Best Sherpa Poems
While I blew on my hands and held my tongue
A startling star swung out of the sky,
And though to gravity need not comply,
Descended to ledge where envious clung.
Of course we all would climb to the summit
To leap from the acme, fly with the winds,
But not all have wingspan: some just have fins.
Some blaze aria, others but hum it.
If toe-hold needs gained, deny temptation
Its perilous urge to drag on the guide,
But rather find core of stillness inside
And trust to Sherpa, not own impatience.
From time to time,
I suffer from poetic insomnia ...
sleep deprived makes my muse grumpy
Even I don’t want that sulking soul around me
Dreamless nights
makes my pen yield lethargic writes
No creativity ... no spontaneity,
just listless words on a page
Wooden emotion props on a paper stage
So I always desire to sleep, to dream
It allows my mind to wondrously be open to everything,
even things I wouldn’t have thought I could imagine
in my wildest dreams
Such is the enchanting properties of poetry
When I dream poetry;
my thoughts morph into yours thoughts,
my dreams hold hands with your reality
I become you,
and you become me
This is how true poets see
We dream of the words,
others find difficult to speak
The poet in me must dream,
how else will you spirits, who are worlds away,
have an astral sherpa path to receive me?
Contest: What inspires you to write poetry
Sponsor: Julie Rodeheaver
Date: 9-5-17
Written: May 2nd, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Seth Pina
Based on the Poem: The Artist
5th place contest winner
******************
It begins as a breath, barely born—
a lucent little longing that should have stayed liminal,
Yet it irrupts, unabated,
threading itself through the chiaroscuro of my thoughts.
I tell myself it is otiose,
a passing flicker, a quixotic quirk of the mind—
but it grows tensile, treacle-thick,
a rumbustious rhapsody refusing to evanesce.
Your name—your very sobriquet—
becomes a mellifluous mantra,
an epizeuxis echoing in the marrow,
a chant I never meant to memorize.
I wander through hours like a wayward opsimath,
learning too late how fixation forms its own theology—
how a single presence can become
a sacrosanct symbiosis of ache and awe.
Every thought is festooned with your outline,
every silence redolent with your imagined breath;
even the air feels janiform,
half mine, half yours,
as if the world itself has chosen sides.
I try to exculpate myself
from this inchoate imbroglio,
but obsession is a sagacious sherpa—
It knows the steepest path
and drags me up it anyway.
And still—
beneath the nadir of night,
in the hush where hubris dissolves—
I feel the truth unfurl:
That obsession is not hunger,
nor hubris,
nor hecatomb of reason—
but the amaranthine ache
of wanting to witness beauty
so completely
that it finally
witnesses you back.
The claret globe it fills the sky
for landing time will soon draw nigh.
Now wake from cryogenic sleep
those who Earth's promises must keep,
our sixteen finest, bright and bold
to set red planet's first threshold.
For their tasks, specially chosen
air's thin - Sherpa gene bespoken,
brains, strength and reflex all enhanced
to give our crew a fighting chance.
Carefully reared in far Tibet
to make their chances better yet
and if perchance their mission fail
a second crew will take their trail.
Where frozen embryos still burn
to start new clones and take their turn.
I'd love to visit Holland
To wear those wooden shoes
Or maybe, down in Memphis
I'd learn to sing the blues
If I could learn the language
I'd love to visit France
I've heard it said that Paris
Is the place to find romance
I'd love to see Old Faithful
In Yellowstone National Park
Or maybe, climb Mt Ararat
In search of Noah's Ark
Maybe, I'll visit Ireland
And catch a leprechaun
I'd rob him of his pot of gold
Before the crack of dawn
I'd like to sail the seven seas
Just like Columbus did
Or maybe, visit Egypt
And explore a pyramid
I'd climb the Himalayas
With a sherpa as my guide
I may not catch a yeti
But, at least, I'll know I tried
Maybe, I'll visit England
I might even see the Queen
One day, I'll tell my grandkids
Of all the sights I've seen
Even if I see these things
Like India, Greece or Rome
I'll always love the place I live
For there's still no place like home
We're on a journey of exploration, a long-deferred vacation
There's room for you too … Come with us, and your essence renew
We've been so busy surviving, striving, never quite thriving
It's time to live life large, hire a sea-worthy vessel, a sturdy barge
First it's off to Africa, to distant shores, hottest jungles and desert sands
There to unearth unknown civilizations, man's oldest bones, in buried lands
Then we set sail for the Isle of Atlantis, with the help of a 'sea sherpa(nt),' who in Atlantis will plant us
We're sure to find this isle 20,000 leagues under the sea, with the help of
Jules Verne and Walt Disney
After that we'll blast off into Space, bidding adieu to terra firma's rat race
We'll rocket past Saturn, Neptune, Uranus---and learn how our galaxy works
to sustain us...
When we return, we'll have stories to tell, a feature-length movie, a best-seller as well
About our journey of exploration
and how we managed it all
~ from the comfort of a virtual play-station
Entry in "Dealer's Choice Poetry Contest" (Going My Way)
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
To be a man in a world of false men
And keep honor as a good Sherpa guide
To not lose dignity in the lion's den
And stay ever humble before such pride
To know that character, is coin of the realm
And duty to cause is the cloth we wear
As we steer our hearts with truth at the helm
Protect the lives of those in need of care
To be a child in the world of children
And teach wisdom learned without demanding
Accept those in need as they wander in
And claim no reason beyond understanding
To give up childish things, to have foresight
Truth, honor, character should be your quest
Know worlds further than your line of sight
To become a man before one's death
contest Animus-Anima Part II-Animus
5/30/16
How much like my uncertain destination
Your climb from drab youth began
In cold ascent from marginalization
To the peak of honored man.
And rare, so rare, fame instant
And accolades that upon you in vintage poured
Was that they were cognizant
There is no summit except that which you assured?
Your brown feet on white face of snow
Slip-proof, the journey yield its cold, callous distance
And nothing so warm as the glow
Of a motivated heart where sharp snowflakes dance
With welling eyes we'll trod this broken day
Still the rumbling heart with a hand in mine
And speak of precious dreams that always stay
When love is true and sweet the world's sublime
To share and comfort when a heart is blind
Raise a spirit's light from its darkest shroud
And free the weeping shadows in the mind
From a humbled pain where pride has bowed
No Sherpa guide needed when love is found
To lead a weary heart from its despair
Empathy is the medicine I've ground
To heal your broken soul because I care
To hold your hands before your heart's abyss
And be a friend, there is no better gift
Mountain
No sherpa, rope
Or faithful steed
In stocking feet
I do proceed
Each day I climb
Relentless slope
To rest my weary head
And hope
That once the peak
Of my desire
To elevated place
Aspire
Concludes.
No flag or
Selfie pose will take
No Instagram.
No front page stake.
Just me.
To hear the lost applause
Of decades climbing
For the cause
And when the final
Bell tolls here..
The challenge ends.
The final year.
My human vehicle
Now kaput
The mode of transport
No sock dressed foot
My rationale
I will defend
As heaven's stairs
Now, I ascend
The greatest mission
Has to start..
An expedition
Of the heart
Jinjagoliath
13th April 2023
Anonymity is my name
Alcohol was the beast
I couldn’t tame
At another Double A meeting
get to hear some more shame
Rehashed,
warmed over war stories,
they all sound the same
Now, it’s my turn
to go to the center of the room
Announce my name is ...
then darkly tale my gloom
Decaying gray matter tissue
is rotting my brain
Brow-beating spouse, anger issues ...
did I share enough pain?
Look up at the clock,
it’s almost Happy Hour again
The time when I squash sad memories
by ordering another tonic and gin
I’m talking to some stranger’s friend
when the dreaded blackout begin
Wake up in a cluttered room;
don’t know where I am, don’t know with whom
Plane ticket in my pocket
says I’m in the city by the Bay
And that my name is ...
perhaps an alias
Don’t remember if it was the same one
that paid the bill yesterday
Missed the ninth step,
fell down the stairs in the hallway
I feel that dragon breath
breathing down the back of my neck
Firewater always did help me to forget
what my name is ...
Start all over again today,
go to another meeting my guilty conscience say
Get another sponsor to Sherpa the way,
as the matter in my brain is losing more gray
Going down the same worn out steps,
only in a different place
Glumly greeting another new face,
dragging that heavy ball and chain
Go sit somewhere in the back,
and remain anonymous ...
just wallow in my pissy, drunken pain
Got a hangover pounding in my head,
clanging ... nonstop banging ... alarm bells ringing
Nobody but me and the bottle to blame
As I try so hard to remember
what was my given birth name
I was bored and strapped for cash,
Badly needing a vacation.
So I took a voyage of the mind,
With my vivid imagination.
Across the open seas I sailed,
To some far and distant lands.
While perched atop a camel's back,
In caravans on desert sands.
I climbed the Himalayas,
Behind a Sherpa as my guide.
To see Nepal and then Tibet,
The Dalai Lama by my side.
Crossed the Great Wall of China,
In a mammoth hot air balloon.
Floating high in a starlit sky,
Tipped my hat to the Crescent Moon.
Back to Earth, I made my way,
Skimming the Sea of Japan.
To the Port of Tokyo,
In a rickety Saipan.
Growing weary from my travels,
My mind no longer fit to roam.
Next time I'll visit other sites,
For now it's time to journey home.
Here are the French Connection facts,
Monsieurs and Madames
No need for reverse English translation,
Ladies and Gentlemen
Step carefully ...
You’re now at the yellow tape border of
a Jurassic Park murder scene investigation
Here’s robo Rico “Bio-Class II” Suave,
your mechanized splatter sherpa:
A top-of-the-assembly line android crime reporter,
it has a prototype 800 series model retinal recorder
These are a few pertinent French Connection facts ...
fluorescent things for a conviction cell door slam,
Monsieurs and Madames
Notice the warm, bloody prints on the cold asphalt trail,
leading to a secure concrete jungle tree blind,
fifty meters above the dead calcium sight line
Observe the unusual iron-copper “W” shape tracks,
they do hemoglobin reveal
the rapacious perpetrator of the deadly, fatal attack
As duly noted before,
these are merely the empirical French Connection facts,
Madames and Monsieurs
This plaster cast peculiar evidence,
appears to likely be triple talon execution,
with brutal efficiency,
precision dispensed
Initial logical deduction would seem to suggest,
a drug deal heist,
driven by greed seduction: a reptilian motive at best
These inventoried forensic items
are evidentiary necessary French Connection facts,
sleuth Monsieurs and Madames
Crime scene lab post-mortem conclusion:
It can only candor support the microscopic proof
from this UV, morgue ID morbid intrusion
The deceased fell victim to Velociraptor wrath —
a crafty, killing machine rage
Only one question still loom blot large,
to solve the case ... turn the page
What dopefiend
opened this beast’s covetous cage,
letting V-death run amok on a murderous path?
upon reaching the frozen summit,
the mountaineers jump in jubilation,
then proudly unfurl and firmly plant
the damp flag of their faraway nation;
oh, how they noisily whoop it up,
strutting in chest-thumping elation,
slapping each other's shoulders
in riotous joy and celebration;
ecstatic over what seems to them
is a real monumental conquest,
a sense of having personally tamed
the awesome, looming Mt. Everest!
nearby, squatting, huddling close,
handling the baggage of each climber,
seven sturdy, veteran Sherpa guides,
through the years, still quietly wonder:
what really is the big, big deal
these batches of city folks make
out of just standing on this peak,
a slow, boring trek for its own sake?
what is there fit to brag about
in climbing slowly and leisurely,
unburdened by loads of provisions
the silent Sherpas carry for a fee?
why, with modern climbing gears,
an alert chopper hovering above,
food supplies, gadgets, equipment,
they're luckier than a winter dove!
but really, what they can do in days
Sherpa lads hunting in the wilderness,
with less preparation, on short notice,
can easily do in just a day or even less !
Tackled by a stutter murmur of Deus.
The praying ended and packed as threats.
Err, umm, uhh, were cliched by vomits.
Grasped all the needs and rusty flirts.
Prune back Sheoak! The cutest green pine.
Pity Sheoak no more green crown again.
Where are Quechua and Sherpa? They go.