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Broadsky Jan 2018
She sat there on her mountain top pleased with where she found herself. Yet each day she would chisel where she sat, "a chisel each day" she thought "won't do any harm." So each day she would awl where she rested maybe to see if one day she'd have nothing left to chisel, maybe the mountain would swallow her whole for destroying its wonderous peak, maybe nothing would happen- maybe nothing at all. So she persisted til one day there was nothing left to chisel, and she went tumbling down.
I'm falling in a downwards spiral off a cliff and I was the one who pushed me.
nick armbrister Jan 2018
Ice Fly
How many pilots died and old aircraft lost when they flew over jagged snowy peaks in the remotest corners of the world? Doing a dangerous job knowing the risks and trusting in fate and luck to bring the through. Some never made it, there planes impacting vertical mountain sides in sickening crashes. Bodies lost forever, frozen in the time of death. Icily cold and otherworldly remote.

From the Andes to Himalayas, Alps to the Rockies. If you ***** up or your engine stops, you’re going to crash and suffer. Survive and you’re *******, twenty thousand feet above sea level with no chance of rescue, just a slow cold death.

Of the ones who live and beat death in the mountains, they have stories to hold their grand kids in awe. Did you really fly a C-46 over the ****, risking *** fighters and Mother Nature? Sure did son, it was a walk in the park. Of the ones who didn’t make it, they remain forever on coldly beautiful mountains holding up the roof of the world.

Maybe their ghost will remain there forever, in rapture of the beauty of icy mountains, forgetting how they died.
butterfly Jan 2018
overlooking misty mountains
puddles left on the road
which one should i look?
Freestyle Haiku Series 2018
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.
Garrett Burger Jan 2018
Proposing to post a poem.
One that is my proudest
One written so peacefully

I found this instead.

Finding it more and more often
Posting a lyric instead
That doesn't match the song playing
In the core

Of me, I feel it.
Heart beating, heart breaking
Heart singing
Heart wasting

Wasting away in a scorned past
One that is not relevant
That did not last
To the poems seeking to be shared

Move. Or I will
Out of the way
Your emotions are far overplayed
They've been listened to
And addressed
I've been raw
I've been patient
Displayed my best

I've learned from the experience
Though now it's time to rest

Reside to your slumber,
Find a new host you call home
The house is empty
And I'm not alone

I will move,
It's my decision.
My actions
My light
Without attachment
Without possession

Without scornfully burnt tires
Without redemption
Without needing approval

Make way for light.
Move, or I will

Because I'm too focused
On what's under each rock

These mountains don't move
We navigate around them
Over them
Through them

Move or I will
So it looks like, it will be me.

I've addressed this mountain from every angle
And I'm still not making it home
Time passes
Fog clears
Seasons progress
And change
And it's still the same mountain


I'm ready for the beach
What you let it be, it becomes. Emotions, hear them out to avoid getting stuck on repeat. These sounds keep me from hearing my favorite song.
as snow
was laid
cross the
valley here
and aft-blown
streets still
mashed on
pavements as
the foothills
were now
pipes for
skiing that
just once
I'd see
her snow
angel tonight
Sarah Peracha Dec 2017
Icy days and nights,
No summer warms,
No fragrance of green, lush grass,
Close to the sky,
But far from the loved ones,
Rigged battlefield mired with
decades of bloodshed and frustration,
Long blotted the history of the
subcontinent with the deaths of thousands;
Loosing their lives in the warfare!
Poetry by Nida Mahmoed
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