths are coming from the otherworld too
Carrying the angst and pain
That has no place and name
Here at Heartstone
The screeching and wailing
Increased hideously
The tattered cloaks
Scattering the scree
I stood, with the company of men
My bow ready
Arrows drawn
Arm, steady
I have trained to defend
Truth and love
Nobility
Chivalry
The wraiths gathered
The screeching and wailings
Piercing through
To our souls
We are ready
To fight to the end
To defend
All that is true
The flight of an arrow
Unleashed
Steadied by the eagles’ feather
Of brown and gold
It flew
Straight and true
In to the non existent heart
Of a wraith bitter and cold
It was this I slew
A bundle of rags fell
For it is not the metal tip
That killed
It was the feather of a Heartstone Eagle
Truth be told
That slew
A wraith, bitter and cold
The wraiths flew
From behind the mountain
The screeching and wailing
Tattered cloaks
Scattering the scree
They came in their hundreds
To fall
For, truth and love
From a feather
Of a mighty eagle above
Slew the hearts
Bitter and cold
Brown and gold glow
Flashing by
The flight of an arrow
The archers
Standing tall
The gleam of brown and gold
That flew
Deep in to the cold bitter hearts
Of stories now told
Of men of the longbow
I reached
I pulled
Many arrows to fly
Of a star
Of a longbow
Aquila am I
The longbow of dark wood
Felt my strength
As I clasped its’ bronze inlaid feathers
And reached
And pulled
Arrows of brown and gold
Deep into wraiths
Its’ purpose understood
The sky turned black
With eagles that twisted and turned
Of wraiths, slain
Felled by the longbow
Down they fell
In to their own stinking hell
The brown and gold aglow
Darkness falling
The fires lit so bright
In a company of men
That celebrated under starlight
Remember….
This day well
When the archers
Masters of the longbow
Sent the wraiths back
To their stinking hell
Of Aquila
Who slew
More than most
The flight of an arrow
That holds true
Categories:
scree, adventure
Form:
Ballad
I am walking in silence,
listen to water and wind,
notice
the frost on the leaves in the shade,
the fivefold symmetry of the columbines,
the pica scurrying across the scree.
My feet follow
the rhythm of my breath
which, in turn, is molded
on the contour of the mountain.
My thoughts are
of breathing and walking,
breathing and walking
until I reach the summit
and realize
I spent the morning
in meditation,
every step
a prayer.
July 2, 2018
Categories:
scree, mountains, nature, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
Winter storms dropped a tiny snowflake on a towering mountain top.
'Tis bright and unique among the myriad of snowflakes that did drop.
This rhyme tells of the mighty contribution that tiny flake makes,
As it begins its odyssey to grace our rivers, ponds and lakes.
It reposes deep within the drifts and gleaming mounds of snow,
And briefly provides winter sport for folks with faces all aglow.
But soon the warmth of spring rouses it from its hibernation,
To begin its journey, meandering to its ultimate destination!
It thaws and with others of its ilk begins to form a tiny rill,
Slowly flowing among the scree and pines down a sloping hill.
The rill becomes a pristine stream carrying the flake along,
Rippling smoothly o'er ancient stones, producing a soothing song!
The stream joins a rushing river, wending its way to the sea.
The one-time snowflake providing succor for land and stately tree.
At last it reaches the ocean, spewing from the river's throat.
'Tis incredible! This once tiny flake helps keep mighty fleets afloat!
At times we may think we're insignificant, contributing nothing at all,
But each of us is unique and can help, no matter how great or small.
Each in their own way can accomplish mighty deeds if only they believe,
Ever keeping in mind that tiny snowflake and what it did achieve!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Placed No. 2 inConstance's "Horses or Snowflakes or Horses and Snowflakes" Contest
October 2010
Categories:
scree, nature
Form:
Rhyme
How can I sever wolf-waves from the selfish sea?
I ache to cut the rogue from the relentless flow
his crest —swelled in high rise on testosterone tide—
swindles my tease to tame his blue Neptune flame
mocking my sun dried bed with unruly despise
he rides a white steed in petulant power with the moon
I am the passive strand of sand longing for his rhythm
oh timpani thunder roll in roll over me my skin awaits
taunt of aerated fate I await with serrated silence
stranded by him… I await… as inconsequential
as an oyster shell without a pearl
as a pearl unfulfilled without a knotted strand
I am the beach exposed at the lowest ebb
my eyes not sand-blind when cherry sun colors him red
and fuels his restless quest for honeypot conquests
to consummate sunset with supple skies far from home
and conjugate with sugar-shores not his own
my protests to his stray-sprees lay like loose scree
lure-lyrics litter air but then die a pale chitter in his ear
fruited gripes broken in breakers re-rhymed into pulp
summer-sweet to his palate as beach plum wine—
whine in the grind of my grain soundproofed by his kiss
where is his echo to my thirsty plea of love
when he’s the romeo sea and I’m the sand seduced
and exist in recline to absorb his homecoming
while beach-grass-bending-wind
whips my voice away from my throatless soul?
my resist drowns in liquid grooves of his drum beat—
spume churned in surf zone… our spindrift in bloom yet
echoes of the silent shore echo in me alone
Categories:
scree, beach, conflict, longing, love
Form:
Free verse
Eternal granite, crystalline scree, agates, boulders, rise
to hills, towering tors,* mutinous mountains, endlessly growing
rising, lifted, then toppled by the fiery rebirth of draconic lava**
Like the cracked shell of an avian egg***/ **** both molten yolk
and watery albumen mark the passage of time, the swings
of the multiverse, they pacify Charon’s passage on the Styx
Seen and unseen the arched openings spiral, poled in ten
dimensions by exigent mathematical quandaries, branching
boles boldly rooting in islands of primordial I, chained
screeching***** shadows infer larger beings who manhandle
the infinite construct of finite man
*Alliteration Repetition of consonant sounds [
** Hyperbole A figure of speech involving exaggeration.
*** Assonance The repetition of similar vowel sounds [A vian, A gg]
**** Simile A figure of speech involving a comparison between unlike
things using like, as, or as though.
*****Onomatopoeia a word that imitates the sound it represents
Categories:
scree, life,
Form:
Verse
From Noonlight to Moonlight
I'll chance to mention a jaunt once took, along a sloping ridge; coming up steady o'er jakes ravine, cross the creaking pinewood bridge, tethering up the hosses, to a half charred lightening stricken tree; we gazed right down the 'scarpment at cattle roaming free after muffling up our riding boots in swathes of Hessian brown; stooping right over we made our way, by the darker shadowed ground, we got to to a stand of trees, that offered the needed hide; scuttling there as quick as quick, until we were inside made sure no herders were present, heard no sounds borne on the breeze; we picked out a couple of young heifers, this side of some bouldered scree then raising our crossbows silently, as moonglow licked each bolt; we loosed ..Whoosk.! the thuds)) sounded so strong you almost felt the jolt.: did i see a gleam in Mikkies eye?? could it be a heartfelt tear?? I said we had no real choice you know, my voice edged with tension & fear, a quick smile shot right back at me, as gazing deep in my eyes; she gave a hard kick into my shin, catching me by surprise!! saying now while I' affix the lariats Joe, you vamoose up the mountainside; get the horses and drags back soon, in case the rancher makes a ride, so I lit out for the ridge crest, my heart was beating wild." While swearing that damn hussey's more capricious than a wayward child; once on the ridge i scramble down, back to the waiting steeds quickly pulling the halters loose, my mind intent on speed!! soon I'm back with Mikkie, we pull the heifers onto the drags; then we're coaxing our horses up that draw!! headed for the safety of our own distant and shadowy crags. copyright Joe Maverick.co.uk
Categories:
scree, cowboy-western,
Form:
Rhyme
His hands painted with dexterity
One hue full of prismatic scree
Dote on ‘til our nearby towns
‘Til God hugged his hands
Thank God for Painter
My favorite
forever:
my own
Dad
©2015Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
Written December 5, 2015
Second Place
Contest: Favorite Painter
Judged: 12/11/2015
Sponsor: Poet Nayda Ivette Negron
Categories:
scree, father, fathers day,
Form:
Nonet
Aspen, ponderosa pine, blue spruce
pink glacier-cut rock, scree, ravens
gray jay, peregrine falcon, hawk.
We climb to 11,000 feet in three days,
camp at Lawn Lake for three days. Alpine
tundra. Elk, bighorn sheep, marmot.
Tileston Meadows, ticks in grass,
rock face of Mummy Mountain.
Binoculars show pink cracks in gray rock.
Stoke gas stoves, play cards.
Boil water, set up tarps, lay out
sleeping bags, hang bear bag.
Watch crescent moon slice into
Fairchild Mountain. Moonlight
makes a mosque of the rocks.
Yellow aspen splash in dark green
spruce and pine. Gullies where streams
slash during spring snowmelt.
One rock, feather or flower worth
more than money. Need no wallet,
keys. Just clothes for fur.
All day climb toward saddle to see
what's on other side. One hawk floating
among bare peaks and over valleys.
Wind at 13,000 feet
turns to sleet. Turn back from peak,
take boulders two at a time down.
Winter moves into mountains.
Then we fly from Denver to New York
where it's still summer.
Categories:
scree, blue, clothes, flower, mountains,
Form:
Verse
FALCONS, EAGLES, AND CROWS
Your aweful (sic) countenance of frowning
eyes and sharp beak predates history.
The pharaohs knew you, but you ruled the air
for millenia before they built their pyramids
and monuments. Even then, they knew your
majesty. Knowing themselves unequal, man
begged of you a favor, sweetly asked:
fly for me, falcon, fly!
Our knowledge of your world is tiny. How
can we comprehend the hidden secrets of the air?
the stories the canyons tell? What do we know
of the kill; the beating of wings? You grant us a
mere word in the library of your knowledge. All
that is left to us is An Interest in Falconry.
Once a bald eagle named Sitka enslaved me
with her commanding eyes. Many were the hours
I spent watching her. How was I to understand the
wildness in her heart? I often wondered what she
was thinking—and yes, oh yes, she was thinking—
when she spread her awesome wings as if to fly.
Was it sadness that filled her? I often feared it was.
Years later, a Fledgling crow fell into my life
from a fickle nest. She also seized my heart,
and I nursed her until she was old enough to
take her place in the currents of the air.
They all fly freely here, out in the desert,
blessed to inhabit a Nuclear-Free Zone. I visit
their canyon to hear the scree of the hawk,
the high pitched voices of the eagles, and the
relentless caws of the crows; Alpha Males all,
Calling to their forever loves.
An Interest in Falconry
Sitka
The Fledgling
Nuclear-Free Zone
The Call of the Alpha Male
Categories:
scree, appreciation, bird, blessing, flying,
Form:
Prose Poetry
As ashen storm clouds brew above his head,
his furrowed brow denotes catastrophe.
The lash of his tongue like fire brings such dread
a broken heart is all she can foresee.
Heated anger joins the howl on winds misled,
a wild child of tantrum's misdirected decree,
his glacial heart disperses rocky scree.
As ashen storm clouds brew above his head.
Mother melts beneath his glare, few tears shed
for him to see, her child she's failed by degree.
Oh, all the signs of madness she'd misread,
his furrowed brow denotes catastrophe.
His wrath unleashed, now gone his kinder creed
though she still sees his arms widespread,
perhaps, a mother's love can intercede?
The lash of his tongue like fire brings such dread.
Unless his anger's dampened it may spread
destroying the bonds of sweet felicity,
if she can not hold on to love's thread
a broken heart is all she can foresee.
Son can't you see the sun high overhead
upon his cheek a tears falls silently,
with her arms outstretched his mother plead
and on her shoulder he rested sullenly,
as ashen storm clouds brew.
Categories:
scree, child, fire, heart, hope,
Form:
Rondeau Redouble
Walter Rodney
One evening leaving the bamboo hall
Stood me
Impaled with questions
Die me
To the dead colonial dreams
Wiped my tears of history
And showed me
Rastafari wading through the flood
Making new footprints on old mud
Giving Africa a second birth
Telling heaven to a carnal earth
All I had known before
Was umbilical lessons from the drums
My heart
With the rhythm of languages lost
The dart
Of affliction quivering in the heart
The totem of resistance to the frost
Traced the dreadlocks to the Mau Mau
Far short of Canaan and the Nazarites law
Brought by Melchizedek from forest deep
Rastaman walking while children sleep.
Scree Bertram
Who remember him
Setting pearls before us
Blankets made of bulrush
Where the blackheart man could not find us
Only the troubadour
Could open the gates of Zion with his songs
The Idren sang here and passed on
O Bob, my dear Robert Nesto Marley
The children have not danced so long
The street is such a silent place
Filled with weary feet
We long to dance again
The sound of the Rastaman
We long to hear
The sound of abundance of rain
And see the Rastaman
Standing in the lightning
And giving praise
Yet though the Black Starliner delays
Categories:
scree, religionsound, children, sound,
Form:
Free verse
Hello, I am the colon grammatically
And not colon cancer medically.
If the poetry soup won’t allow me
It’s not the matter of great scree.
Can’t use me in title, then in the text that follows
My job is to inform reader what follows.
The grammarians use me in three ways
Syntactically, appositive, segmental always.
============================
Dr. Ram Mehta
Categories:
scree, creation,
Form:
Rhyme