The great, green Giant sleeps all through the day;
beer-bellied, toes outstretched, dipping into the sea.
He lazes beneath the springtime sun, while we sit idly
anticipating possibilities and to-bes.

This dead castle bursts with life,
seagulls, and sandwiches,
and cameras capturing the view
onto something they can hold;
something graspable.

                *

The Giant disappears at night;
merging with the mountains.
Fading into the dark, as the waning moon
creeps up behind and over and above;
dripping reflections to feel a connection
with the earth again.

Lovers wander now, wandering through the flirting streets
which tease with uncertainty, and curtain the
awe-striking depth of the darkness that dumbs their speech
as they 'turn at this corner and just along the promenade..'.

Pushed back by a blast of wind;
numbing hands cold.
Forcing them away from
prolonging a gaze on the Sea's cruel honesty;
knowing they would be driven mad
by endless questions of eternity.

Questions they attempted to drown out with music and dancing
and Tequila shots and the kissing and the music and the dancing...

But now in the air, by this high-tide, they are
Modern-age-small-town-philosophers.
'Have you ever seen the petrified forest?'
Will they tell stories of us too?
Life is so short and now is certain, well...
as certain as certain could be known for certain so..'

So, after meditating on the existence of existence,
they find refuge in the optimistic light of the stars.
Warmth for the spirit from the deep, dark, cold depth of the darkness;
'Because the night is so very young.
Look, there are still stars in the sky...'

Venus is inconsistent; an evening and a morning star.
And, oh, is that Orion's belt?


         Lying on the floor, in the morning, after a night of philosophy.

don't know what to
write
don't know what to
say
whispered words slowly
spirited away
weapons between teeth
saliva soaked blade
slicing tomorrow, tonight and today
wish me luck
the climb may take a while
the mountain you know
you've been there, child
come when there's snow
i'll offer you a cup
wander through the
shadows
my mind turned to dust
mourning sets in
down the mountain you'll go
a jar i'll hand you
fill it with what you need to sow

I awoke
with mountains in their heights
that spoke
of memories that wove
through knees
thighs
and ***** bone --
to the inky waters of the lake below.

In that cabin
where the sable pines enclose
and all about
from coral-white
to grayish
turquoise-blue
snow.

That scene:
on the edge
where the stillness
Knows.

That Feeling ©

Maybe it's the snow-capped mountains piercing the clouds with their magnificence

Maybe it's the tall green pines that have been here since before
Columbus's birth and are over thirty stories high

Maybe it's the roaring river cascading down the mountainside
To the valley below with its salmon defying logic and odds

Maybe it's the rocky ledge so subtly shaped by glaciers thousands of years ago

Maybe it's the smell of the ocean air that greets you in the morning

Maybe it's the pod of killer whales playing alongside the island ferry

Maybe it's the ocean going vessel like a ghost ship on its way to parts unknown

Maybe it's the sight of a soaring eagle gliding oh so effortlessly through the blue skies

Maybe it's the sound of a baby deer born within earshot of a friend

Maybe it’s the fragrance exuded by the myriad of flowers of varying shapes and colors

Maybe it's the sunrise and sunset that makes you gaze in awe

Maybe it's the open arms that greet you when you return home.

And that feeling, it is the knowing that you are exactly
Where you are meant to be

Andreas Simic©

Today I climbed a mountain and screamed at the top of my lungs
It felt so good
To finally let go
To finally be on top
To finally have my voice back
The climb was hard
There were points I thought I wasn't going to make it
But I did.
There were obstacles in the way
Hills, trees, giant rocks
But I overcame
I had so many hands around to steady me along the way
And voices telling me that I had it in me
So I kept pushing
When my legs hurt and my lungs burned
Because I wanted to make it
I wanted to see the view from the top for once
Not from this dark pit I have been making myself live in
Today was the day I took all my troubles, hurt, and my addiction
And I burned that **** on top of the mountain and left it there
I walked down a thousand pounds lighter
And it was ******* beautiful

The patter of an early evening rainstorm awakens her
and she untangles her sweaty limbs from those of her lover.
The sun has begun to set;
the thrill of adventure calls to her once more.
He begins to stir, awoken by her chaotic movements;
And lazily admires her beauty as she sifts through mounds of overdue laundry,
still smelling of suntan lotion and chlorine,
in search of the perfect shirt.
She’s late, as always,
She can hear her friends are outside in the car -
blasting throwbacks and spilling drinks
as the laugh and scream for her to hurry.
They fly through the night -
windows open letting the cool breeze filter the air thick of smoke and jubilance
All too eager to reach their destination;
moon children growing restless under the stars.
The ocean calls her home and its salty air clears her mind
as flames shoot out of the fire,
crackling and popping in the midnight sky.
Cheers are heard as bottles are passed;
pulling her head back out of the clouds.
Champagne to welcome the sunrise,
whiskey to bid summer adieu.
Daylight begins to break -
she takes one last drag of her cigarette and turns to go.
He’s still sleeping when she arrives,
this time she’s more careful not to wake him when she leaves.
The morning dew on bare feet remind her it’s time to move on -
the mountains are calling her name and to them she would roam;
it was always temporary,
changing with the seasons.
But to him -  
she tasted like skittles,
and she smelled like summer;
one he would never forget.