I will move mountains for you, oft said
with little brain and surplus testosterone.
But why the plurality?
Surely, a single mountain moved
is Herculean enough to satisfy
the desires of the most covetous princess.
Then, what is a mountain?
I’m sure a mound or hill won’t do.
Also, move; would an inch to the left or right
gratify? I think not, dear sir.
So, where to find this mountain?
Bhutan seems a reasonable choice
they have so many, moving one
would likely not be missed.
Where too? The Midwest
could do with a mountain or two
attract more tourists, that sort of thing.
Then the naming:
something American,
that reflects the Native lands,
is gender neutral?
Then, would you and your girlfriend
climb to the top of Mount Sis Hank Running Bear
and both look out over the beautiful land?
No, she will be at home waiting for another man;
the man who said he would make the Earth move for her!
"A day goes better with pretty flowers." By Poet
What can I say,
your beautiful look takes my breath away.
Red roses tell a story of love and romance,
white roses show their innocence as they dance.
Pink roses are for me,
with pretty butterflies and that big yellow bee.
As we look out over the sea of roses,
the fragrance itches our sensitive noses.
Look out over the fields
In the direction of the trees
See the old man praying
While kneeling down upon his knees
Cares less for who's watching
More so for the ones that may hear
He has done this daily
Ev'ry morning for many years
No one knows his true age
Or where it was that he came from
First thought he was strange
Or that he was deaf and dumb
He once had come to church
And though he never said a word
He sang in wond'rous voice
The likes of which no ones e'er heard
He has rarely been seen
Since that day of angelic sound
Yet they're sure he's still there
Living alone on sacred ground
Many have ventured out
In hopes to see him once again
Yet they come home empty
Not even knowing where they've been
He's still there over fields
Somewhere near the cottonwood trees
Always looking this way
To see who's down upon their knees
Hears the ones who give thanks
For everything they have got
He knows they are aware
Of all the lessons they've been taught
An Assault On All That Is Sacred And Beautiful
Standing by the canyon rim
The couple embrace
“How beautiful, still”
Are their last words
*
Two old men
With tears in their eyes
Look out over the canyon
Kicking the dirt hard
*
A boy holds tight
His father's hand
As they watch
The flight of an eagle
*
A girl with
Arm around
Her mother's waist
Reads the posted sign
*
The Department of Interior is no more
We apologize on behalf
Of all that was once
Sacred and Beautiful in our World
*
Come look out over Lover's ledge,
succumb to the view of the sea;
Strum a new chord on that guitar,
drum a beat that is you and me;
A map of initials carved in
they match all the poems floating;
Sway as they will on the currents
may eternal sparks let you sing.
I just keep seeing them, the hooves pounding those old rain-soaked cobblestones, somewhere in the back of my mind. I feel the creeping fog against someone else’s skin, not mine.
An old iron lamp post and that old lamplighter, impressions are burned into my third eye. I knew him in another lifetime. I’ve traversed so much time, so many centuries in brief seconds.
All of my senses succumb to the lamp’s flame as it burns the oil and the scent of that old pipe that he smokes, this lamplighter.
Who is the woman in lace whose body, in which I am? From whose eyes do I look out over this emerald landscape from bluestone walls? She does not know the lamplighter in that other place. She lived four centuries before him, yet she is inside my head...my body.
Past lives reside in the soul’s backpack. We carry them through numerous incarnations and occasionally a memory escapes to speak, when we need it the most.
2-20-2023
Deja vu Poetry Contest
Unseeking Seeker
Memory still walks
along the river
on a summer's evening
when a soft wind
lingers over the mangroves
and lifts the smell of mud
rimmed along the river's edge
into the warm air.
I imagine mulloway
prowling the deep channels
dug out by the tides,
the shiny backs of dolphins
arching through the dark,
sewing together
the torn dreams
of old men.
I can feel the thick flow
of its history and cough
the accumulations
of a century's waste.
From Birkenhead Bridge
I look out over the river's
wide reach, its distances
and into the vanishing point
of a waiting silence.
I puffed and panted up the steps (and thought
about the novel Dracula, in which
the character called Mina ran up there)
and gasping, wheezing crawled towards the top
to look out over Whitby from the cliff.
The view was simply beautiful, I found -
enough to take one's breath away (but I
was breathless as it was, and so I tried
to catch my breath!) I didn't want to think
about the trek that faced me as I left
to walk back down those steps...
Remembering a visit to Whitby & climbing the famous 199 steps
written 6th January for Constance's B 'Breathless' blank verse contest
Please Go
I told you it was ok to go
but you stayed around anyway
so close that the pain became unbearable
and seized my existence day by day
I needed you to go and not stand so close
There are many beautiful places where you can be
Go. Go and soar freely among the moon and the stars
Or sit on a mountaintop and look out over the sea
Go and stay away long enough for me to heal
when you come back around again, I’ll feel your touch
as sweet memories of you will make me smile
Just don’t stand too close. It will hurt too much.
Written by Carolyn Carter
The One Who Touched My Heart Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh
Chromatic cascade
across the land
sporting a cavalcade
of roses, parrot tulips,
irises, narcissus
and I look out over the
painted mountain
to revel in the
wildflowers waltzing
in a casual breeze.
Atop the verdigris
the flora brings
serenity to my spirit
and I grab my
paint-box and canvas;
it’s time to capture
the season’s rebirth
once again.
5-7-2021
Nature Poetry Contest
Regina McIntosh
When I die bury me in the sky
So I can look out over the earth far and wide
When I die bury me in the sky
So I can see if there is life on mars as I'm passing by
When I die bury me in the sky
So I can shine like a star, it's my time
Oh when I die bury me in the sky
For reasons that are personal
You don't need to know why
Bury me in the sky when I die
I say his name, and ask the question,
"Did they break the mold or what?"
I look out over the audience
And the truth is so clear-cut
That they all nod,
They all agree,
What an honest man,
So guaranteed
To be gentle and kind,
To love humor and fun,
To have the peaceful mind,
To have the good day done.
My sister and my brothers,
I look to them, make the hopeful call,
That every child in the world
Should think they have the best dad of them all.
When it comes to our father,
We have fearless cards to bid,
For on having the best dad in the world,
Well, we really did.
Look out over all the earth
see the suffering all around
famine, war, hopelessness
is there an answer to be found?
What is God doing in heaven?
history has waited for God to act
still no better than at beginning
man despairs of life that’s a fact
But have we all been so blind?
God has appeared in human frame
He came and dwelt as a man
revealing God for this He came
God became man in His son
taking our sins on Calvary’s tree
so we can know His presence always
giving us the hope to eternally see
Chloe
Chloe's are the smallest hands
smaller than the hands e.e. cummings gave the rain
Melting the snow of my white glove
together we look out over the white domino tombstones
Chloe's are the brownest eyes
Wet and sad like a spaniel dogs
Tracing the shiny brass buttons on my uniform coat
Chloe is to young to understand why i clench her hand tighter
each time the guns fire for her Daddy
To young to hate me for not saving him.
A COUPLE OF GRAMS OF HEART
Step right up,
See the man, the man with a heart,
weighs no more than an ounce or two.
Broken in all the wrong places,
but there are no right places to be broken, apart.
Watch him dance, try him at cards
see if he is not just as much man as you -
with only a couple of grams of heart.
Love has torn him apart
this man with so little heart,
ripped him a-shred and asunder.
He knew right from the start
if he'd just acted his part
the part where he gave up all
the truth in his heart -
there would be lightning to pay for the thunder.
He'd be brave if he could,
put on a big show, a show to end them all.
But he just does not have enough in his shirt
to stand up in spite of the fear and the hurt,
and dare to look out over the wall,
to risk the question that makes him so small -
will you love me, just as I am, after all?
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