coldmountain
New member
o stoic vermont
keep new york and new hampshire
still properly spaced
keep new york and new hampshire
still properly spaced
Any Poets Out There?
- Thread starter Waumbek
- Start date
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arghman
New member
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2004
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frost heaves, road pudding,
snowmelt unleashed from winter
mop floor yet again
snowmelt unleashed from winter
mop floor yet again
sierra
Well-known member
The Girl on the mountain
As I climbed up the mountain I had a strange thought.
I thought about all the battles I had fought.
I am battered and worn, though have some life.
I had a vision of a woman Id call wife.
She had golden hair and and smelled like flower.
As I climbed I thought of her, hour after hour.
I could feel her presense, I could feel her touch.
She was all I ever wanted and wanted so much.
When I got to the summit my vision was gone.
Maybe on the next mountain Ill find her, hopefully
it wont take that long.
As I climbed up the mountain I had a strange thought.
I thought about all the battles I had fought.
I am battered and worn, though have some life.
I had a vision of a woman Id call wife.
She had golden hair and and smelled like flower.
As I climbed I thought of her, hour after hour.
I could feel her presense, I could feel her touch.
She was all I ever wanted and wanted so much.
When I got to the summit my vision was gone.
Maybe on the next mountain Ill find her, hopefully
it wont take that long.
Roxi
Active member
kmorgan said:
kmorgan, I bow to you. Best haiku I've read in a long time! Haiku is not my forte, and mud doesn't inspire me, but seeing other poems offered here, I will do the same and offer this (inspired by many threads on VFTT over the last 6 months):
Silver-haired Woman
Silver-haired woman ascends the summit rock
To revisit an old friend
For the last time
The rock has seen her age a lifetime
In a blink of its own millennium
She scans the skies, feels the wind’s kiss on her cheek,
The sun’s warmth bathing her skin
She drinks in the landscape all around her
And satisfies her hunger feeding on Nature’s beauty
Her spirited heart and soul renew
She thanks Mother Nature
For letting her be here once again
She listens for the beating of wings
The wind announces their arrival
She turns toward the approaching avatar
Reaching up, she hoists herself onto the beast
Settles her soul between its shoulders
And soars on dragonwings into another realm
Her empty body is found naked
Smile frozen on her face
Food for those who fed her soul
And gave her heart reason to explore
The rock cradles an old friend
And says “goodbye.”
Roxi
March 25, 2006
S
Sleeping Giant
Guest
And then there are sonnets, like this:
Thunder rumbled through the mountains last night
And rain slicked the ledges of the ravines.
Tossing in bed, waiting for dawn's first light,
Actors rehearsed precarious rock scenes.
Solo I danced through still dripping green vales
To Huntington, where gushing gully falls
Drowned the sound of a pounding heart, where trails
Were yellow stripes on vertiginous walls.
Above the Fan - the point of no retreat -
The mind grows clear and at long last sees how
Step by step the blessed mantras repeat
Life's lesson: the next handhold is the Tao.
And at the top the air was clear and light.
The thunder rumbled through my heart tonight.
Or like this:
Wind shreds over the upper rock scree slopes
Of Mount Madison cold obscuring mist,
And the lone hiker's dying dreams and hopes
Are blown away, too fragile to resist.
This is no place for tired nostalgic sights,
No space for idle ventures crude yet bold;
Exposed dead souls slip on the lichened heights,
Remains of old climber spirits grown cold.
To venture high for a stolen season,
To remember youth's innocence and death;
Up here is no good, no bad, no reason
Save the knowledge life slips by breath by breath.
An hour to gasp moans above the clouds torn,
Then flight to the seaside to be reborn.
Or like this:
I will climb tomorrow morning alone
Against northwest winds to the alpine zone,
Through the woods then up the ravine headwall
To look back down at ridge and waterfall.
Fog hides from me the blasted summit cone
In streams across the boulder field. A moan
Escapes my lips, or was it the keening
Of ghosts asking me the mountain's meaning?
In lithic shelter - the lee side on top -
I gaze down the gulf and see the world stop.
Brutal exposure threatens survival
And opens me to psychic revival.
What joy to let this tempest fill my sails
And spin the stuff of fresh dreams and new tales.
Thunder rumbled through the mountains last night
And rain slicked the ledges of the ravines.
Tossing in bed, waiting for dawn's first light,
Actors rehearsed precarious rock scenes.
Solo I danced through still dripping green vales
To Huntington, where gushing gully falls
Drowned the sound of a pounding heart, where trails
Were yellow stripes on vertiginous walls.
Above the Fan - the point of no retreat -
The mind grows clear and at long last sees how
Step by step the blessed mantras repeat
Life's lesson: the next handhold is the Tao.
And at the top the air was clear and light.
The thunder rumbled through my heart tonight.
Or like this:
Wind shreds over the upper rock scree slopes
Of Mount Madison cold obscuring mist,
And the lone hiker's dying dreams and hopes
Are blown away, too fragile to resist.
This is no place for tired nostalgic sights,
No space for idle ventures crude yet bold;
Exposed dead souls slip on the lichened heights,
Remains of old climber spirits grown cold.
To venture high for a stolen season,
To remember youth's innocence and death;
Up here is no good, no bad, no reason
Save the knowledge life slips by breath by breath.
An hour to gasp moans above the clouds torn,
Then flight to the seaside to be reborn.
Or like this:
I will climb tomorrow morning alone
Against northwest winds to the alpine zone,
Through the woods then up the ravine headwall
To look back down at ridge and waterfall.
Fog hides from me the blasted summit cone
In streams across the boulder field. A moan
Escapes my lips, or was it the keening
Of ghosts asking me the mountain's meaning?
In lithic shelter - the lee side on top -
I gaze down the gulf and see the world stop.
Brutal exposure threatens survival
And opens me to psychic revival.
What joy to let this tempest fill my sails
And spin the stuff of fresh dreams and new tales.
iceNsnow
New member
farewell
peepers cannot sleep
rivers toss in their beds
ice and snow has gone...
peepers cannot sleep
rivers toss in their beds
ice and snow has gone...
Umsaskis
New member
Here's my mud Haiku:
Frozen in morning,
Softens as I start back down,
Sliding at the end.
And here is something closer to home, with my faith tied in:
I climb, and why?
Not to leave behind the world,
But to see the nearest thing
To what once it was.
Before we erred - the mountains remember -
As they stretched high to meet Him who made them.
The mist and rain have poured and lifted
Again and again
Since the day they began,
When they lapped the feet of the hills
And were commanded there to stay.
I climb to see the likeness of His face
In the radiant sun that bathes the slopes with fire and gold.
The rushing of the waters full of spring
Repeating the echo of His voice,
Filling the air,
Pouring between the mountains,
Calling to the clouds that carry Him,
Clouds driven by mighty, endless wind;
Wind unseen yet felt, even as His Spirit.
These fragments, only mildly touched by human stains
Yet still are calling, crying out
To know again their fullness
When He comes.
Frozen in morning,
Softens as I start back down,
Sliding at the end.
And here is something closer to home, with my faith tied in:
I climb, and why?
Not to leave behind the world,
But to see the nearest thing
To what once it was.
Before we erred - the mountains remember -
As they stretched high to meet Him who made them.
The mist and rain have poured and lifted
Again and again
Since the day they began,
When they lapped the feet of the hills
And were commanded there to stay.
I climb to see the likeness of His face
In the radiant sun that bathes the slopes with fire and gold.
The rushing of the waters full of spring
Repeating the echo of His voice,
Filling the air,
Pouring between the mountains,
Calling to the clouds that carry Him,
Clouds driven by mighty, endless wind;
Wind unseen yet felt, even as His Spirit.
These fragments, only mildly touched by human stains
Yet still are calling, crying out
To know again their fullness
When He comes.
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