Long Outcrops Poems
Long Outcrops Poems. Below are the most popular long Outcrops by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outcrops poems by poem length and keyword.
*Image of Landscapes by Giphy.
Plantae I
I lie in my earthly womb
Unflowered cribbed in my ultimate bed
Bared to the encountering elements
Trifles steep their enriched parts
Distinct rain their confidences
Exert savored energies
A nourishing obligates
'Neath the weight of my girth
I sprout
Embedded toes stabilizing
Feverishly spreading, a flourishing site,
Unfathomable stretches, probing in growth,
Neath the weight of me to the sight of my being,
Whence the sense of my essence takes a peak,
E'er so slightly, I oft rise and slowly unsheath,
My shallow blade, by and by, will mightily survive the descent of me,
As I surrendered poking further,
Abandoned to the cares of this earth,
I yield myself purposefully pulling incessantly,
Lowly, a humble worth,
A petite verdant clothed insignificant am I,
Yet I spring forth the breadth of life, a stillness via inches, reveals,
Offerings bestowed freely, subtle trades, being accordingly,
An opportune enrichment as a component of this world,
The ingenious extent throughout my presence,
Expose a unique character in the design of me,
Sharing my children via the virtuous elements upon their calls of me,
Whereby, validating my species assuredness,
Forever in a day undressing my colors fully for passing eyes to favor,
The colorfulness, an artistic compromise as personas are expressed,
Unprotected as a seasonal passage occupies the conquest of time,
We bare ourselves in subjugated humility,
Of a short-lived consequence,
Our age foretold, ringed in our statuesque frame, ingrained within,
Announces a withering, one of many,
Spacial spatterings of a species, a forest, in global respect,
Nevertheless, a cessation that was long-addressed,
Paves anew, as chartreuse blades, diminutive in stature,
Outcrops a foundation previously possessed,
Its former tenant, tis save a legacy,
Notwithstanding, on the greatest of scales,
A similar fate awaits this world,
For now, be it a novel.
2020 February 24
In the rugged mountain passes
Of the western Carolinas,
Just west of Hendersonville and east of Kentucky, USA,
In the land of the foothills and steep valleys down,
Exists a remote land forgotten in time.
Steeped in country legends, handed down long ago -
A matchless region the locals, call Christmas Tree Mountain.
Thousands of trees spread, over the lands -
boundless pines, spruces and firs;
Home to mountain families at one with their land.
In these broken foothills in the lands of the mist,
On steep, rocky outcrops, barren but for the pines,
Rising above the lowly, bottomland plains,
Far above pedestrian highways where the grizzly roams free,
And the Winter's freezing cold,
With its fierce winds whipping through the trees.
On the Carolina hillsides is where it all begins;
Conifers contorting in the harsh mountain gusts.
Edging their way skyward one inch at a time;
Twelve inches a year the extent of their growth.
Like emerald clad sentinels oft standing at arms,
Like boundless militia watching o're the valleys below.
Seasoned veterans awaiting, their clarion call,
Their final, fateful, farewell, fore' their Christmas accord.
An all-too-short harvest's complete by Autumn's end;
If yields are bountiful, all cuts will, be bundled and penned.
Warmly dressed buyers trekking these remote mountain farms;
Back country charms tempered by the winding, rugged passes.
In the Fall the Scouts come - heeding a higher call;
Selfless endeavors to help earn much-needed funds
To support an ever growing contingent of troops.
Finding a world of fulfilment in these simple deeds;
They learn the values of good stewardship and all its rewards,
While learning to respect all of God's lands and all His designs.
End of the Season finds the mountain families gathering in prayer;
Thanking their Creator for yet another year.
My Response To Rumi
A composite man was this Rumi Mystic who penned ‘Spiritual Couplets’ thousands
of magical lines of Persian poetry deep he lives on in simple (?) bites of
three lines condensed confluent cracking proverbial nutshells soft in their core
He’s buried in the Konya of Anatolian wisdom a place I am seeking to visit
on my insider travels and have been compelled from into imagination and spirit of
mind where the tree of life throws seeds on the shadows of tumbling body and soul
~~ Rumi lives on once we destroy what destroys us tear down the partitions ~~
‘Healing by allowing to fall ill’ ‘searching for defenses within’ barriers fortresses
imposing enclosures self built contraptions that prevent love kindness compassion
Dysfunction and illness derive from inside thus we can either attempt to strive
against mere symptoms and torturous outcrops bandage the hurt on the
surface or take a good look at the messages crises fall together for a while reflect
with serene mirrors of honesty reject the temptation futile attempts of aligning
broken shards into yet another fragmentation sinking once more into darkness
Rummaging rumination and running head on into the same walls again and again
never achieved to manage my mangled madness into meaning and peace
but acceptance and searching inside with the purpose of healing following three
~~ simple lines brought Rumi to life and myself back into light and true love~~
27th November 2016
"If you desire healing,
let yourself fall ill
let yourself fall ill."
- Jalaluddin Rumi
How I love the Wuthering heights rugged landscape
Of the wild savage moor
As I stand upon a rocky outcrops
High on a windswept Tor.
Under the blue sky canopy before me
Lies sweeping lush green and tawny vales and rolling hills
Land so wild and unforgiving
As the cold wind begins to bite and chill
Carpets of lilac heather providing shelter
For grouse rabbit and mouse
Somewhere in the distance
I catch the site of an old dilapidated stone farm house
Battered and in decay by the harsh temperamental weather
Every day.
Silver ribboned streams gushing and rushing ever flowing
Sparkling in the sun as lazy trout swim and pout
Trying to kiss the sky.
Little white woolly dots majestically graze on idle days
As the ravens take pieces of wool for nesting away
Suddenly the sky turns black and the icy rain begins to pound
And somewhere in the far distance I hear a deep rumbling sound
Cracks of light flash in the sky and the thunder now close by
Gives out a mighty roar
I feel the power shake the ground where I stand
And it shakes me to the core
A mixture of fear and acceleration sweeps over me
As I watch far from safety in awe.
Suddenly as it started the thunder stops and the sky begins to clear
A rainbow crescent appears and the lark twitters once moor
As the started wild ponies and heads of deer reappear
The overpowering smell of damp earth
I'm soaking wet my cheeks red and aglow
I'm lost in the wild untameable timeless beauty
That I have come to love and know
In my isolation I find peace of mind so serine
I am not just a visitor
But at one with nature and part of the scene.
Peter Dome.Copyright.2015. June.
As dawn peers over the edge of the sky,
In a space of the lonely kopjes and cacti.
Where God roamed to the edge of a scorched wilderness,
and stared into the vast land of nothingness.
HERE, STANDS A PLACE ARID AND BONE DRY
WHERE ROOT AND SHOOT SHRIVEL AND DIE.
HERE IS WHERE HE FORMED ROCKY OUTCROPS AND SANDY STRANDS
TULI IS IT’S NAME.
IN THIS FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE, WHERE WIND ROLES A GUST
FORMATION OF BOULDERS, PEBBLES, AND DUST.
The springs of vitality forced from the ground below
Sweet honey dew, taste of life, transforms this dusty bowl
Where quenched thirsts were satisfied,
Hunger for food became starvation and slowly crippled the dreary
Only the toughest would survive, no room for the weary
As time pasted, it forgot this flat open bush
where grass and shrub became razor sharp and prickly scrub.
harsh and foreboding.
The Shashe river snaking through the sandy ground
with dust and rubble on the fortress mound
So men came to conquer and forge his own path,
What madness is this, why was he so daft.
But, when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object
History is written.
Wheels of progress move steadily forward
Rocks being used to build roads, bridges, houses, and prisons
So hard, tough, and cold these objects are to house the idea of future dreams and missions.
The stubborn will to settle,
made peoples focus rock solid.
But as time marches out and onward,
the memories and sentiments pasted through like a gentle breeze.
All that is left is the forgotten memories, graves, and relics of buildings old,
Hunters, Riders, and Voortrekkers cry out from the dust and sand,
that fortress of Pioneers, Tuli.
The land is bare;
hard rock and exposed outcrops
lay open, like the pages of
an unread book for the story
of time is beheld by every
grain contained within.
Time passes slowly and the
land remains the same but
seeds of invaders are slowly
being transported into this
barren land.
The seeds embed themselves
into this dark and sombre
rock that was created when
the Earth was young.
Rain falls onto the dry and
lonesome rock causing the
seeds to transform into
sprouts that begin to widen
the tiniest of cracks as their
roots extend.
Every spring the sprouts become
plants that flower, catching
the essence of irony; even the
gloomiest places can capture
beauty.
Slowly the land becomes
invaded by many others but
still remain the smallest of
creations for the earth itself
is not to everyone’s taste.
As the plants grow and die the
ragged earth becomes blackened
with the very chemistry of life.
Gradually the plants become
bigger overshadowing the primary
invaders but still they rule the
very earth for without them the
soil of the earth would only
provide for little time.
As height increases so does the
need for food and light for the
building blocks of simple sugars
are created by the elements of
the cosmos.
As time passes the soil becomes
thickened by past life and thus
trees take root, extending their
worm-like systems deep into the
earth in search of water and
earthly gases to feed their
inner workings.
This is the process of succession
rarely seen for it is overlooked
by many; a whole new world lies
beyond our line of sight,
releasing the very essence of
life itself.
Would you rather the majestic pure white polar bear had a home
in this world or that Paul Ryan took a slow, slow boat to China & then
turned around & came back, & then again, & again?
... the humble Praying Mantis was able to bask in the sunshine
on a leaf of its choosing or that Trump was locked away for 70 years
in a dank & dismal people's cell?
... all the bees, & all the dainty flying creatures could buzz here & there as was their want or that Mitch 'Gruesome' McConnell was marooned
forever on a distant deserted isle?
... the startling life-form that is coral could take its own sweet time covering rocks & outcrops & undersea crags or that Mike Pence quite suddenly & terminally lost his ability to function in any way whatsoever?
... the soon-to-be starved nomadic people, the soon-to-be flooded
coastal peoples & the soon-to-be parched farmers of India were to be
given direct financial & physical assistance by expropriated & toiling Masters of Industry & sundry media lackeys?
... that the delicate flowers, the tall & mighty trees, the vital green, green grass could just a go on going on, & anyone, anyone at all who ticked that box declaring Climate Change a hoax be pitilessly overseen constructing vital networks of deep, deep canals, oh for the remainder of their natural life?
... Would you rather one less Republican politician or one less soaring
& majestic wind-tumbling vulture?
... Would you rather ...
On a patrol for the good so far from their home
Professional in their minds, never to roam
But this is a world, where feelings are forgotten
Damning souls of destruction fuelled with gun-cotton
For on rocky outcrops and deserted sand paths
Lie hidden dangers to take life from it's grasp
Coalition troops, our children just boys
Doing their duty for their orders employ
On missions they set out to rid insurgent scum
Against a tactic so great, guerrilla warfare hit and run
Recent news has informed us, that another has been downed
A father, uncle or son, leave another family tear drowned
Another hidden device in his face has exploded
Their hunger to hate once again has been loaded
Medics rush in to save the life of their soul
Knowing when he's home, another stat for wars toll
Many weeks he recuperates, behind bandages and care
Visited by friends, but only his children do stare
His strength now regained, but not the man he once was
A silence beckons then turns to applause
Assisted by comrades as he is led to collect
His medal of valour whilst inside he reflects
In his future years knowing his children grow strong
For he's in a dark world, where he doesn't belong
Emotions so many will follow his years
For when this blind man cries, we must share in his tears
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-6.php
Withered leafless trees
Clinging to old roots
Sway fearful of the wind,
Murmuring among themselves
With dull nonsense
About the rains.
The doltish deceive themselves
That winter is a prelude to the Spring.
Have they ever learned the truth
Or have they read the timeless lie
And believed it true.
Summer is its own season
Stirring the soul with its light.
The earth fragrant with decay,
Blooming as if blanched with treason.
For the buds are flowering
Now, readying for the blight.
In the beginning the end
Wasn't written, hope survived
And the brief flickering light
Held promises even in its youth
As the dead clay thickened
About the truth.
Yet so many perish,
Lost in the dimming of the light.
Even as they flower they fade,
Eunuchs to the possibilities.
Marching to the tune of
Vacant wisdom from old men
Who know nothing but
The silence of their thoughts
And the stillness of their minds.
Thus as the flames, leaping
Down the seasons and the years collide
Leave fragments that spark even the deadest eyes
I see in each face the hollow minds
And the terror behind those
Glowering facades.
The trees, in the twilight born
Among the wilderness of dead leaves
On rocky soil and outcrops of stone
Grow sickly silent as their futures, shorn
Of promises they can't beget.
And the coming years stored only with regret.
And when i climbed the mound of grass
The sun set at a stop
Birds came swirling round
Outcrops in the light
Waves crashed under, instability;
Glass houses and rocks.
I think i got there.
I think i managed, because i could see so far out
And when i set up my gear
To yell out to the climbers
I cupped my helping hands around my mouth.
Many couldn't hear me
The glare of red would blind them,
And they could never figure which way to clamber.
Oh, i didn't get it
Where should the left hand grasp?
Where does the right foot get off?
So i'd lean further out to them,
I'd talk them up and on.
My right hand to balance,
My left foot latching on.
And to think i actually made it,
To think i was content...
I guess you wouldn't have guessed.
And in my memory,
It's too much red. I can't recall the day that i fell again.
Falling into a sky of light,
Baby blue and red.
Birds of prey to peck, to steal away my pleasures,
They tell me i'm in debt.
Did i not feed them before?
Did they not eat my grass.
And now many talk
But many cannot listen.
The glare, it always blinds me.
Me, I couldn't listen.
Where should my left hand grasp?
Where will these birds of prey peck.
On which foot did I set off?
Will someone keep me in check?
But oh, I'll never get it
Fearing when dampened grass gives way--
I won't be ready to jump off.