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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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