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Hammad Nov 2020
is like
scaling The Everest
the higher you go,
the more difficult
it becomes
to breathe...
so my dear
bear with me
If I stop
to acclmatize
and catch my breath
before I could
push further up
don't you worry
I am not giving up
just yet...
Dylan McFadden Sep 2020
Planted upon Mount Zion
By the Ancient of Days:
A Magnificent Tree seen – beheld –
By withering grasses’ gaze

Seasons come, go, and change;
The Tree is here to stay
Withstanding time and weathering,
Won’t bend or ever fray...

Word is carried by the Wind,
Sent forth through gentle whispers:
"The Tree of Life is here indeed,
Let ears who hear be listeners"

Prepare the heart! Prepare the way!
Find Rest down by the River…
Where running sweet…is scarlet sap...
And fruit that will deliver...

Amanda Kay Burke Feb 2020
It has been awhile since I've written
Busy and it's hard to find time
I know that each first word I write
The start of a difficult climb

Every foothold hard to find
Work for each sentence and letter
When I finally reach the end
Feel as if I could have done better
Written 8-11-13

I have almost posted every old poem i have from middle school (2007) through 2017
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Above Mount Fuji
Sizzling, the noon sun suspend
frigid smoke erupts
Haiku at noon at Mount Fuji
Jonathan Moya Sep 2019
Rapid City wears its patriotism like a shroud.
Corner streets are populated with less than
life-size statues of past presidents
squinting at the distant Black Hills
where the grandeur of Mt. Rushmore
casually crumbles their bronze dreams.

Wax settlers, loggers and gold miners
stake claims with souvenir hunters
touring a mine, panning for fool’s gold.

In nearby Custer, 75 breaths  from Wounded Knee,
shops hawk Chief Joseph, Sitting Bull, Geronimo t-shirts
proclaiming them “ The Original Founding Fathers.”
Mixed in are those in star-spangled letters and fireworks
proudly streaming “Welcome to America. Now Speak English.”

Rushmore was dynamited from a cliff
by a creator who spent the rest of his life
erecting grand Confederate gestures
out of ****** Georgia quartz monzonite—
finished and opened 100 years to the day
after Abraham Lincoln’s assassination.  

Thirty minutes from Rushmore, existing in its shadow
on private land filled with dusty trails,
unfinished after seventy years,
probably still unfinished after twenty  more,
facing away from these great stone faces,
emerging from the side of great Thunderhead Mountain,

on an ivory stead with a mane of flowing river and wind,
exists the Oglala Lakota warrior Tasunke Witko
the worm of Crazy Horse the Old and Rattling Blanket Woman,
sibling of Little Hawk and Laughing One, memory of the spirit of
Black Buffalo and White Cow who walked with an Iron Cane,
all enclosed with him in this massive breath of white stone.

The history of this great Indian space stretches the land,
four times higher than the Statue of Liberty,
extending beyond the warrior frown, the pointing left arm.
The horse’s ear alone is the size of a rusty  reservation bus.
When finished it will be the largest sculpture in history,
bigger than the land, breath and all of Indian memory.

It was the Vision Quest of Chief Henry Standing Bear to show the whites that the red man had great heroes, too.
In a man named Korczak he found a kindred spirit,
a storyteller in stone, a survivor of Omaha Beach,
who when the first wife faltered, found a second
who gave him enough children to carry, sculpt the Bear Dream.  

The big chief’s face is still the only finished part.
Korczak’s wife and children toil with the rest,
struggling to capture the essence of a warrior
who never allowed his shadow to be snared
in the false glow of the white man’s light,
trusting only the rain beams that fall

onto his people, mountains, plains and buffaloes,
onto Paha Sapa, “the heart of everything that is,”
where the Lakota huddled while the world was created,
now a land of broken treaties and dying dreams,
drenched in the dust of tears underneath,
while this white face torn from red gazes East.
Wounded Knee is not only the sight of an 1800’s Indian Massacre but the rumored burial spot of Sitting Bull.

The grand confederate gesture refers to Stone Mountain park, a Mt Rushmore etched with the faces of the Confederacy: Robert E. Lee,
When I look up
I found your shape
When I look at the horizon in the east

I find your shine
When I look at the horizon in the west
I f find your hair holding the mount
As treasure as wires of gold
When a fresh wind touches me
I hear your voice whispers in melody

When the sun shines
I see your smile's teeth  
When I see the green land
I rememeber how you are kind
the love fills every shape the lover , and makes him as mad man
Dr Bob Bruck Apr 2019
I climb to feed the rat
           A gnawing unsatiable parasite
I climb not to die
            But to live
The knife-edge ridge beckons
             Could cut me to ribbons
The vertical ice shines - come forth
              Into my womb
One foot after another
My lungs heave
               My body yearns
I see visions
                But are they real?
The white citadel calls
                 Come- and see God
Like a snake
                  In a Gadda Da Vida
Come to me
                  And die in my arms
PoserPersona May 2018
Through these woods on red tint trails;
Mount Hood is where I go

Stresses regress on mountain's back;
steady streams glisten bliss

Little lizards crawl round rocks
Mother Nature their only clock

In summer's open fields of grass,
yellow flowers bloom in pacts

Colored birds tune melody
Forest whispers harmony

Private property impedes my journey.
Hey, this is my earth, too.

Birds, trees, and humming bees may swing as they desire
But God forbid my fellow man idle just one hour

Open roads open doors
to worlds I've never seen before

I enter.
You may shoot to my doom, but I intend to bloom
chloe fleming Jan 2018
I want to be like Mount Saint Helens,
Strong and firm, quaking every couple years in the faces of the helpless.
I want to make newspaper headlines and magazine articles for being fearless and tall,
Sputtering and spewing at those who've wronged me.
I want to be the conquest men dare try,
Out of fear of being swallowed whole.
The deadly concoction of pure beauty and viciousness,
Threatening those who taunt from below.
Unpredictable and dangerously violent,
They still will want my picture and tell their children of me,
Mount Saint Helens glory will never fade,
For her might is much to strong for the common man.
But I,
I will keep on,
I will conquer and cast my plight willingly
And when they see me, they will tremble because they will know of my unpredictability and daunting grace.
A deadly concoction,
That Mount Saint Helens might find idyllic.
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