Short Scree Poems

Unstoppable scree
Chilled air pools on valley floors
The chorus stumbles...

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The hawk swooped down with a loud scree,
a death knell for the small chickadee....

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landslides tumbling stones
                 rock grinding along fault zones
                    ~  scree of fossil bones...

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Coarse sand / tight brown rills
Hard scree / furled green trails
Fine clouds / light hued kite		
Gull squawks / young man vail...

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Step by step
pebble on pebble
shingle to sand
the rattle of scree
displaced
            forever
one day sand
      they will be..
deep,deep in the sea...

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Echoes ripple on the lake
and reflect its guardian slopes.

From ridge to ridge 
creviced faces slip to scree.

Shadows crawl from
       dawn to dusk
    as the sun
plays hide and seek,
and basin rivers run
their course where
memories never sleep......

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A desolate shore reaches,
its gritty scree taunts
a green and tumbling sea.

Breakers slap an
umpteenth juncture.

Kelp sea pods dilate,
foam swirls in the shingle,
barren wombs drink.

Krill churns out
of a sandy dross.

Waves carry their children away....

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The clamber beat me up.?
I have to heel slide?
down a scree covered ravine -?
ignore the sweat of panic.?
?
There’s a large smooth boulder,?
I hug it?
slow my roll, ?
cling to a deeper breath.?
?
There are two mountains here,?
one under my feet,?
the other?
I brought with me....

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You see the sunlight amongst the scree
There was a man 
who couldn't tell me anything
Where there was once the comfort
of the evenings telegraph line
he runs wild amongst shops turned into flatlets
Keep on a straight line
he has changed his mind
where once basson roamed
he guesses himself unfree
fortitude follows the wind


...

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...

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Hello, I am the colon grammatically
 And not colon cancer medically.
If the poetry soup won’t allow me
It’s not the matter of great scree.
Can’t use me in title, then in the text that follows
My job is to inform reader what follows.
The grammarians use me in three ways
Syntactically, appositive, segmental always.

============================

Dr. Ram Mehta...

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The silver birch
presides over the scree
A caravan of love
proceeds duly eastwards
I'm staking my faith in you

The wind whistles past
We are on the road again
to magic lands where the gypsy queen shows
the world her love

where you find
butterflies and buttercups 
smiling in the rain,
and hope waiting for time
our faith connected to the earth
uncorrupted...

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Sloping hills roll nearby     
Sliding scree, drops awry    
Slanted rock face bone dry   
Slipping boulders, sweep by \\•,,,
Shelves break off splinters fly \\\\\••,,,
Sprawling dust blocks blue sky \\\\\\\\•••,,,,
Skewed landscape forms hereby\\\\\\\\\\\••••,,,


Written April 22 2021
for "Pleiades "S" Contest"
sponsored by Kim Merryman
Syllable counter PS 7x6...

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When I'm awash with ennui

I need no rushed society,

Imposing in their immensity

There is solitude and mystery,

I scramble above the riven scree 
 
Where a soul is truly free,

To marvel then at what I see

Mountains are the cure for me.







Entry for
First Time Here - Any Monorhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Wiliam Kekaula
10/1/2020. Placed=1st....

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His hands painted with  dexterity
One hue full of prismatic scree
Dote on ‘til our nearby towns
‘Til God hugged his hands
Thank God for Painter
My favorite
forever:
my own
Dad


©2015Leonora Galinta
     All Rights Reserved




Written December 5, 2015  





Second Place
Contest: Favorite Painter
Judged: 12/11/2015
Sponsor: Poet Nayda Ivette Negron...

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The earths end, sky, sea;
pumice stone, windward lea
life grasped, grey alpine scree
Christian hinterland barren be.

Pillars, lentils, altar stones;
ground from Lug’s ancient bones.
Life minute, crevice formed foam
Erin’s core, St. Patrick’s home.

Where sweetness blooms, oh so rare;
petals leach such perfumed air
From seeming nothing fairest fair,
Ah, the Burren’s take me…there....

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In the twilight of a Summer day
In a barren place far, far away
I came upon a yellow flower among the rocks and scree

Through great strain she pushed through the stones
..and in this blight she made a home
She made me smile as I looked down and she looked up at me

A thing of beauty so misplaced
No palace garden or jeweled case
Just me and her out in the wastes, what is, but shouldn’t be...

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Red is rising misty veil from the cliffs,
red is sun unfolding –
looking through the gale,
radiant look withholding.
 
Land of spires, flowery valleys,
reddish rising beams.
Longwise piney alleys,
rushed are streams.
 
Pearled blossoms leaves,
life that gropes with sun meant,
to burst its sheaths,
flourish meadows’ scent.
 
Rocks with flowers girt,
sun-flooded scree,
birds in chirp
and their singing glee....

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Take you no bread nor wine.
Craving will die in time.
For those who endure rime
will know a joy sublime.

Hanging from windswept tree,
know yourself, know your deeds.
Drooping now over scree,
suffer in bitter glee.

Many days without cup.
Many nights without sup.
Riddles and truths unstuck.
Screaming still, take them up.

Cut down from hickory,
rise now in victory.
Feat for the century,
spread now your alary....

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Between the devil and the deep blue sea
I find my god sitting straight on a scree
He wears an affable smile
Looks at the emerald isle
"Give the devil his due in you and me"

And the devil springs from his busty seat
The black cloud howls growls with the fall of sleet
Hedgerows under goolie nose
 reads out from a runny prose
"Give the god his due in rye rice and wheat"




Gods and Devils - Poetry Contest
7th January,2015...

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The clamber beats me up.
Now I have to heel slide 
down a scree covered ravine
while trying to ignore the sweat of panic.

Half-way down
there’s a large smooth boulder,
I hug it
slow my breathing,
stop battling the mountainside.

Rock Ravens
circle a compass of warm air,
ascend and drop 
with hardly a wingbeat.

It’s then I recall 
that there are two mountains here,
one under my feet
the other 
I brought with me
as a tower of doubt....

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I am walking in silence,
listen to water and wind,
notice
the frost on the leaves in the shade,
the fivefold symmetry of the columbines,
the pica scurrying across the scree.

My feet follow
the rhythm of my breath 
which, in turn, is molded
on the contour of the mountain.
My thoughts are 
of breathing and walking,
breathing and walking
until I reach the summit
and realize
I spent the morning
in meditation,
every step 
a prayer.

July 2, 2018...

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An agefull timeless sunless sea,
Is here beneath the mountains deep,
As still and cold as snow-clad peaks,
Its weight is rest on rock and stone,
In basin cleft, o’er hillside scree!
In burnished indigo, it sleeps,
The hand of time has swept its face
A million times and leaves no trace,
Here times great echo,
And silent tales,
Not mankind’s fearful raucous rage,
Here passing day is not pursued,
In peace suffused indigo blue.



© Joe Maverick 12-7-2009
		     29-8-2010...

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Out to the horizon I see
the yellow-orange of the sun
dripping such beauty with its glow.

Seagulls are soaring. They are free.
How I wish that I could be one,
flying high in the breeze’s flow.

If I were feathery and wee,
I could whirl, having so much fun
overhead moving to and fro.

I would swirl high above the scree,
squawking with glee till day was done.
Then long shadows would start to grow.

On water I’d then gently rock
while napping with my happy flock!...

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you are above
so you descend to the water
on stiff legs
scrabbling down the scree

the tarn looks like mercury
spilled into the umbilicus
of the mountain

when approached
you see the mirroring clarity
where a captured sky 
peers inward

from the sloping shale
you throw a pebble
into the water
the splash is small
but its echoing ghost 
sinks much deeper

there is no comfort here
only the straining
guide ropes
of a tilting mind

a plunging edge
that tugs at your life...

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