"crampons" poems
Weather tight
mist roaming over
ineptitudes follows
waterfalls and serpentines.
All would be good with crampons, boots and fleece,
if prior instructions were followed
but with a misfit Meetup group
half are experienced
the rest are the stuff of strugglers
break or make every one of them
on the Brecon Beacons
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
Her present universe reflects an insurmountable challenge.
See how she struggles, climbing then sliding back on her alpine slope.
Climbing then sliding,
climbing, sliding.
How relentless her microscopic brain.
How miraculous such a diminutive creature evokes our human emotions.
Poor hopeless thing. She is the center of my attention.
She can count on all eight of her fuzzy legs that a sherpa rescue is at hand.
I toss in a towel.
Aware of oppressor, not saviour, she contorts her body,
covers her eyes with her legs. Screws herself into a dried raisin.
A class act if ever I saw one!
When the sound of thunder ceases to rattle the bath
she cautiously unfurls, stretches her joints,
then scurries over the snowy fibres.
Only then does a frisson of fear creep across my flesh.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2011
Jun 6, 2011
Jun 6, 2011 at 2:07 AM UTC
The moon glared above,
exposed solid ice
beneath headlamp-glow.
Winds whipped across the wall,
freezing warm breath-vapor
onto my stinging-face.
Chinks of my axe echoed
against the moraine,
crampons etched
my signature behind.
Slowly I moved up
into the pitch-void,
toward the twinkling stars.
Tethered
to my kindred-spirits,
together we found truth
on the summit-push.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
I sat frozen
to ice age glacier
staring at the sunlight
glinting off my crampons.
At seven thousand meters,
the sky is black not blue,
you can't breathe,
it feels like you're
gonna have a heart attack.
Clouds swirled around me
like ghosts whispering
a cosmic-language
before disappearing
into the jet stream,
leaving you
in a dream-like state.
Some locals tried
to sell me a blunt
in the thin air
up there
& I refused.
I didn't need the ****
I was already hallucinating.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
We came to the ice wall
in gale winds,
a forty-degree slab
glistened in our way.
Scree stung our faces,
beards frozen with snot,
we wondered if anything
sacred even existed
in this Godforsaken place.
Six-hundred meters
of free fall was behind us
to rock bottom, time
was growing short,
we had to move quickly,
before we froze our ***** off,
literally.
So there we went...
straight up the wall,
swinging our axes
like wild men
with clubs.
*****
*****
ka-chink.
*****
*****
ka-chink.
*****
*****
ka-chink.
*****
*****
ka-chink.
*****
*****
Breath.
Ahhhhh.
Breath.
Ahhhh.
Breath.
Ahh.
Whew,
thank God for
these ninety-dollar crampons,
we couldn't have done this
without them.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
We sat stoically together
connected by thin rope
on the tongue of the glacier.
Wrapped in warm feathers
like Michelin-men,
we deciphered
the operation of crampons
& giggled maniacally
about doing it with
stone-blue fingertips.
Headlamps glowed
as starlight glittered
off the ice wall facing us,
leaving traces of a million suns
burned into my retinas.
Frozen snot clung
to my moustache
like hungry ticks
and all I could think of
was sticking to the plan.
A short jaunt
across sixty-degree slick-glass,
then over the moraine
for eight hours straight up,
zigzagging to Heaven.
And standing ten minutes
in that sacred place,
we'd kiss cloud zephyrs,
dole out high fives
with splitting headaches,
crack huge smiles
with ****** noses
taking Kodak moments
before the six-hour descent
to hot chicken soup.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
.
This morning
like the first rays of summer
When I open my window
Lights like that from a laser sight
searching through
my dimmed out room
A brief moment of confusion
but then Afterwards
A new map
is projected
on my bedroom wall
Unexplored countries
Beaches and seas
Ready to climb
Abseiling down
the world
without either crampons
or a helmet on my awakened head
.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
My crampons crunched into the snow, as the sky began to come alive with the sun rising over a crest behind me. The only lights near me are headlamps in a straight row, and the whiteness from the snow appearing more clearly. Six people mimic me, tied together by harnesses and a blue and green weaved climbing rope, a six to eight step difference. Relying on me to lead, guide, and set the pace, I stop to look behind me to see a row of white helmets glowing from their headlamps. "Step. Crunch. Breath in. Step. Crunch. Breath Out. Step. Crunch. Breath in," I yell military style. They need me to talk through our breathing. 13,000' and my legs are moving slower, the crampons are feeling heavier with each step. My breathing feels like its being strangled by the rope attached to my back carabiner. I want to stop. Sit. Eat. Not move again. I wonder how I can check in with others behind, how I can lead, yell, talk if I feel light-headed, questioning my decisions to tip-toe on the edge of a crevasse that has just appeared, I think. I have lost track of how many hours have passed. The sun is my best friend reminding me of time, as it burns off the whisking clouds appearing at my head as my elevation increases. As I remember to look up, look ahead, I know we are close, highest I have ever been. I want to run, but I know I am moving in very slow motion. I slip off my crampons, thankfully being able to walk on stone, scree and scramble to the summit to kiss the sky at 14, 562'.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
no shortage of familiar metier real
(material) aye attest
welling up within thy breast
merely a predicament how to winnow
junk bonded barnacled
accretion encrusted
amidst gems buried
within treasure chest,
yet vigilant to sift,
viz figurative fine tooth comb
uprooting excrescence laired plethora
incognito, sans faux
couture doggerel habiliment dressed
necessitating painstaking
poetic rock climbing
ala scaling Mount Everest
imbedding, hooking, grappling
fingered duple crampons
aye con fessed
to myself, the futility
to wrest Shakespearean nuggets,
which analogy hyperbole you guessed
nor does modesty allow me feeble effort
(trite) on par with August bard,
who would rank him,
the highest allotted value
upon assigned (absolute)
value of playing card,
hence tis the gold standard thee
verse a tile scribe based
at Stratford on Avon
this here wordsmith wields
his own literary might always on guard
to stave reprehensible tar tarred plaque
like encrustation glued hard
akin to a geode methodical
mother lode extraction jarred
by the slightest distraction,
thus with bold
ness sigh hermetically
seal off every cerebral fold
vectors against superfluous mind chatter
can upend fragile tenuous hold
when merest wisp of nearly
elusive mental thread escapes,
i feign scold
ding this paperback
bestseller wannabe with told
cha so Harris, thus
keep dreaming envisioning
an green acred Edenic demesne
sprawling across wide webbed wold.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC
Canyons for the whole
Canyons steel and soul
Rampant pouring concrete
The metro martyr's s gall
Crampons lest the mettle minded find he fathoms fall
The tether held, that cast's this spell
Is weathered, weary, shawl
And Titans that sit on lofty heights
Do Blacken out the sky
Are jewel's of pain with storied gain
As earth below does die
So to the past inhabitants
Imperative must wait
And shuffle through
A land made cold
Of stone and rock and slate.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 12:56 AM UTC
Careful
Please don't fa-a-all,Oh please, don't fall,
You may slip and *** go airborne.
Please don't fa-a-all,Oh please don't fall
Don you now
L.L.,Bean crAMpons.
Please don't fall,Please Don't FAll,PLEASE DON'T FALL!
If you do do
you can return them.
Just wait past New Years,
before you call.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
no shortage of familiar metier real
(material) aye attest
welling up within thy breast
merely a predicament how to winnow
junk bonded barnacled
accretion encrusted
amidst gems buried
within treasure chest,
yet vigilant to sift,
viz figurative fine tooth comb
uprooting excrescence laired plethora
incognito, sans faux
couture doggerel habiliment dressed
necessitating painstaking
poetic rock climbing
ala scaling Mount Everest
imbedding, hooking, grappling
fingered duple crampons
aye con fessed
to myself, the futility
to wrest Shakespearean nuggets,
which analogy hyperbole you guessed
nor does modesty allow me feeble effort
(trite) on par with August bard,
who would rank him,
the highest allotted value
upon assigned (absolute)
value of playing card,
hence tis the gold standard thee
verse a tile scribe based
at Stratford on Avon
this here wordsmith wields
his own literary might always on guard
to stave reprehensible tar tarred plaque
like encrustation glued hard
akin to a geode methodical
mother lode extraction jarred
by the slightest distraction,
thus with bold
ness sigh hermetically
seal off every cerebral fold
vectors against superfluous mind chatter
can upend fragile tenuous hold
when merest wisp of nearly
elusive mental thread escapes,
i feign scold
ding this paperback
bestseller wannabe with told
cha so Harris, thus
keep dreaming envisioning
an green acred Edenic demesne
sprawling across wide webbed wold.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
FAILURE
Three stalwart kings and a wannabe queen.
How did she not make it to the throne
Two couldn’t do it and the third refused
So the jeweled seat remained vacant.
An army of lovers professing faith
To a heart looking its own castle
But when she broke down on the 405
Not one came to change her flat tire.
A mountain of effort dampened with sweat
Proved too slippery to climb on
And those with a rope to pull her on up
Were too busy cleaning their crampons.
Three rays of sunlight in a world filled with shade
She tried to step into those circles
But the shadows held invisible fences
And she only got to the edges.
Three strikes is out and third time’s a charm
A trinity rules in the heavens
Don Quixote tilted three windmills
And all Genies grant only three wishes
Life turned as cold as a three dog night
And the mountain in surmountable.
Time to pack life into three shiny pods
And move them to Laughlin, Nevada.
ljm
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
on warm afternoons i sit on the terrace
in the sun reading
looking up to watch the washing move
trying to concentrate
on climbing
crampons heavy
we slowly move upward
while laundry dries nicely
on the line
not yesterday though
nor today for we have a storm with no name
and you guessed it Jim , I am aiming for the summit of
everest
James
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 12:51 AM UTC