In the countryside is where I find my pride
Here where the hills descend into the edge of my lawn
And ascend into the skies where angels await alongside
They travel up and way beyond
The margins of my imagination
Here where the hills descend into the edge of my lawn
Nature has been one of the greatest creations
As it still stimulates my sleepy mind to fly to great heights
At the margins of my imagination
Acknowledging the angels was an after-sight
Because I had been focusing too much on another problem
As it stimulated my mind to rise to great heights
The visions frightened me enough to stop them
But they were so natural and embedded in the church naves
Although I had been focusing on another problem
After all, I walked around town without looking at the shapes
Of the relief sculptures embedded in the ancient townscapes
In the countryside is where I found my pride
And where I cannot hide no matter how vast and wide the mountains rise.
"The earth has music for those who will listen."
~Willam Shakespeare
I stand on a cliff overlooking an indigo sea,
watching its tranquil water before a storm.
Purple and amber clouds billow above me
as sunlight reflects upon onyx mountainsides...
and the wind plays a rhapsody only I can hear.
I am the Martyr you shall not want
I lay me down across waters
You will not cross
I wander mountainsides alone
To bring their grandeur
To your door
And run through gauntlets unafraid
Your cross to bear
I climb the steps of lofty peaks
Through storm and strife and dark of night
And rage the sky in grave distress, for you –
For you, my noble quest, I bear witness
To the blade and knife
To the callous force of Nature’s might
And in despair cry out your name
Though it radiates in muted tones
The crimson luster of its flame
Yea, though I walk through hidden valleys
In the shadow of the midday sun
And move in darkness, as it were
In honor of my sacred word
And wander in the wilderness
These long and restless years
Seeking a deliverance
I seem not to deserve
I yet am bound, in act and deed
By oath of blood and oath of right
Wrested from the Moon
One long and anguished night
Unto my lone and solitary quest
‘Less by loss of hope, of heart, of fight
I lose of you, my love, my life –
“In solitude, the mind gains strength and learns to lean upon itself.” Laurence Sterne
far from the human humdrum
solitude shrouds mountainsides
subtle snowflakes fall on spruce
I run towards the cabin
the heat is enjoyable
I open my fine laptop
type chapter three of my book
no characters spoil the scene
silence of nature elates
reflections of sublime thoughts
calming of a waterfall
falling from a cliff nearby
man feels peace in solitude
far from turbulence of life
now all is calm and peaceful
a rainbow appears afar
Placed 1
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.
My sorrowful spirit rose high above the rainbow,
higher yet, until it reached the snowy peaks
of the ragged mountain. It was cold there,
though above the severe sun blazed hard.
Here and there rivulets tumbled roughly
down the mountainsides, and occasionally
meet to form a river that cascaded downwards
towards the high cliff beneath the hills.
The icy waters fell towards the crags,
forming a waterfall of fresh water, producing
a constant melody as the waters hit the plain,
forming a delightful and narrow lake.
Birds above twittered delightfully,
a serene sight and sound that pleased my sad spirit.
Tall verdant pines exuded delightful fragrance.
How I wish I could stay there forever.
But my tired body beckoned
and my spirit returned to my lonesome solitary bed.
Pick a place you want to go
The answer never will be no
How about a rustic inn?
One where we have never been
With cottages on private coves
Overlooking lilac groves
Horse and buggy romance rides
Snow capped, pine tree mountainsides
Cozy, warm, big fireplace
Reflecting, glowing off your face
Nooks and crannies, old heirlooms
Like corn cob pipes and horsehair brooms
Mornings, evenings, crisp and cool
There's only one unbending rule
You have to let me do it all
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner call
Clean up after, make the bed
Wake up early, plan ahead
Have your coffee, fresh and hot
Waiting for you on the spot
Bring it to you where you are
Serenade you on guitar
Songs of love I wrote for you
Other playlist favorites too
Solely you for company
I only want you there with me
Sixty thousand pounds
One hundred sixty horses
Snorting like leviathan
On uncharted courses
Eleven feet of width
Thirty-two of reach
Tank-like tracks that crush the rock
With a metallic screech
Carving up the hillside
With the greatest ease
Playing toss with boulders
Plucking up huge trees
A tree that falls is heard
Some even make a sigh
A sound that makes me wince
I will not tell a lie
Progress can be brutal
On nature, we intrude
We like to make an entrance
Loud and brash and rude
I tell myself the openings
Make room for trees to grow
Or so I justify;
I’m pretty good, you know
Deftly flicking boulders
Smoothing out the dirt
Yard by yard he moves along
Master craft at work
It’s not for the timid
Or the faint of heart
Carving trails on mountainsides
Truly is an art
We’ve started every morning
Briefly, with a prayer
For Shawn and for his safety
And for God’s presence there
Hard to juxtapose
Stewardship, dominion:
The beauty there down in the vale,
Diesel-powered pinions
In time, the forest will forget
And cover up our scars
For now, I walk His wooded trail
At night, beneath His stars.
Their bridled haunt, each day may be their last; yeehaw.*
The narrow way, down mountainside, and clop of shoes.
The saddlebags dip left and right in gait and gnaw.
The spirit wind and pouring rain their hoofs refuse.
Begs me to ask, “Are horses as brave as cowboys?”
Lights’ heads bowed low to the path of perilous sight.
The kick of spurred heel, a “Giddyap,” of steel, “Go boy!”
They’re made to trek down mountainsides as stones ignite.
What’s turned ‘round the head of Roy, his slack rope in lead?
This corral dust, no it is fact, the slip and slide**
of horse-hide, ain’t no dignity of his tan breed.
No grave for him, his service blow is bonafide.
The cowboys “yip” and “holla” spittoon-chew and cussed.
Ornery snorts, flyswatter tails replay course sounds.
The clinch mountain, after hazardous ride, kicked dust
in snout of grieving herd; and buckskins stood their ground.
1/20/2021
Cowboy Poetry
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
*yeehaw - used to express delight. Here I’ve used sarcasm.
**corral dust - lies and tall tales
***clinch mountain - rye whiskey
HMS used for 12 syllable count. Site was off on 2 lines.
2020
One in the afternoon and
Night has fallen
Ashes rain down like snow
And our world is different
Wildfires sixty miles away
Fill the sky with dark smoke
And the streets of our town
Yearn for its people to feel safe
Yet there is no way to feel safe
A plague ravages the country
A president ravages the peace
We wear masks to engage
In any social discourse and
Fires destroy our mountainsides
Masks that we mocked in China
When their air was so polluted
That was the only way to breathe
Now anyone with any sense
Doesn’t venture out into the world
Without a mask to filter the air
Now we hope that wearing a mask
Will help us to make it through
Plague and wildfire smoke without
Destroying our lungs and other
Vital organs that are assaulted
Simply by being outdoors in
Rocky mountain atmosphere
Where clean air free of particulates
Were our birthright and the sun
Didn’t have to hide in early afternoon
Wildflowers
Your words scream out the relative cynicism
Of an age that doesn’t believe
In anything –
Not God nor Goodwill
Nor possibility:
You label me a Pollyanna,
Mary Sunshine,
And a fool
For believing –
For grasping onto every positive mystery,
For staking claim to promises
Made in an ancient land of promise;
But,
Remember, my friend,
When we both awaken
In the same morning
Weary of the greyness
Deep
Within that place
Where life breaths life,
I will look up with a wrinkled grin
To laugh out loud
Embracing life
In the wind
Blowing through early summered trees
Keeping watch for the coming of the rain
Nourishing
Wildflowers of the fields - on mountainsides -
Blooming in August.
A river of faith runs deeply through time
flowing dark in ink from carved mountainsides
dipped in fountains held in ancestor’s washed hands.
Each pious sofer kneels, facing the Holy Land.
He leans on the wisdom and shoulders of sages,
passing down their blessed tales through the ages.
Holy words of God recited, all penned with care
upon parchment pristine, never stained or threadbare.
Sacred prayers read by lanterns are solely hand-traced
and perfected with calligraphy practices graced
by love and traditions carried through years shared.
These sanctified scrolls are still delicately prepared
and with devout observation, are opened in temples,
words artfully scribed by faithful rivers in ripples.
Written 6/26/20
Contest – The Old Scribe
Sponsor – Craig Cornish
loves pursuit badge heavy
love law dog felt tree bark
moon moon
moon roof
monotonic
mood swing
leaning onto
sleeping slaps
feather ing claps
eagles wings never flap
shy mountainsides rumble
time without reason tumbles
as for a bee in mouth
that
bumbles
teach me to breathe
beyond titanium
loves pursuit
pure ing
uranium
my sleeves
sewing beyond motives seen
stillness learn ing to breathe
exhale the depths
of
me
sing
sing sing
my bionic
heart strings
rip cordless
parachute
mind gliding
loves
pursuite
?
Baby blue skies extending forever
through verdant valleys
and hugging mountainsides
Eagles glide gracefully
on a butterscotch breeze
captivating lost feelings in me
Oh to soar so solitarily
away from pain strapping me
in to a dreamless scene
where windows are tinted and freedom's only hinted
A glazed gaze away from the day
into a peaceful sun
the futures begun
On top the evergreen it twirls
swaying in the silence
one drop at a time
Wildfire
Fire, we fear flames seeking to obliterate
to cleanse forest and plains so the land can grow
again green shoots the world has been
the cycles can start again
having cleared the undergrowth that hindered
the freedom of samplings
There is a flower that only bloom after a fire
fire ephemerals can cover mountainsides
in a multicolour of wonder.
We feel a strange attraction to the flames
we wish it could rinse our sins, yet, we have
a great terror for the fire of hell
The fire we dread the most is the fire
in mans` heart it can be wonderful but so easily
became ruinous and manifest itself
in greed and destruction of what is good
There is a wildfire raging now and the Nordic
tremble and fear they might be consumed
by the firestorm.
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