I watch as the roaming sea
(whose wandering rivulets unravel
posthumous biographies
with nuances corroding
the mystery of untouched sands)
fills rivers with muffled words.

My eyes travel
(distances beyond our curdled whites
to shores whose cultured tones
roll like restless hills
lamenting their broken lines)
with ships and dying sunsets.

You are venturing
(to dive in mermaids' coves
revealing their buried tales,
wrapped in murky clouds
of tenebrous veins)
and I am content

--to whisk a limpid hand
(in churning waters' waves
reflecting your seeking gaze
and the wanderlust
that simmers)
through my most desolate sighs.
Sweetly roll the summer hills,
Swept up by silky seeded grass,
That bends above the lark’s soft nest,
Beside the tracks of milky cows
That once grazed content,
            And then ambled on.

Gently roll the summer hills
That start the Alleghenies,
Crowned by standing timber
Not felled by pioneer;
Where coyotes sing their hunt and kill;
Where deer hide their spotted fawns
           In stillness and in hope.

Onward roll the summer hills
That drop to dusky rivers—
Fed by streams of winter melt—
Which shelter scaly fish
Marked by a shining rainbow,
Who twist through murky waters
      To pools of cooler depths.

Sweetly roll the summer hills
To sounds of lurking thunder,
While clouds suspend their misty flight
To drench the farmer’s pasture,
Culled from rock and limestone beds
Amended by the fodder of horses
        pulling old-time plows.

I walk the hills, along the paths
That scramble through the boulders,
Left by glaciers in retreat
And shrouded now by laurel,
I climb to make the pinnacle
Before the sun drops lower, to breathe
        the evening’s clear bright air.
Wass Jun 18
Swathes of swollen, rolling hills
With chops of fluffy, dry grass scattered over. It’s nice knowing they’re also not perfect, no one has cleared away they’re loose ends.
Silver, bumpy cloud fluff is grasped and pulled along through the air.
Blowing wind is picking up planting a chill on my arms raising the little hairs like baby fuzz.
H Jun 12
the river winding down below
the rushing sounds of rapids flow

while high above the trees I stand
to breathe the wonders of this land

vast pines outstretching toward the sky
give shelter to the fowl that fly

the covered rocks and earth that stay
stuck forever in their place

for years on end this place has been
untouched by man, untouched by sin

to some it may seem boring, though
to be in such a place alone

hidden in hills, surrounded by stone
but, for me,
it's coming home
Steve Page Apr 26
Out here there is no screen time
There's nothing to distract
There's no Wi-Fi, no 4G signals
Just me and my old back pack

Out here my mind can wander
My feet can wander too
There's no sat nav here to guide me
There's just me and there's just you

Out here I can breath more deeply
Out here I can see clear through
Out here I can speak so freely
Out here I can hear only you
Oh to leave the chatter behind.
Haiku Donna Mar 14
The sun is shining
Upon a pretty green hill
Horses wear warm coats
I saw horses in field today they look cosy and warm bless x
Shed superfluous notions
with dirt between your toes,
be surprised by the superficiality
of oceans of cherished woes

as you surmount the duality
between your “self” and
the “world” outside you, for here
you breathe deeply with the hills
and the birds and the mud.
Ryan Poplett Jan 20
Inspiration is a hard thing to grasp
When you mind is empty
Like a field of grass
Yet filled within this field
Is nothing but countless hills
Rolling and moving and slowing
Soothing this lush green meadow
A massage to help the mind to help it mellow
Making it shallower and less
Convoluted. Not so complex, not seething in
Interpreted meanings and stained allusions to
Past confusions, not waves that pummel the grassy shores
Seizing those hills in frothy exhalations, seeming so
Unseemly to those guardian hills
Holding those pleasant fields and pleasant thoughts
Safe while the waves wash among the grass
And become those hills now washed with sea

And then my mind turned blue.
Tsunami Jan 19
The train tracks raced.
Connected you to I,
Wound through some sort of subspace,
Fell asleep to their lullabies.

Under bridges.
Over hills.
Drink your courage.
Swallow your pills.

The train tracks ran,

SO DID YOU.
abandonment is a hard pill to swallow when home never existed
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