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I sailed on a catamaran, and let the wind guide it
I didn’t push against the current but let destiny choose it
I let it choose its people, I let it choose its place
I let it choose its timing, I let it choose its race

First thing I know, we jump off the boat
We swim under sun set and let our bodies float
We put clay on our faces, now looking all white
We laugh about it and talk for a while

The sun is down, so we start heading back
All the sudden, thousands of stars are out
We jump off again, time goes in slow-mo
Water to the hips, I was given a mango

A mango so tender and sweet
It almost swept me off my feet
While sharing laughter and lifelong conversations
These travellers became my constellations

I sailed on a catamaran, and let the wind guide it
It left me with amazing friends and joy wrapped around it
This excruciating happiness was like an oracle
And little did I know, it was my mango miracle
This is set in Mexico, Bacalar, a "seven shades of blue" lagoon.
This poem describes the happiest I've felt, ever. The kind of happiness you feel to the core. It taught me that when you let go of the control you might impose on your life, it can take you such unexpected places where you get to explore new feelings. I call it my mango miracle because that day has, for so many reasons, made me more spiritual, more connected to nature and more in balance with myself.
Lundy Jul 2020
After a year I took you to the Eastern Sierras. Home.

Last time I was here these mountains seemed bigger, in pictures my face was thinner.

Walking in my granfathers footsepts I spoke of my family, I spoke of these canyons, you spoke of your dreams, and you spoke of us.

Black coffee in our matching cups. You make it strong; like me I said.

With the high sierra granite surrounding us we removed our bandaids and wondered where the scars went.


Everyone knows a broken heart is blind. At least that's what Jack thought me. After pondering it for quite sometime I think that I would like to give you mine. I think you see me.
Juhlhaus Jul 2019
O black toad,
Sage of the sodden floor,
Grant me your stoicism
As I my go labored way.
And may you prosper,
Consume legions, grow fat;
Yet deftly elude all
Who would do you injury.
A tribute to the noble toad of the Northwoods.
Abigail Annette Apr 2019
Soon, we will be immersed in the woods, Along the lake and under the trees.
For 300 miles, we'll be together,
Welcoming the sunrise and
Kissing the sunset goodnight.
We will dream under the stars
And share our thoughts with the moon.
The birds will sing for us
As Spring grows.
The breeze will travel with us,
Whispering to us through the leaves.
Soon, we will be immersed in love.
wrote this for my boyfriend and he said it was beautiful, my heart is full
Dshamilja Sturm Apr 2019
It was noon, sometime in mid-July;
Imagine the road, a twisting highway to my grave.
The bus, a roller coaster ride unhinged from the tracks.
Dodging missiles with headlights, horns rattling my nerves.
Just another three hours.

It was midnight, somewhere out at sea,
Somewhere in the universe, the Milky Way, another galaxy.
A shallow heartbeat, a distant echo of a Chinese Karaoke show, but all else was still.
The stars never seemed so vast, and I remembered that they were bigger than me,
I was just a speck.

It rained on the way back to ** Chi Minh,
The roads turned to rivers, the scooters grew ponchos; under them a family of three.
The city brought chaos; sad, tired faces, begging for one thousand ****; a cent.
The children danced in the downpour, jumping over sticks
Like hopscotch.

I thought of Ha Long Bay, just the night before,
I couldn’t hear the silence; I couldn’t see the stars; a dingy hostel ceiling, grumbling strangers snores.
I went to sleep dreaming of peaceful valleys, fresh spring waters, trees as far as the eye could see,
For tomorrow was a new day,
The next part of my journey.
Lucius Furius Aug 2018
I left my mittens in the Smokies.
It was that night at Maddron Bald on the ridge
after we'd hiked from Davenport Gap --
12 miles, 4,000 feet.
The girl gave us icicles.
Dazed and breathless, we pitched the tent
and scrambled into our sleeping bags.
  
The morning sun felt good -- Sterling Ridge
on our left, Cosby far below to the right;
Mt. Guyot with its spruces and firs;
lunch at Tri-Corner ****; then down through
the rhododendrons and mud to McGhee Springs.
Raven Fork -- the beech tree, the icy water,
the boulders, the sunlight.
Cabin Flats and Smokemont -- the rain,
the people with pancakes.
  
Campfires, backpacks, flapjacks, barley;
sunshine, lichens, blisters, . . . wood-smoke.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_018_mittens.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Maxx Dec 2017
an army of naked sycamores
like skeletons- they march,
for the porcelain forest
reclaiming their art
one leaf at a time
the golden hour of sundown
like an indigo pacifier
silences the landscape in
preparation for the great horned owl's decree
lionness Dec 2015
oh, how
we have
grown.

we have left
that lifestyle of
hair in our faces
and scarred skin
worn like a
battleshield.
we have quit
cowering beneath
it all. we have
escaped the smell
of hospital beds and
the taste of pills
dissolving
under our tongues.

we have grown,
and although we are
a little grayer, a little
less alive,
we made it out of those
years, and that is
all that matters to
me.

come what may,
so long as the mountains
are carrying us.
Alex Hoffman Sep 2015
Though the first carried more miles, the second day of the hike was totally and unapologetically uphill. 
When you ascend, hiking becomes the zen of endurance.



First, you are stripped of all the pleasures of hiking. Your excitement is boiled into lactic acid. Your love for the trail is baked, hardened and dehydrated into thoughts of laying down in the sun until the heat shrivels you into an unconscious raisin.



Try as you may to put on your “isn’t hiking just a slice of heaven?” face, strangers passing you on the downhill stride can only see your “PLEASE GOD, HELP ME OR ******* **** ME” face.

As much as hiking really is a small slice of heaven, there is no denying the living-death of taking 10 straight miles to the knees under the chaffing hell of a 50 pound sack in the relentless sun. 


But when you’re back in an office, sitting on your cushy little ergonomic chair, you long for the sweat and the torture that forces your mind to the ankle deathtraps of mountain terrain. To the deep valley behind and below you, and the crystal basin at the foot of the granite Giants.



The worst thing you can do is ignore the pain—that makes it relentless. Instead you focus on the pain until you become it. The only thing left is the moment between each step, when you remember why you are here and what it is worth. Every time your foot touches dirt, it leaves twice the footprint. One on the mountain and another in your memory where you will safeguard the misery of your ascent and hold on for dear life. One day, when your knees are too weak and your body can no longer table your pack, all the pleasures and joys of the trail that you once thought dissipated in the steam of uphill toil will come rushing back with the magnified strength of every year between you and the present you once knew and respected enough to actually live.

And if you didn’t, if you let it only be pain to get through and not to focus or dwell on, then that is what it is and will always be. A dull memory of pain, dark and somber and incomplete.
Wrote this after a backpacking trip to Yosemite Valley. It's accompanied by a photo, which you can see here: http://www.theplaidzebra.com/how-to-embrace-the-zen-of-hiking-with-purpose/
Alisha Vabba Sep 2015
My bones still feel humid
Above these clouds
As I soak in these days

A song with strangers in the rain
Una pachada
my voice softer than ever

Humid walls
Faded colours, vivid people
bright warm darkness and so many stars!

I can feel you slowly leaking out
Life soaking back in
With this music…

You, who filled me with emptyness,
And I bled with anguish.

Now I bleed light and love and life
I’ve been awake for days
I am everywhere.

And you’re alone,
Lusting after your own charms:
Your perfect inconsolable pain.

I loved you fear and restrain.
How can I look after you
Here on this rooftop, under the scalding sun?

Now my mind sees more
And my eyes run wild
Fireworks in this cold comfort

These dunes by the ocean
Are a smaller desert
Then your desolate company.
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