One in a billion
Can dare this amazing
Courageous rock climbing
This one second of success
It reflects years of training
One second of success
Can also be a second
That takes a life
It's too dangerous
There is a sense
Of accomplishment
As great as the risk
The need of great strength
Experience and self-confidence
Such gift of overcoming fear
Is a gift that comes from above
In this sport, it's nerve wracking
Everyone goes crazy in their own way
And when strength and courage mixes
Automatically comes success.
At a rock climbing party,
It’s cool to observe
Both the kids who are cautious
And those who have nerve.
The daredevils clamber
To get to the top;
Neither ziplines nor tightropes
Will cause them to stop.
They tackle each challenge
With joy and with pluck
And they rarely require
Assistance when stuck.
The wary are watchful,
Proceeding with care
And feel better in knowing
A grown-up is there.
They’ll ascend partway up,
Harness keeping them bound
And then gently let go
‘Til their feet touch the ground.
As a kid, I was prudent
And nowadays I’m,
With a harness or not,
Still unlikely to climb.
.
who'd duh thunk
the
pretty
church girl
she made sure though
her Sunday best
were folded and hung
'fore
climbing
Such the feel
y'all know
i meant
sight
I told her that she
should get the trophy
she said that
it
I mean that
i wuz her
trophy
High limestone cliffs rise precipitously
Teetering chunks carved by cruel winds
Tempt adrenaline junkies who clutch
The crevice, inching their bodies upward
Toward the barren flats easily accessed
By steps carved for more cautious souls
Who come to enjoy the canyon below.
Some bring along a picnic lunch basket
For there are no conveniences in the wild
Country where mountain-climbers risk
Their lives to reach an easily-accessible
Summit...but where is the thrill in that?
HONORABLE MENTION
written August 3, 2021
"The Last Mountain" Poetry Contest
All Poetry, October 15, 2021
Searching for the hidden answers
My fingers numbly trace each shape
Of every rock, nook and cranny
From this ledge I find no escape
My spirit cries for help from Thee
Tenuous grip but strong in hope
I tremble, falling to my knees
Upon this jagged, slippery slope
Remove from me this obstacle
My feeble faith is not enough
I’ve tried dear Lord to overcome
The steep temptations of this bluff
Intentions set, I know the path
Yet my deeds still will not comply
Each step tests and crumbles the edge
As I plead, eyes turned toward the sky
This climb, it seems impossible
That Thou sent me to overcome
But I know atop this mountain
The view will be a holy one
Thy hands replace my wearied ones
The strength I find is not my own
A foothold found, Thou lifts me up
From beneath this tomb of stone
Hand in hand Thou leads me higher
Til on the summits peak we stand
I never could have reached it Lord
Except by Thy great, loving hand
Dedication
The world falls apart.
The world is your hands stretched when
Something within me is a rock worth climbing.
When the reality is worth inhaling.
When the Moon cuts the sanity with its light.
I cannot quit.
I wish I could.
I cannot quit.
I wish I could.
I cannot depict what’s going on.
I wish I could.
We fit perfectly
like fire and black soil,
like disaster and silence,
like pain and victory,
like solemn July nights
and gruesome routine.
I wish I could find shelter
and conceal my haughtiness from the past,
our questions revealing the dark side of being,
our routes unknown.
In my life’s equation
you are thorn, silk and embers.
There is more to dedication than mere events.
I cannot quit.
I wish I could.
Copyright © Maryna Tchianova | Year Posted 2016
CAMP 4
‘If I die, I die.’
The realness of those words
sent a shiver down my spine
as I listened to the climbers.
It was late autumn, 1969.
There was a pause after his words
and each face made the slightest nod
peering deeply into the flames;
Tom Bauman had just soloed the Nose.
Slowly, I began to put pitons into
the face of life, jammed my fist
into fissures, and ascended slowly.
I delighted when my blood dripped
onto the dark diorite veins in the granite.
For this is life and I believe
in the challenge of the ascent and
the use of a life to outlive it.
It is now the winter of 2014, and
I wander through Camp 4.
I look at the young, intense faces
as they to peer into the flames.
I would share with them what
has been my own first ascent,
but Tom lives on, so I scream
to a startled camp my tribute to life:
‘If I die, I die.’
My hands caress the curious shapes
And search for hidden cracks and nooks
Like blind men touch a lover’s face.
At last a probing finger hooks
Around the slender sandstone waist
Of a small pillar. On a ledge
I stand on tip toe. High above
My fingertips just reach an edge
That juts out sharply. And I crimp
And hold the tenuous grip and pull.
I jam my foot right in a crack,
And lift my body. I am full
Of joy and happiness. I climb!
The bloody knuckles and scraped knees
Don’t matter. As I near the top
My hair is waving in the breeze.
For contest A Body of Work
Sponsored by Viv Wigley
Body parts used (in order of appearance):
Hands, face, finger, waist, toe, fingertips, foot, knuckles, knees, hair
My daughter and I
Were rock climbing one morning
We got up real high
I reached the top of the rock
And awaited my daughter
Something went bad wrong
Her rope came completely loose
And she was falling
I grabbed rope hard and tightly
But she was slipping away
I started to fall
Caught myself nearly the end
I heard a small voice
Yelling up to me, pleading
“Save yourself, just let me go”
And I had to…
Russell Sivey
This is a fictitious poem . No events actually took place in my life.
Entrant into Lisa Hiatt ~Dark Poetess "Letting go " contest
3/30/2012