"hilltops" poems
There is snow on the ground,
And the valleys are cold,
And a midnight profound
Blackly squats o'er the wold;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of feastings un-hallowed and old.
There is death in the clouds,
There is fear in the night,
For the dead in their shrouds
Hail the sin's turning flight.
And chant wild in the woods as they dance round a Yule- altar fungous and white.
To no gale of Earth's kind
Sways the forest of oak,
Where the sick boughs entwined
By mad mistletoes choke,
For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark, from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.
52.3k
I saw you in winter,
and thought of tree branches feathered by starlight in poorly lit neighborhoods. A hearth where the more honest parts of myself, I am bared fetal, warmed upon, welcomed.
I saw you in spring,
and thought of long drives in the countryside in the rain. Ice cream melting from our chins dancing petrichor upon our toes, kissing by the sea shore.
I saw you in summer,
and thought of sleepy boathouses, uncovering ancient childhood treasures in the woods. A secret lake somewhere, the sky's reflection in promise. Windy hilltops upon which to blame each other for the sunrise.
I saw you in autumn,
and thought of scarfs and cafes, city streets and sunsets where we watched each others breath escape. Apartment staircases where windchill hibernates, the world slowing down around us from your window.
The first time I saw You, I thought to myself, "I could live there."
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
reach my hands and play with pebbles of
destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
reading "Keep Off."
My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
in the universe.
25.1k
There is snow on the ground,
And the valleys are cold,
And a midnight profound
Blackly squats o'er the wold;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of
feastings unhallowed and old.
There is death in the clouds,
There is fear in the night,
For the dead in their shrouds
Hail the sun's turning flight.
And chant wild in the woods as they dance
round a Yule-altar fungous and white.
To no gale of Earth's kind
Sways the forest of oak,
Where the thick boughs entwined
By mad mistletoes choke,
For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark,
from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.
And mayst thou to such deeds
Be an abbot and priest,
Singing cannibal greeds
At each devil-wrought feast,
And to all the incredulous world
shewing dimly the sign of the beast.
7.9k
Crumbling cities.
Beauty in decay has always reminded me
of you.
When we were little and climbing trees
you told me of ow you would be great
one day,
like Athens and Rome.
I had laughed and called you silly.
Those were places and not people, I had said.
You shoved your tongue out and clamored:
"Watch me do it!"
I think I finally understand what you meant.
Singing songs to me in my backyard you
were amazing, thriving like you had sworn
to me
those many years before.
We danced and screamed from hilltops
with cities unfolding beneath
our mere human feet.
You weren't kind of the world, but you were
king of mine.
Later that night you dropped me off
at my front door.
Kissed my forehead and murmured
"Goodbye, I love you"
instead of wishing me goodnight.
You fell in the time between night and dawn
and when I woke up the next morning
our empire was gone.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
We came,
like young infants
stumbling head-long into hedonistic existence
Feeling air beneath our feet in the weed-smelling rooms,
hiding behind cushions and blankets and exchanging knowing looks
on starry nights.
We ran,
down green hills on hot, sunny days
and burned our hands on shed roofs
and the ends of rolled cigarettes.
We drank,
berry cider in the dark,
dancing drunkenly outside bars,
sharing secrets behind closed doors
and open whiskey bottles.
We needed,
no one but each other
and each other's mothers -
Some opening their arms to us
to swaddle us like newborns,
Others dismissing us with a wave of a hand
We spent,
the last year of our school lives
immersed in each other,
some more than others.
We cried,
like shell-shocked soldiers
behind locked bedroom doors
and into smashed-up mobile phones.
We returned,
to those dark evenings,
to drink ***** on hilltops and smoke endlessly,
laughing at everything ******
We were glowing stars.
We loved,
and those immature jokes hit our shields
and not our bones.
And now our lives have changed
and all those heady evenings spent
hiding beer from Bulgarians
are behind us all.
We are alone,
in this world.
Some moreso than others,
But we are alive.
We are still us.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
Footprints
I saw footprints in the snow
I had to follow where they go
Tip toe'd in every step
To keep my feet from getting wet
Over Hilltops, through valleys
And forests of pine
I traveled and traveled
Snow blind to time
When the footsteps ended
It was once again spring
I traveled the world
and hadn't seen a thing
Stranded by the shores
of vast oceans blue
With very little hope
and nothing to do
Except watch pirates
catch mermaids
With lassos of gold
And dolphins tell stories
Of days of old
As all seemed lost
What did I see
That sent a wave of hope
Crashing over me
I saw footprints in the sand.....
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
You descended into my soul so effortlessly, like dark blue dissipate into the muted periwinkle sky that kiss the hilltops of dew covered mornings.
Had there been but no measurement of the graceful manner in which your touch take a turn from skin to grasping onto organs locked behind the stern walls this may not be so difficult to comprehend.
Yet for the first time, the notion of numbers on a clock became irrelevant and I saw this beginning in gradients and neon bursts of color that illuminate all in its path.
For what can we track the depth of which we dive into oceans- with a ticking minute hand or the depth in which the opacity of our surroundings grow?
I caught you at midnight, I drowned in your essence like 500 kilometers below sea level, I admire you most at sun break, and I love you, how I love you, like the most effortless periwinkle blue.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 8:55 PM UTC
i, the honey bee
travel broadly for sweet nectar
through meadows of honeysuckle
near springs framed with lilies
over hilltops swaying with poppies
i travel near
some days far
searching for my next sip
one that makes it worth the trip
my favorite place to go
is to the hive at night
nestled in the comb
knowing that my honey will provide you with delight
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC
Following dark roads all night
looking for bright lights
to spark excitement and wonder where life went
the further we break from the burden of the world
the thinner the barrier between us and the heavens
I can almost reach out and touch them
while were on these hilltops
dancing like demons and devils
letting the magic dipped paper slip split
my mortal mind from my immortal soul
as the past slithers through the crowd like a snake
lurking in the grass only rearing its head to boast its own self loathing
but being so lost in the bass and the movement
makes me not even close to human
makes me more immune then
a deaf man trying to tune in or an ignorant man assumin'
and just as me and her return from our voyage
mother earth greets us
with the most beautiful sight
these one time eyes have ever seen so pristine
like a dream as a cloud drops to kiss the crisp hilltop
once again everything stops
and I thought
even witnessing the rot that she got
from scraping the bottom of the barrel
and lapping up the sin couldn't dampen the thin grin on my chin
so smile back baby
because not even all the cumpsters, so called friends or Christopher Walken himself
can stop us.
Sep 17, 2011
Sep 17, 2011 at 9:35 PM UTC
*Mountains,
Oceans,
Rivers,
Trees,
The magnificence of nature
Makes me fall to my knees.
Such breathtaking beauty
Brings me to overwhelming tears,
As it captures my heart,
Embraces my soul,
And strips me
Of my anxiety and fears.
Valleys,
Hilltops,
Wildflowers,
Streams,
Serene, soulful nature
Vividly alive in my dreams.
By Lady R.F. (C)2017*
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 12:14 AM UTC
Night at the garbage dump
Sparkle starlight night
Leaves room for little delight
Speedy legs
Out for a spin
Adventure begs
Drags the wind
Follow a leader
To a place one longs to linger
A flight that’s eerie
What’s in store
Darkness galore
Only four hilltops more
Up up up
Around the bend
Climb to come back again
Clouds through moonlight
Old concrete pebbled on the side
Glow with strange historic pride
Field grasses slow to bend
Smells you would not befriend
Below dark field
A collective treasure of human endeavor
One would not dream whatsoever
Crunchy soil
A perfect spot for the voile
Sit below the grassy line
Take in the oddity with too much wine
Head on a swivel
Watch your back
Never know what’s lurking to attack
Time is up
Must not leave the cup
Only once a garbage dump
Watch the stump
Fly down in pitch dark
Not mistaken for the park
Former mans duty
Listen closely
To the beckoning tutti
It sings in rare night beauty
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
the brain and mind are not the same thing.
a brain floats, suspended,
down to the tips of my toes
and the blue rivers underneath my skin.
it is a box; simple tasks and quiet construction.
the mind has no such manuals.
it sees baboons in filtered skylights,
eyes as red as the blushing dawn,
gushing about over the hilltops of my shoulders.
it sees stop signs in the glass cracks
of my wooden closet door,
where the dark seeps around the green-light-go.
it sees fingertip to lip,
raccoons at rusty roadways,
Remus and Romulus locked in eternal combat;
preserved in the grains in the cherry tree trunk.
the brain is in the head,
but the mind is somewhere a little above;
hiding away in a doomsday bunker,
loud warnings burning the air,
bathed in cobwebs and blue lights.
away from people who haven’t quite learned,
that the brain and mind are not the same thing.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 2:37 AM UTC
it is temporary
the mirrored faces reflecting back into one-
it is as temporary as the sun.
it is temporary,
this burning body of youth.
it is temporary insanity
and temporary truth.
it is movable pieces
in the bottle of corked vermouth.
it is ungrateful youth
and all her fantasy
her ****** opportunity-
the days of endless sunshine
fogged with cascading rain,
full of superficial pain,
that only sets into the skin to rise up
much later.
blemished traitors
of your failing past.
it is temporary,
the primping of memories undone-
it is as temporary as the blazing gun.
it is temporary,
it is fleeting
and no matter how these products
keep us believing
they are nothing more
then distractions, they are deceiving.
as the sand is thrown in our glossy eyes
and stars that once opened in the night sky
just for us-
open no more.
we retire from the bridled gore
of youth and her tireless war
and forever more,
must sing the songs of fading youth.
must curse the uncouth,
the way the years
have wandered by
without any proper goodbye
and we, as strangers
in this looming unknown
we must come to know
as past our prime,
past our time,
and be spectators
into the theatre of vanity
we are now excluded from.
oh, how we wish we’d undone
the regrets and missteps-
but we are denied
to ever confide
the wisdom we’ve gained
since beauty and youth
have fled-
we are condemned
to be voiceless passengers
on our train ride to the end.
yet, this is temporary.
as temporary as you and i,
the ailing sky,
the aching stars,
the rolling hilltops,
tracing to the mouth of the river
and when we are at once delivered
to a final resting stop-
we pray, we hope
as tooth and nail dragged
we try to cope,
to be temporary no more-
temporary no more-
temporary no more-
temporary no more-
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 7:11 PM UTC
When hills are on my mind
I think Mt. Everest
Where snow caps brush the sky
Up past the eagles nest
Some feel desire to go
To climb the Matterhorn
Some love the history
Of the seven hills of Rome
But there's a hill much better known
It's not beautiful or high
Not famous for its ruins..
But one condemned to die
They say God's Son was there
And that lonesome road was hard
But He gave His all for man
And He made us sons of God
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 6:25 AM UTC
Fragrant blossoms imbue
in a distillation of technicolor vision
across the dampened meadow,
awakening it from a winter repose.
Dew-tipped grass lightly bends
as a chilled breath swirls in the air.
Verdant landscape hues cover
faraway shadowed rolling hilltops.
A crispness in the surrounding signals
an embraced dusting of vapors,
following a light cloudburst above:
A sprinkling refresh for growth.
Spring has sprung.
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 4:41 AM UTC
Day debt
night wept
sleep crept
Attachment.
Where is my attachment?
evening out of balance
The line of my life has broken
off into separate identities
Flower feather
Hollow weather
Moonlight Canyon
Skylight childhood nostalgia
Stolen star
Battered cheekbones
Of weary workers keeping to
The hornet's nest
Reality a constant terror
Of city structures swallowing
them whole.
Blackbird rests
on an Autumn branch of
hidden meadow
checking its wristwatch obsessively for the
Hydrogen Volcano
INEVITABLE.
Termite Corporations
Cavernous Hilltops
All that green is gold
(A straw man in Byzantine robes approaches
the frosty Manhattan
to become a relic in it's Libraries)
People fall in Love with coincidence,
(The illusion of order beyond our field or reach)
All that love is kept in a
Conservatory somewhere...
Glossy stems connected to palpitating blossoms.
Our tired eyes are focused to the asphalt confluence
whether fever or handhold.
Hymns ring throughout the forests of
Vancouver Island
Dreamers hang from the Niagara Trestle caught in
overwhelming sunlight
Doused in spirit.
Holy Melancholic September
Sweeps away the dusty Summer,
everything seems renewed
In the rain..
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
I've heard many jewels and gems
Flow out of your lips but
My favorite one of all those treasures
Is this simple, tiny pearl:
This word
Perspectives
A beautiful word that fell on my listening ears
On one of those countless,
Yet no less precious Friday nights
Huddled together in a small group made up of giants
Though I try
I can't recall what the topic was on that certain evening
But that word stayed with me
like postage stamps on love letters
Because for me,
That word best describes you
Perspectives
I see it in the photographs
you take so carefully
With those crafty fingers
You capture novels
with those simple objects and moments
You are an artist and a story teller
Perspectives
I feel it in your tight embrace
Your arms that are ever open and welcoming
And darling,
I'm beyind happy and thankful
That through the long and wild years
Your arms never became weary
In holding on to me
Perspectives
I see it in your smile:
A constant overflow from your heart
It's engraved on your lips and
No hot and tiring day or cold and dark night
Can ever wear it away
Because
I know well that
Hope Himself has made your heart His home
And He has set to flame galaxies
In your bright and burning eyes
Sarah
This air you breathe
Gets exhaled as some sweet aroma
With the rise and fall of your lungs
I'd be lying to call you unique because
That's a mere understatement
Your very being
Spells "different" differently
As you enter this new year,
This new leg in your journey,
Please do continue to splash
Color on the lives of others
As you dance with the Father
And may your eyes continue to reflect
The beauty of Creation
And the glory of the Creator
Always remember that I am with you
Through hilltops and valleys
And stormy skies and summer days
Together
We can turn this world upside-down
And see it,
Give it
A different
Perspective
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 9:30 PM UTC
Out in the range,
Beyond all cell phone,
The peace of the valley,
The mountains around,
Where elk graze and deer run,
Where horses call home,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.
The wind cross the hilltops,
The water below,
The cattle out grazing,
Hawk and eagle stand watch,
Fences and dirt roads,
Pastures and fields,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.
Rainstorms and snowstorms,
Thunder and hail,
Content beneath covers,
Warm arms to hold,
Comfort me, cuddle me,
I'll be by your side,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.
There's peace in the stillness,
There's warmth all alone,
Just two souls and hillsides,
We're never alone,
Isolation is a comfort,
Out out of reach,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.
The barking of ranch dogs,
The mooing of cows,
The horses they knicker,
I sigh like the wind,
The bird songs and crickets,
The sounds of out here,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.
Out in the range,
Beyond all cell phone,
The peace of the valley,
The mountains around,
Where elk graze and deer run,
Where horses call home,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.
~A Ranch Wife I'd Be by Bethany Davis, June 7, 2014
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC
~
My heart takes wing
Flying into the ebony sky
Imagination entwines itself
In the depths of my mind
As I drift into a dreamy high
Troubles seems so faraway now
As I drink up happiness wine
Glancing at silky hilltops and-
Lonely valleys with greenery fine
A smile tugs my lips
While laughter teases my voice
I made the right choice
For I'm in a glorious haven
I've kissed the dove and-
Shoved away the black raven
I am free from all guilt and bitterness
I've burned my tragic papers
I've turned my hated words to vapors
For I cannot delve in darkness
Because I am surrounded by goodness
Light I can perceive
I've enlightened the dark
Hope, I now conceive
Painting a silver sun on my heart
I close my eyes
Dreaming about the sunset's art
I am happy
I am free
I can loudly and openly sing
For my soul has angel wings
~
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 3:51 AM UTC
Often I dream of the countryside.
Where hilltops are lit with a sunrise.
Where it's peaceful in the moonlight.
Life is simple, if not sweet.
It's odd enough to me to have to be, let alone act an entity.
I find myself on bended knee.
Coping only with what will be will be.
city slicked roads can't guide you home, but what if asphalt and streetlights are all you've known?
Follow the breeze to the plush of trees, where everything you say is heard down to the way you breathe.
The tall green grass stands about knee high, the rush of the stream brings new surprise.
Country life,
where the hills roll until they're out of sight.
And the days unfold until they're out of mind.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 1:06 PM UTC
We rode to Ta’if on a flying carpet
— a Toyota with a missing hubcap
sweeping through fattened clouds
which clung to the hilltops like grazing bison
arriving on the otherworldly plateau that wore
the death shroud of an old hermit’s mystery
which our Prophet reached in sandals as ******
as the deck of a Nantucket whaling ship
Arabian Himalayas. He climbed like a yak
and the Lord strengthened his steps
Our taxi driver — as lost as the cheque in the mail —
poked at his satnav and called his mates
The Almighty’s beloved followed the angel and
never lost his way. He strained with pain
Our driver’s mirrored eyes intruded while we
held hands on the back seat and yawned
The Lord smiled down upon his aching friend
and eased the pain in cramping calves
A sagging mosque now hunches where the ignorant
had cast away the chance of a lifetime
Oh think if they had taken him in — Medina
would sit as a happy king on a mountain throne
I immortalised my love in a photo in that mosque
praying as a saint where our hero had struggled
I adore my captured shaikha and the memory
of when we followed in the footsteps of our Prophet
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
it's always an ocean
grainy and washed by the sun
seafoam floats light as your laugh
rosary beads left on the beach
while the salt rolls in from the hilltops of *****
and when i breathe in i can taste the sweet smoke
and your perfume reminds me of the desert
exhale and dance in the brine
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
Will archaeologists dig
For veins of code
Lost scripts of forbears
In dead machines
Of love and grace.
On clear days will fathers
Hold children aloft on hilltops
with the render up high, no fog,
And proclaim legacies
Of digital lego.
'Soon child all this will be yours'
Will meaning be found
On a plastic thumb
Under a fingernail of silicon
In a Chain World
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 5:14 PM UTC