Long Hike up Poems
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How lucky am I to live close by the iconic Beachy Head
From below I can hike up a very steep hill
Though on reaching the top I can feel quite ill
So nowadays I travel by bus there instead
Such very sad stories of troubled souls
Who arrived there, but never went home
For despite the wonder and beauty untold
As a suicide spot it has come to be known
Despite sadness and trauma of troubled souls past
As they leapt to their deaths in despair
Such tranquillity and peace I feel in the air
Whenever I visit; whenever I’m there
The feeling of calm that abounds all around
Surely comes from those souls as they soared
They are now at peace no more suffering or pain
Free from their troubles they are joyful again
I truly hope they reached a place
Where no longer they feel pain
For in this life they found no joy
They had to leave - had to destroy
So guided by a mourning dove
To a tranquil place instilled with love
Written on 5th October 2018
Contest Strand Choice V
Sponsor Brian Strand
HONORABLE MENTION
What if..
What if; it wasn't a lockdown forenoon
Mommies whisking to kitchenette
Daddy's out with newspaper headlines
Little cubs denned in their late quilt and wishing no schooling today
Rest world racing themselves to indulge in work deadlines
What if; it wasn't a lockdown noon
Chefs busy preparing victuals to serve in eateries
Office canteens loaded with lunch boxes and gossips
Some heading for evening tales
What if; it wasn't a lockdown evening
Coffee shops buzzing with bud pairs, roasted coffee beans and whiffs of smoke
Peeps roaming and returning their abodes before the dark was deep
Little cubs falling asleep in their study and no Surf, no Netflix
What if; it wasn't a lockdown night
Dinner table would filled with traffic and homework folklore
Bedtime would doubly the fairy's list-
Children wishing for no school tomorrow,
Men for hike up his business,
Women emancipation from irons of household chores and society norms
What if; it wasn't a lockdown
Contemporary would have been so lost in it's own bloods and veins
June month would have brought us fruity summer of 2020
And I would have written a poetry of love and lust
Partnachklamme
The most beautiful place
Above the Bavarian resort town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen,
There winds a country road which leads to the Partnach gorge.
Hikers are passed by less hearty tourists transported in hay wagons.
On the left side of the road, a river can be spotted through the lindens.
The river water looks like it was drawn with aquamarine pastels,
Having been super-oxygenated from the gorge’s rapids and cascades.
Playful locals built miniature dwellings and piers along the banks.
Loggers used to hike up the dangerous gorge to unblock log jams,
So safer paths were tunneled in and along the walls of the gorge.
So many sight-seers used to sneak up the loggers trails for the views,
That logging ceased and the gorge became a tourist destination.
At the mouth of the gorge, a guest house sells carbonated buttermilk,
Weiswurst, and other Bavarian specialties to fortify or refresh.
During the holiday season, pilgrims carefully hike the trails
Carrying torches which reflect from the icicles and frozen walls.
Waterfalls, narrows, bridges, and a logger chapel
All add to the charm of Partnach Gorge.
I had just reached the summit of the mountain;
The final reward for my four hour hike up the steep terrain.
There was still snow in abundance at the peak
Even though the summer sun bathed me in light from the cloudless sky.
The sweat, in which I was fully drenched,
Was turning cold against my aching body once I sat down for a rest and a view of the wondrous landscape below.
Each deep breath I inhaled further cleansed my soul; further restored my spent energy.
I sat and contemplated.
Even though I was alone, atop this glorious mountain;
Even though I passed no other hikers along the trail on which I labored for four hours;
Even though I was so high up, I could not make out any signs of human life in the miles and miles of God’s green earth that stretched out before me down below;
I somehow felt less lonely here than I do when I walk amongst the hordes of people in a mall;
Or, sit in a crowded theater;
Or, stand on the train because there are no seats left upon which to sit;
Or, walk the hallways of an office building full of employees just waiting for the time to go home.
At the same instance, while in awe of the beauty in the scenery I took in,
I felt so miserably insignificant and yet, so magnificently important.
My legs ached. My heart pounded. My feet throbbed. My back tightened. And, I had never felt better in all my life.
I sipped water from the bottle that accompanied me up the mountain.
I ate the power bar with the knowledge that going back down is no easy proposition.
I watched the sun slowly get closer to the distant horizon.
And, I smiled. And, I cried.
Then, it came time to head back down.
I felt like I was leaving my best friend on my way back to prison to finish out my sentence:
Found guilty of having accumulated debts that must be paid;
Found guilty of having responsibilities demanding my attention;
Found guilty of embarking on a career path that rewards me monetarily while sucking away the spirit of my soul.
But, I will be back. Not to this same mountain, but certainly to this same state of mind on another peak.
This is my rehabilitation. This is my church. This is my salvation.
Oh, without this jet phobia, here's what I'd do:
Go traveling to Bimini, then on to Peru.
We'd hop on an aeroplane, and be there by noon.
We'd take in the sights, hike up Machu Picchu.
It sure would be fun if I could go with you…
The aeroplane's my enemy; I know this is true.
The pilot's a nightmare, and I don't trust the crew.
I'd travel the world; wish that dream could come true.
To hurtle through space leaves me nerves all unglued,
And I lose my resolve just like smoke through a flue.
Can't break away on holiday; this fear, I can't lose.
So I flip on the telly, take a journey, then snooze.
—————
To the tune of “Pavement Artist” (also “Chim Chim Cher-ee”)
From the musical “Mary Poppins”
Written on 03/13/2022
Way back in the 1960s
in the Green Mountain state,
nearby the Mount Snow resort,
perched beside small Snow Lake,
was a peculiar formation
that you don’t see today,
locals called in Fountain Mountain,
it came about this way:
The founder of Mount Snow resort
built the Snow Lake Hotel,
and put a fountain in the lake
where water sprayed and swelled.
It was quite a majestic sight
even in winter time,
the water catching the sunlight,
rain of shimmering shine.
But what the builders didn’t know
was that the winds blew north,
and spraying water built up there
ice coating more and more,
until deep into wintertime
a new mountain took shape,
this hundred-foot tall peak of ice
loomed high above the place.
It’s creation unexpected,
but people got a thrill,
they’d hike up to the top of it,
ski down to test their skill.
Sometimes they even set courses,
short slaloms on the ice,
and you’d see long lines of racers,
that must’ve been a sight.
Year after year, it rose up there,
sometimes lasting to June,
rising like an ice volcano,
fed by the fountain’s plume.
(And though they didn’t tell folks this,
it didn’t smell that great,
since back then the resort’s sewage
was just dumped in the lake.)
But all weird things come to an end,
and in the seventies
the energy crisis hit home,
cost electricity.
The fancy fountain went away,
no ice hill now in sight,
Fountain Mountain only exists
in pictures black and white.
Buttemere to Ulla pike,our walk more ramble than hike.Up and down,rain or
snow,two teenage daughters in tow.Haystacks,Loweswater overlooking the
lake,now locked in memory's keepsake.Up Skiddaw and Wythrop beck,much
much longer than our usual trek.Through the wood onto Dodds crag,both the
girls now starting o flag.Down the slope to Underseer stopping to buy a small
souvenir.Out on the fell with spongy moss,Wainwright in hand as the paths
cross-cross.Along the beck in a tree lined walk,watching the antics of a hovering
hawk.Deer grazing 'neath woodland trees,Cartmel to Keswick,just the place to
take one's ease.lunch-time picnics on grassy banks,vacations now recalled with
much thanks.
I start my afternoon hike up a mountain trail.
October’s sunlight, the vestige of Indian Summer,
dapples my exposed skin with welcomed warmth.
Sun’s rays are gilded tendrils cutting through pines
whose needles’ sweet scent
I breathe deeply in.
I can almost taste the breeze as it rushes past,
waltzing through the many trees.
The sky, immersed in azure, is heavenly!
I imagine its clouds having been swirled by the wind
with which I wish I too were dancing.
Bright foliage surrounds me.
I am bedazzled by them as they ostensibly flaunt
hues of scarlet, rich amber honey, russet, and tangerine -
an ocean of windswept trees!
My destination is a pristine lake where new trees
shimmer - mirrored in its crystal blue.
One oak is so tall it seems like a steeple reaching upward.
Its limbs have formed an arbor which beautifies
the view that greets my eyes.
Acquiescing to enthrallment, I linger there
where tranquility’s quintessence abides,
inhaling October’s unique potpourri.
Dusk will soon swallow up the day,
so I begin my descent. Birds twitter; leaves whisper.
Seeing me, a timid rabbit scampers behind a bush.
Heaven seems fused with the terrain,
igniting my world with iridescence
as against a splash of persimmon, seagulls soar.
How I would love to glide home like those glorious birds.
Intoxicated by the rhapsody of colors,
I come to the bottom of the trail with just enough time
to reach my home’s comfort before night’s chill
envelops all.
Dec. 16, 2022
For Eve Roper's Still-Life Autumn Scene Poetry Contest
let’s hike up to the druid arch!
i am less than enthusiastic
let’s drive to it I suggest
grandma! you can’t drive there!\
we do a little encyclopedia research
druid arch is one hundred and fifty foot tall
impressive in the middle of nowhere
it is a cedar mesa sandstone reminder
of the Permian period
san dune deposited 245 million years ago
it is located at the head of elephant canyon
in canyonlands national park,
San Juan County, Utah
The hike there is eleven miles out and back
I get out my running shoes and my walker
hoping my granddaughter can push two hundred pounds in the arizona sand
OH! OH! ONTARIO!
Oh! Oh! Ontario, a place to be, a place to go.
Time to let the whole world know
Walk our streets and say hello!
Find out where the locals go.
Dales where our white trilliums grow.
Dream a dream and make it so.
Yours to discover, here we go!
Oh! Oh! Ontario!
Twice the size of Texas, 16 million strong.
Three days drive from side to side, each day eight hours long.
Marvel at our four Great Lakes, the Hudson inland sea.
Take the Polar Bear Express, all the way to Moosonee.
Water our great legacy, a quarter million lakes.
Visit Falls Niagara, Maid of the Mist to take.
Sail the Thousand Islands, river running toward the sea.
Climb CN Tower’s steps, go to the CNE.
Oh! Oh! Ontario, a place to be, a place to go.
Time to let the whole world know.
Walk our streets and say hello!
Find out where the locals go.
Dales where our white trilliums grow.
Dream a dream and make it so.
Yours to discover, here we go!
Oh! Oh! Ontario!
Drive the length of Yonge Street, longest street on Earth.
Tour HMCS Heida, Hamilton her berth.
Skate on rink Rideau Canal, hear Peace Tower’s toll.
Birdwatch at Point Pelee, watch the breakers roll.
Climb the Heights at Queenston, walk around old Kingston town.
Go to Casa Loma, castle of renown.
Visit old Bobcaygeon, made famous by The Hip.
Attend a play at Stratford, take Agawa Canyon trip.
Oh! Oh! Ontario, a place to be, a place to go.
Time to let the whole world know
Walk our streets and say hello!
Find out where the locals go.
Dales where our white trilliums grow,
Dream a dream and make it so!
Yours to discover, here we go!
Oh! Oh! Ontario!
Hike up the Escarpment, stop and rest awhile.
Take the ferry Tobermory, to Manitoulin Isle.
Ski at Calabogie, camp at Algonquin Park.
Hear the loons at twilight, watch the rising sparks.
Oh! Oh! Ontario, a place to be, a place to go.
Dream a dream and make it so!
Time to let the whole world know.
Oh! Oh! Ontario!
Oh! Oh! Ontario!