Long Mountainsides Poems
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Rigorous sphincter ani externus muscle workout
Amidst the rubble strewn landscape ruins
courtesy healthy helping of prunes
linkedin to derrière issuing
melodious flatulence classical tunes,
yours truly renown buttuck blaster,
possesses wide ranging repertoire
ofttimes employed
as poignant powerful score
within battlefield documentaries
trademark trumpeting tush
indistinguishable from authentic
soundcloud moaning mortal wounds.
Far and wide taketh me
courtesy self propulsion vis a vis whoosh,
where roaring madding crowds
come together at behest of agent provocateur
transmits electronic signals
instantaneously triggering flash mob
rearing to experience mine
unusual claim gifted with musical tush
Sphincter ani externus
(External sphincter ani)
a wasteland Tom Sawyer doth rush
away from finishing his hucksterism
to escape (wool ewe believe) sheep push
lambasting of rambunctious herd
echoing within Hindu Kush,
an 800-kilometre-long mountain range
in Central and South Asia
to the west of the Himalayas.
Please pardon cheekiness (mine), but
proctologists (Colorectal surgeons”
the more up-to-date term for same)
quite earnestly astounded, befuddled,
enlightened, flummoxed, intrigued, et cetera
abbreviated etc, a Latin term
which is used in the places
where we want to say
"and other things" or "and so on"
ahem so over the moon
whenever I let (powder milk) biscuits fly i.e.
id est which means “in other words.”
Scientists scrutinizing plumes
of rarified gaseous spewed out me bum
discovered thermal columns of hot air
forced thru flat **** plane of muscular fibers,
elliptical in shape
and intimately adherent to the integument
surrounding the margin of the anus
on average measuring
about eight to ten centimeters
can rise as high as a mile,
which rising air strong enough
to lift all kinds of things
like dust, water vapor,
and broad-winged hawks.
Thermals frequently form
when I scale mountainous peaks
and expel prodigious invisible flatulence
hashtagged as silent but deadly
because the sun
heats mountainsides unevenly!
Thanks to you know who
one can often see cumulus clouds above thermals.
As Creativity and Beauty Flee
With every sense alerted — keen,
We’ll take turns to champion
The Watch…
To discover where Creativity and Beauty
Flee — when necessary —
For shelter from poor intentions or injury,
To be shielded and camouflaged — hidden.
We’ll discern clues to follow their flights —
Like hints seen in patterns of wing-prints
left across the sky…
By looking closely —
Listening…We’ll scan
Seas and mountainsides — where
owls hoot, scaring frogs to dive
away from danger into rippling waters…
As we wait to catch sight of the places
Where Creativity and Beauty disappear,
We languish, needing their inspiration near.
We filled the winds calling out chapters
of book of Genesis verses,
But nothing stirring returned.
We tired in our waiting as
All of life came to feel inert,
Except for Time, which kept melting
Empty hours into lost days.
Blessedly, we did catch onto Dreams again
While nodding off often
During our watching…And with them, visions
Rose anew with eager energy and passion
To write, teach, compose, paint, parent,
And reverently love
What we have and know
That neither evades nor flees ~
While Creativity and Beauty still tower
Where they always have been:
Awaiting us within
The hush and hold of Divine Grace…
—————————————————————————
art & poetry (c) sally young eslinger 10/23-29/2023
Thanks be to God—
The Power of One
Slowly shadows devour the day’s light,
The silhouette of fear draws breath
From the soul left gasping,
A firestorm of fury gathering,
Like mists of plagues escaping
From an ancient land of sand and tombs
With locusts warning of hope’s starvation
To escort the darkness rising
Turning pleas into ashes – weeping into stone -
Pounding on the mountainsides where sweetest spice
Withers beneath lullabies
Robbed of serenity’s grace -
Flowing furious on fevered winds
Pushing reveries and faith out on a ledge -
Not knowing right from left
Or up from down -
No words of clarity in
In the whirlwind’s barren chrysalis,
To hem in - to constrain -
With invisible shrilling waves of crisis
Whipped up by anguish
That binds the wildly beating, frantic heart,
Like a captured sparrow;
To scoff, to jeer, to overlook,
The single bloom standing up,
Trembling like new leaves on thinnest branches,
Scanning galaxies of prophetic possibility,
Then lean on visionary stars
That shatter with the speed of light
The hovering shadow of inertia’s darkest enchantment,
Sending out the solitary song of meadowlarks,
Still caroling through deafness, not silenced,
Not bending to the ill winds moaning
And the chaos screaming,
To scatter seeds of spring not born
Like unseen winged flyers;
To see beyond and past descending doom,
Into that far and sheltered arbor
With dreams of wisdom and young visions -
Outside the grasp of calamity,
Beyond the dark horizon -
Enticing with an alluring fragrance gather back
Into the benediction of the ever circling eternal seasons
Promising….
First we heard the sound
Torrential rain falling
On a soft ground
It seemed sounds were crawling
It was a little mysterious
Somewhat weird too
Obviously, we got curious
A sense altogether new
As we took the turn
There stood the white column
A burning white unconcern
For us all sudden and solemn
As we went ahead
The mighty fall came into view
Below flew a racing cascade
It was just gorgeous to be true
For our tired eyes
Afflicted with monotony
It was a tremendous surprise
Both visibly and audibly
Between two mountainsides
A deep grey ravine
Surging with its angry tides
Flirting with the lush green
Dense clouds over the sky
Spread dark shadows on the ground
Still shining silver the fall high
Incessant fall but undowned
The calm the quiet the placid the hush
In this milieu the roaring waterfall
For the ravine a maddening crush
Amazing, says the mountain tall
The ravine gurgling
The fall splashing and roaring
The water sparkling
Our wonder soaring
The full beauty we filled our hearts with
Embracing each other laid the kisses
This much I could write, a poor wordsmith
As we looked at the flowers of our fulfilled wishes
September 16, 2019
Picturesque Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
B/W Dreamed In Color
by Odin Roark
Shrapnel shards
Split the silence
Tainted metallic taste
Blood of nightmares
Cascading down mountainsides
One’s piled baggage
Soil of growth
Mulch of waste
Rebirth abounding
Budding predilections
Trying to so hard
So hard
So goes the night
When escape holds court
Judging not the guilty
But sentencing the exonerated
The innocence of B/W
Trying so hard
So hard
Toward one’s dawn
Black works its way
Finding gray
Merging dreams seeking forgetfulness
Stirring colors
Any colors
Urging blurred memories
Into fall carpeted tundra
The mind’s preparation
For the deep freeze
Of cyclic wisdom
Awaits mere compliance
To allow the perfection of rhythm
Yet we try so hard
So hard
B/W knows color
Needn’t be dreamed
For like the rainbow’s dispersion of light
The heart’s luminescence
Remains composed of emotion’s wavelengths
Conscious spectra seeking continuum
How foolish to live only life’s B/W
Yet at times
How coerced our hearts become
Hampering imagination’s purpose
To allow
B/W to be dreamed in color
Route 67 may not conjure up the romanticism of famed Route 66,
Nor does it wend its way across the country or provide you any kicks.
'Tis just a winding mountain road running from Divide to Cripple Creek,
But the splendid vistas that it reveals is what makes it so unique!
Route 67 is eighteen miles of God's glorious Creation to behold!
Aspen trees grace the mountainsides with quaking leaves of gold!
Majestic Pikes Peak glistens with new-fallen snow upon its crest.
The saw-toothed San Juan Mountains reach for the sky to the west.
Old gold mine shafts are strewn about, reminders of shattered dreams.
Seen are tumbling waterfalls and rushing mountain streams.
Eagles soar high above it all on their never-ending quest,
To sate the gaping maws of eaglets in their nest.
A flock of geese land with great aplomb on a nearby tarn to feed.
Silhouetted against the sky are mountain sheep, a very rare sight indeed!
A magnificent elk stood in a grove of spruce, bugling for a mate.
Marmots scurried about gathering winter fare ere it was too late.
Upon arrival in Cripple Creek, I decided to have a little fun.
The slot machines beckoned me and I'm usually a lucky son-of-a-gun!
I fed coins into the slots so furiously that I feared that they would choke!
'Twas a pleasant drive home on Route 67, albeit, I was nearly broke!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Breathe laden islands rise and fall
beneath the steam graced surface of clear water,
capped with rosettes, red-brown, silken, warm,
beaded with water running in rivers
down mountainsides of flesh, puddling,
in the darken depression of navel.
The water rises, about kneecaps
pristine and alabaster in hue.
Angular shoulders hug the far end of the tub.
A slender neck held aloft, crowned with auburn hair
and hazel eyes, changling orbs, of green and gold
an a oval face rivaling Modigliani’s Madonna.
A ruddy glow spreads across high cheekbones.
The rising water submerges all,
but porcelain neck and upturned face,
tendrils, tresses, coil, splay on still water.
Lids droop languidly, lips pout petulantly,
and still the water rises
buoying delicate arms, ending in fingers
...avidly playing.. upon
the pearl white key to desire.
Eyes looking for some shelter out along the fruited plain,
a place to rest my head in silence away from all the rain.
Seems the open sky is the only friend that I can trust,
I got no place to settle, I am doomed to wanderlust.
Drifting across the forests clinging to the mountainsides,
lurking in the cold places where the mad will always hide.
My feet are worn and tired and yet still I walk the miles,
there really isn’t much choice when you live as an exile.
There’s something running in my blood and its taking all my dreams.
There’s something flowing in my veins and I can’t help but scream.
Must go forward, can’t go back to the world I left behind,
that can’t stand an outsider, who won’t give up his pride.
Everything has a rule, either written or understood,
standing in the way of action, of doing any good.
Trying to speak to someone and it’s just some social game,
trying to get honest answers drives a man insane.
You try to use your reason and they call you cold and cruel,
but if you then use emotion they will say your 'anger-fueled.'
Act by your own judgement and they name you anti-social,
But acting by the will of others makes a man boring and dull.
There’s something running in my blood and its taking all my dreams.
There’s something flowing in my veins and I can’t help but scream.
Must go forward, can’t go back to the world I left behind,
that can’t stand an outsider, who won’t give up his pride.
Longing to find some others forsaken by society,
like that sweet girl in Kansas underneath the willow tree.
I’d love to pause a second, but I can’t the path is long.
It is the curse of freedom placed on those who don’t belong.
Maybe there’s no place for us, maybe there never will be.
Maybe that’s why we’re hermits stalking the periphery.
Out in the wild places might be the last spot for a man
who's born to a species that he can never truly understand.
There’ something running in my blood and its taking all my dreams.
There’s something flowing in my veins and I can’t help but scream.
Must go forward, can’t go back to the world I left behind,
that can’t stand an outsider, who won’t give up his pride.
When Kingdoms collide…
Kingdoms collide in epic splendor,
Showering sparks from clashing titans,
A ripple in time interrupted by galaxy’s storm
The past, the present, the future synchronized for one monumental push,
As eastern skies peel back, revealing a great and terrible day,
Lightning flashes through shades of dull grey skies
Like veins bulging from a strong mans arm
The hills reflecting golden streams of light
As sunshine breaks the canopy overhead
Thunder’s distant low rumble, rolling over hills
Like an armed Cavalry on billowing clouds
Like avalanches roaring down steep, rocky mountainsides.
With the sounding of the trumpet, the horse and rider poised,
The Heavens rejoice at the consummation of the bridegroom
With His bride,
And multitudes on clouds will rise, When Kingdoms collide.
September comes to end our Summer bliss
Enveloping the greens with amber glow
Preparing for the Autumn's vivid kiss-
The orange, red, and burnished colors flow
Embracing all the fields and mountainsides
Meandering, for soon the leaves will fall
Become a quilted blanket that resides
Enabling it to grow and quickly sprawl
Reacting to the sun's more distant rays.
Foreshadowing the chill of Wintertime
Autumn can start the morning with a glaze
Leaving a coat of frost and colder clime.
Let's cheer this season we have named as Fall-
September now responds to its first call.