Yosemite Poems | Examples

Yosemite Sam

On a hunting trip Yosemite Sam
shot up a loose can of spam
didn't taste like his usual venison
so took for precaution a spoonful of medicine



AP: Honorable Mention 2025

Yosemite Sam

by me kyle walker caycay son for fun not contest

Yosemite Sam
always stumbled upon a jam.
Each time he would yell ' tarnation.'  
Altercations most have caused elation.

Yosemite's Beauty

Yosemite enchants us with her beauty,
And throngs take two-dimensional pictures
To fill 8x10 frames and social sites.

She speaks with water and light, but only
iPhones listen – for few sit quietly 
To hear her murmurs of mystic meaning.

She remains but a photo-op and her
Spirit breaks – she pleads, ‘Hear me, please!’ as
Granite-rim tears smear her mascara.

Bugs Bunny and Yosemite Sam

Bugs Bunny 
Was smart, witty and funny
His tag line was what’s up, doc
Rivals would just stare and gaulk

Yosemite Sam
Made bugs and his buddies scram
Dubbed them all as mere varmints 
He had a keen eye to their footprints









09/01/2021
Contest: Cleritoons
Sponsor:Joseph May

Garnet Lake

I pause to listen to the silence –
I am one with the million befores
and the afters and at great peace 
amid the soundless, immense harmonies.

I become the rhythm of the spheres
and part of that oneness orchestration,
both absorbed and apart in a light,
too orderly to be but blind chance.

There must be purpose to the whole
that transcends reason and goes beyond 
the despair of nothing.  I become the Cosmos
not the chaos and within I am part.

There is a miracle to existence 
and its exquisite, ephemeral beauty.
To hike to Garnet Lake is to be without, 
wherein, without, I find my within.

Tribute To Honnold

Right foot into this little dimple that you can toe in on aggressively so it’s opposing the left hand, then you can, like, zag over across to this flat, down-pulling crimp that’s small but you can bite it.
[From Honnold’s climbing notebook.]

For me, the most transcendental feat –
your smeared soles at Freeblast Slabs,
your shoulder jammed into Offwidth 
and cardiac-kick at the Boulder
were: Inspirational; unimaginable. 
We sit in theatre chairs white-gripping 
our armrests and, too often, eyes closed.
Up on El Cap as much as we’ll e’er be,
We twist our bodies in synchrony.
We’ve seen how immeasurable
the possible; the achievable 
of the inconceivable.  At last, 
an image beyond the past; a hero 
of no vanquished enemy, 
brawling limitless potentiality.
Following your lead, we reimagine 
how we might ascend our vallied lives.

Yosemite

no litter in tents

    scuffle --- frost night long --- rustle

          mouse feasts  we listen

Yosemite

Valley, I could ever make you my camp.
Stream is rapid, flowing so cool by here.
Night's tent-light comes by our kerosene lamp.
I have stove and skillet frying steaks sear.
Little use, Jim, watching close for tame deer.
Better open eyes for hungry wild bears.
We can eat chuck downing feast with cold beer.
Sitting low on canvas bottom fold chairs,
we've left home behind with city's great cares.
Time to take our ease and make next day's plans.
Stores are made secured in plain Tupperwares.
Better guarded, I guess, using sealed cans.
Darkness hides that huge rock face from sight's view.
We will see it closer after day's stew.

Camp 4

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.’

In the Valley of Yosemite

IN THE VALLEY OF YOSEMITE

Today, as I took a walk through,
The valley of Yosemite, such
A beauty that lies within 
The rocks, trails, and the falls

There is a place where
Clear blue sky's embrace
Where the trees are tall
And are rooted within rocks

As I lift my head  up to
The sun that dries my tears,
That falls from my eyes, there
Is a breeze among the pines.

In the early morning as I
Follow the longest trails,
Keeping my steps steady and strong
Mountains, blue skies, animals, white snow.

Yosemite with many trails and sceneries
Of beauty, hikes, through John Muir and
Glacier Mountains, peaceful feelings
Here In the valley of Yosemite.

copywrited @ 2008

Yosemite

Yosemite’s huge boulders
Sliced in two in the Ice Age
Half Dome and El Capitan
Both carved by a sheet of ice, a glacier

Peering down from the mountains
Buttercups grace the valley
Where deer come to graze at dusk
Worlds of wonder wait at national parks


*A Parise Pariku for Rick’s contest.
Written June 21, 2012

Yosemite Falls

In summer she thunders majestically
her splendor spewing power soaked
sound waves of security cross the valley
and trails where tourists are cloaked
in  her confident comforting mist.

In winter she quick silently retreats
to the mountaintop peaks of surrealist
chill hibernation eerily replete
with mankindness's self-interested
profit motive doused in froze song.

In spring dogwood bloom crested
redwoods and Rockies coax along
her re-emergence.  She windchimes
her essence, then winds up her chords
karaoked according to times.

There was one spring when the lords
or ladies or deities or whatever
hushed her for a moment
in favor of the wailing fresh quiver
of sprite breath born to foment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nancy Jones
9/26/11 (which happens to be my father's 80th birthday)
Flowing water

*I was born in the spring a few hundred yards (meters) from Yosemite Falls many moons ago
*Rhyme scheme is ababc dcdef efghg hijij

Yosemite

Yosemite 

Frozen precipice.
Just around the bend…watching.
The white valley rests.
Glistened by the noonday sun.
Famous mountain waters fall.

© August 5, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen

A Winter In Yosemite

gentle flakes drift down
   to soften the valley floors
      while lacing the trees
         with the silent retelling
             of ancient native legends

winding brooks of glass
   shimmer as they meander 
       through meadows of gleaming frost
         A crystalline bridal veil
             adorns the cathedral cliffs 

granite monoliths,
   crafted by glacier giants,
      surround this valley...
        hovering, as if to guard
         the peace in God's gift to earth
                       

..............................................................................................................
For Brian Strand's Contest: #223

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