Sunrise on the summit of Snowdon
a young vagabond breathed
there was a wondrous road ahead

Solving every problem
With a belly full of tea
And your feet
Hitting the treadmill
Shoulders taking on
The rowing machine
When dreams of mom dying
Keep you up at night
Who made the molecules
Behind your eyes
That shine
And glitter like Aztec gold
Through the green foliage
The right angles of your face
Looming like the himalayas
Annapurna and Everest
In the minds
Of mountaineers
And ex-boyfriends who can't forget
Your perfect china doll complexion
Rosy cheeks
A fake shade of delicate
You could hold up a bank with those eyelashes
Reaching for the sky
No time to call the police
Just put your hearts in my hands boys
And no one gets hurts

Put your toes on my shoulders
Sister
I'm always here for a boost
Take that leap sister
The world was
Made for you

What's your mirror think?
Does it watch you disappear?
Does it watch you blink?

Safe beverages
8 decades to puppeteer
Love your blemishes

Dating makes us sad
Auto-ionize our fear
Acting ironclad

Romance; the great farce
We just wanna climb up here
To indulge the hearts

Earth grips my poor eyes
Her key to the stratosphere
Locked up compromise

Dying for mudpools
Mountaineers might make things clear
Hope ya like blood-stools.

Send me a cartoon
Send a silver chandelier
Send me poems soon

If - Vancouver was born
“Quite fun. Ran up this with my partner on our first time
  up to the top of the Chief. Great fun!” - Juler 2011-09-03

Then - The alpine was created


Mountaineers started at sea level and they walked
into a


“Million thanks to the one who put
permanent draws on the bolts” - calvinclimb 2011-09-07


veritable howling wilderness
to counter this foreign *******

Thus the alpine was created by us:
Learned cosmopolitan alpinists

Would not could not cannot popularize
The exclusive sport of learned cosmopolitan alpinists
To popularize was to vulgarize


“My buudy took a big fall fell clipping,
lucky falls are super safe” - boulamania 2013-06-05

Take for instance Art Cooper’s statement:
You've heard about the Squamish Chief,
The way they go up that rock wall
I don’t think that’s climbing at all.”

No Art, certainly not
Now they do not stay long enough to feel diminished
Unlike us learned cosmopolitan alpinists
“Everyone in the free world has climbed this uber-classic!
Should you get lost, ask the party in front of you where to go” - rock climbing.com
Who drove our teeth through our lips for our
Exploratory climbing
Now
A well used recreational area

you have come
to me,
this early evening

with
a need,
to worship
at my *******.

and who am i
to deny a man,
in his need

you bare
my udders
to the world
and sigh
in adoration.

before your
thumbtip
traces the
bluevein river
that arose during
the suckling season,
years ago
and has never subsided

you are fascinated by it
for me it is a blemish
upon the milky hills
your where your fingertips
trek and wander
those same hills rise now to
ripple and bump under
your roving sheperding skin

and your tongue asks,
seeks, direction in the vale
between
with pressing lips
and murmuring breath

that thumb
intrepid leader
of the pack
has  found a peak
and with rubbing
caress has claimed it
for his own

not to be outdone
your lips grasp
and flag the other one

but be careful
my wonderful
mountaineers
i feel
an earthquake coming on

as you quest and worship
at the two peaked temple

i  sigh and mewl and groan
some goddess i am
when i am the one who begs
you the peon for mercy

but soon the peon
shall become the god
and the goddess,
a pilgrim.

then i begin
a  sacred sojuorn,
in the southern regions
as i  worship
and love and own.

The world is your mirror.

Mountains of mystery grow and crumble.
Mountaineers conquer the peaks and some stumble.
Poets dream,
And the fearful hide.
Hero cries echo in the crags that crack the skies.
Burning volcanoes exploding with sulphur,
Tall shadows forever hiding within her.

Sweeping tsunamis destroying with rage,
Peace is the ocean that brings this age.
Sailor that loved her she buried below,
Lovers that saw her were lost in her glow.

The Terra Firma,
We walk and are buried.
Like a mother
She fed and has carried.

The blood of the martyrs and murderers she caught,
The food for the children and the dying she wrought.
Sometimes barren and bare,
Or green without care,
Her arid, her acid, her ice and her air.

So much mystery,
So much madness,
All her ecstasy hides her sadness.
So much history forged with newness.
So much truth, so many truths lost in transit.

Our touch,
Our taste,
Our mind,
Our breath-

So much to mention and much left out.
So much discovered and been found out.
Words can never amount or count,
The dim reflection,
The horror,
The magnificence.

The other side,
You.

I'm write, where I'm to be
in the corner
brick & mortar
bookstore
lone hard chair
my right arm broken
with all my problems
I'll bet again sorrow will solve them
toboggan mountaineers
harden before me
in sections of books
that seem to only
be About poetry
they're already dead
the story for them
is on the dustjackets

I, and the wise
throwaway in trash baskets

I need to backpack again
not to get away
but to go in
immersion!
into the elements
like sliding gently into a hot spring pool
I will go!
going in – deeply
to sightline’s ample expanse
where I am NOT a small fish
but a star, in my corner of the darkness
a sun – that builds with one’s willingness to see it’s place in the universe
a light that blankets itself across the breathing canvas
that is perceived and conceived
more than in different months and minds
but as an elevated mirage

I need to backpack again
beyond accessible peaks and valleys of the rockies
to shared trails rarely travel during winter seasons
only inhabited by a few birds and critters
and mountaineers preparing for their
“conquering of the seven summits”
I would gladly join either group, if invitations were sent
but would also be quite content now
to leave the earbuds in my pocket
to feel, to hear the prickling of the chilled alpine winds
through fibers in my wool beanie
even as I traverse slowly over rock, ice and snow

I need to backpack again
to scope out shades that would present themselves, and say hello
to reflect in all thy reflection
to breathe slower – and slower – and slower
breathing out toxins and anxieties
inadvertently allowed to enter my humdrum, my rhythm
effecting and infecting even my organs
the fresh altitude air now needs unfettered access to my lungs
and the snow-capped cloudless afternoons
give permission to much desired snow-blindness
coffee and tea take on new meaning as well
and each sentence of a sand county almanac can be read
and my muscles will gain power, endurance, fortitude
and thoughts of loved ones will fondly skew themselves
and I will be neither king nor extra
but a small dragon – with limitations and capacities equally known
emotion and temperament need not invent themselves here
not from the electron exchange within, but arriving from the west
I can see it all, I start to desire it all
from the front door of my office
it’s calling now, and I need to go

I need to backpack again
not to get away
but to go in – deeply
to sightline’s ample expanse
that builds with one’s willingness to look
in light that blankets itself across the breathing canvas
that differs in concept and perception
more than in different months and minds
but as an elevated mirage
these inaccessible peaks and valleys of the rockies
have trails few travel this time of year
at altitudes that invite only a few birds and critters
and serious mountaineers making their preparations for their
“conquering of the seven summits”
I would gladly join either group, if there are openings
but would also be quite content with
my earbuds in my pocket
the chilled alpine winds through my wool beanie
trekking slowly over rock, ice and snow

I need to backpack again
to see the shades that would present themselves
to reflect in all reflection
to breathe slower
breathing out toxins and anxieties
that have been allowed to enter my humdrum, my rhythm
effecting and infecting my organs
to allow my lungs unfettered access
to all the fresh altitude it would like
to blind my eyes on the snow-capped cloudless afternoons
where tea and coffee are most pleasant
where a sand county almanac can be read
where my muscles gain power, endurance, fortitude
where thoughts of loved ones fondly skew themselves
where I am neither king nor extra
but a small dragon – limitations and capacities equally known
where emotion and temperament need not invent themselves
in the electron exchange within, but arriving from the west
I can see it all, I start to desire it all
from the front door of my office
it’s calling now, I need to go