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Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
My wounds are like a canyon
But Your love is like an ocean
Filling it up

My filth is like a mountain
But Your grace is like fresh snow
Falling over it

My rage is like a fire
But Your power is like a hurricane
Blowing it away
By the stairs side
A tall stranger taking coats
White bags and light hats for that
Easy fumed air
Beside the wide-eyed picture
Framing the dark horses
Trampling with laughter over the growing lawn.

A grey-shaded blooming shudder
Covering over the other,
Catches the light,
Hats seated,
cover over the other
Entrancing over the etched dancers lined against the walls.
Mountains that grew over the ancient
fire, could still be moved.
Behold, the sky's desire.
Dawnstar Feb 10
An eternal shadow lies in the high cave,
Sliding the sound of birds from the lofty mountains.
The icy arms of the peak follow them:
Hand in hand down the quiet ***** they go.
Inspired by the poetry of **** Wei (AD 699–759).
Josh G Sep 2018
This mountain of ours
Stands viciously before me
I am always climbing
Never getting higher
My grip often slips
And I slide back down
Often I'll find tools
And with them I soar
Though these tools break
Putting me at square one again

This mountain of ours
Claims victims every day
Some hollow out a home
Refusing to climb higher
Others have fallen completely
And have lost their way
There is no easy path
To reach this apex
An eternal struggle
That you must never give up on

This mountain of ours
Some days are easier than others
But those days are few and far between
For this journey is a challenge
And not a single person has it easy
We're all struggling
Though some seem better off
Don't be envious because
You'll never know the difficulties
They faced on this mountain of ours
I wrote this depicting life. Life is like a mountain to me. We are always striving to climb higher but it has its own way of making that difficult for us. Our tools break, our grips slip, or we just lose faith.
If I could mount a mountain
and ride it to the sea,
I'd gather up the waters
to make a bath for thee.
I'd rinse your hair with violets,
your breast and thighs with myrrh,
and as you rose I'd cover you
with strands purple, silver, gold.
If I could garner galaxies,
I'd make for your a ring
and ring it round your finger
for eternity. I'd call on all
the continents to make for you
a bed, a majesty of meadows,
white billows for your head.
And underneath a tapestry God
wove on Heaven's loom, with
love and lust I'd plant my seed
in your soft and sacred womb.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet and a human-rights advocate for his entire adult life.
The clouds he welcomed,
and let them play
While the sun descended
to kiss his rugged make

The winds would rage
yet come to him
as a petted bovine
tamed at whim

Like a ***** giant
stood the mountain tall,
in brooding silence
as he towered above all

Then the rains came, and
brought a stranger home
She was none like them
yet she seemed their own

In her winding bends
the mountain heard
the frenzied beats
of a heart so stirred

As the brook looked up
and the mountain down
she found calm
and him, storms found

The clouds he asked
how he could move
and mustered his will
for a measure of stoop

She looked at him
with a drowning feel
clutching at her banks
and digging in her heels

The bend showed up
like an eternal curse
carrying the aching brook
like a solemn hearse

One last time
she looked back at thee
the one she killed
in setting free
A moment shared in love can be enough for a lifetime.
Celeste Briefs Sep 2018
something stirs in me
a mountain, veiled in mist
and shadow,
painted by a forest's fragrance
and a temple
singing through its crumbling hollows
where only the wind
is left to worship
something echoes through the trees
leaving whispers in its wake
I walk the lonely path
not alone
ancient eyes are watching,
primal breath is stirring,
clouds gather in my bones
as I sit upon this rock,
press my hand against the ground,
feel the earth beneath my feet
forever changing,
a restless dance
of once was
and will be
I wrote this poem while listening to this amazing video on youtube. Check it out!
Anya Apr 15
This climb is tough
Days of pushing up,
take its toll
Hands tired of pulling higher
Legs heavy and slow
But the promise of reaching
is enough to go on

The roughness of the surface,
cuts the skin deep
It’s hardened now
Doesn’t feel anything
Cold wind mixed with ice
blows fiercely, blinding eyes
Taking breath away
Freezing the lungs almost
to death

Darkness is taking over
It’s so scary in those moments
Doubt creeps in
Wouldn’t it be easier to simply
let go
Fly freely in the air, like a bird
It’s ok to give up…

Time to make the choice
Right now
It’s time to move on
To push on
Forward against all odds

The only way is up

to the top of this mountain
of mine…
Thugger Jan 30
Carrying the mat onto the mountain top
I Lay it down on the cold tattered ground
Laying down on it, I look into the starry night sky
As the sky stares down into me
Soon the earth and the heaven collide
A perfectly imperfect harmony they weave in and out like the threads of that mat I brought
Thoughts so loud, run silent in my mind
A witness I lay, in between the mountains and the stars
Carina Apr 2018
Sometimes you have no reason to stay,
and realize that's a perfect reason to go.
And that taking an entirely new way,
is the only method to grow.

If you're washed-on abeyance's bight,
and you feel decision's heavy heft:
To go to the left where nothing's right,
or the right where nothing's left.

Remember it doesn't matter where you proceed,
or which mountain you want to ascend.
It does not matter whether you succeed,
it is the journey that matters in the end.
CK Baker Mar 2017
fischers rap
on a hot tin roof
bristol creek pools
over rock and seed
english wolfhound (and the barkbuster)
stroll pine lane
vibrant colors
of a cool spring
in cob yellow and
forest green

field mice squander
in cotton wind
goats and ferret
hold seven hour trim
raven and ****
meddle and forage (on a splendid fiaker goulash!)
crickets and frogs
in swollen grey logs

creepers fill the
cut stone walls
coy wolf high
on a frayed white rope
eagles perched
at trudy’s bend
catamounts laze
on a snow base cedar
(pared arbutus bent  
through a failed ground rock)

brush spider spins
a timely web
brown bears fumble
at the spirit jamboree
quizzical squirrels
crack their nuts
as pillow clouds float
over telegraph trail

12 point dances
on talus and scree
hen hawks float
in a big hard sun
clydesdale and coach
trot copper smith road
(glancing down
on finch and the warbler
whistling through
colander row)

lavender fills
the peat soil box
mountain cats
guard the heavenly gates
black eyed ridge
is wide and open
the country squire hails
this fruitful land
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2017
A fine mole down
the blue mountain sky
cannot be weighed out!
It's the cosmos's gold dust
the earthy depth triumphs.
Oh earth, our close clay-star
is far ahead of the day at noon.
Ahead of the moon
ahead of the Neptune!

With a million dash of curiosity
every new sunrise paints
upon her black box with the roaring fire.
Yet the ****** is a veiled wonder!

It has the heaps a room for everyone
and time for the timeless times.
Guess, with her longhand
what an inside scoop did it pick out?

You too can be in the know
It's the feminine beauty all in all.
Forget if you have already
seen million and one.
The earth is eyeing on only one.

Her closest admirer is the star
of the very luminary bunch
with open eyes in the hearts.
Her dead man is waking up
sniffing the daylight by her.
Yet to make the discovery
both are still wondering outside!
liv Mar 2018
I sought a small space called quiet
and silence found me
wrapped me up with comfort
held me gently with the strength of a mountain
healed me all the way through
loved me as a child
rejoiced and danced
and carried me into eternity
Stu Harley May 3
mighty mouse
red cape
mountain of strength
gray elephant
can't climb over
every mountain
and you can't win
every war.

But one thing that you
can do
is try to be better
than before.
Try to be a better person than you were yesterday.
Lazhar Bouazzi Jul 2018
The first thing he saw early this morning
When he pulled back the light green curtains
Was a hectic blue 'n orange butterfly
Wavering in the fair sun of his garden -
'tween the enclosed well and the laurel tree.

On a sidewalk, red and radiant,
Strutted two maidens together,
A turquoise skirt wore the one,
A chocolate T-shirt the other.

Jubilant they were together,
As the cadence of their laughter
Waved in the air like Tunisian silk.

No harvest did his screen display today,
No mountain range did loom far in the distance;
All that was shown were a laughing sidewalk,
And a quivering sun in a small garden.

(c) LazharBouazzi
zainab farooq Mar 17
Snowy mountain, Snowy mountain,

I wonder sometimes....
How do you stand there all the time?
Watching people do their climbs,
Witnessing all of the ***** crimes,
And when the first light glows,
Let the wind starts to blow,
The sky fills with the crows,
The beauty begins to show,

Snowy mountain, Snowy mountain...

You stand there up so high,
Watching sparrows as they fly,
How do you watch them fal?
How do you lean beside the wall
Do you close your eyes as they stumble?
Or do you open them double?

Snowy mountain, Snowy mountain..

I wonder sometimes,
How do you see all these shrines?
Najwa Kareem Jan 19
She chose to sit in the driver's seat

Marzieh Hashemi isn't afraid of the smoldering heat

nor is she like the rest that one should try to beat

Like a butterfly in the mountain's wind

she'll pick up speed and bounce to the end

and help those around her confidently amend

Insightful, optimistic, she'll make you think

distracted by her intelligence, you'll feel no need to blink

on a gathering day, she looked beautiful in pink

Safety, cheer, and comfort were well dished out

to more than her own, a Mother for all to draw to and pout

Our unforgettable journey is Marzieh Hashemi, an icon of strength to plead about

By: Najwa Kareem
The words of this poem were created in memory of a fun-filled day of adventure in Denver with Sr. Marzieh Hashemi who bravely drove some of our friends and me up to the top of Mount Evans, the highest paved mountain in North America in a van that while on our journey didn't operate well. Even though she was very nervous, our friends and me weren't in the least bit able to tell as she was so considerate of us not to show us her angst and did all she could to comfort and encourage us as she manuveured the van, as she steered the wheel of the van ever so carefully and managed to get us back down the mountain safely.

Sr. Marzieh Hashemi is a one of a kind mountain high strength full of life, God's light, peace, compassion, hospitality, intellect, dignity, warmth, and much more. Every person would wish to have a friend like her.

Marzieh Hashemi is a moral and law abiding citizen of America, of Iran, and of the world.


(Please check the above on Twitter to learn more and to support she and her family. Thank you.)
Brielle Bishop Dec 2018
There are many parallels
Between father and son
Thrashing in vulnerable moments
A certain candor
Only shared by those of the same blood line
A strength immeasurable
By most
A loss unimaginable
Mental resilience
“Be gentle with yourself”

You always shine the brightest
Amongst the darkest hours
Or under fluorescent lighting
The monotonous tone
Of a heart rate monitor
Synchronizing with sobs
Aside from you
Continuously making light
He would have been proud
He is
He was
Of all you’ve become

Death creeps
On the heels of those we love
Never arriving as scheduled
Knocking on our doors late at night
Or around 5am
Diminutive periods of time
That seem to drag on for hours
Waiting for answers
There are none
In terms of grief  
Remembrance is key
You’re the men
The woman
The children
Of a man
None of us could amount to
Get up, not slowly,
But immediately
Do not lose sight
Of the fact
You must feel as if there are no limits
You’re exactly what he hoped you’d be
GreenTrees May 2015
Love with its picturesque mountain peaks
one finds oneself opening their hearts to the unending sky of dreams
Down to its deep fertile valleys
where we worked the soil with hardened hands
and perseverance of heart.
At the land's edges where waves of emotion lap against its jagged shores
we find tranquility in the sound of its crashing waves.
In the high deserts where life still abounds and its fragile existence yields to the windswept nature of chance.
In its open fields where our desires roam care free
to it’s densely wooded areas where we frolic in the beauty of its simplicity.
In its grandness we are but the migratory animals who seek it's bounty from season to season.
From it we are born and die but the land remains to remind us that love endures and it's beauty exists to teach us to adapt to all of its wondrous and various forms.

Copyright Karl v. 2015
You neatly told me
That your muse is more a student
Of mountain writing
Than of poems; the way they go in
And out, all natural and deserted.

How otherwise can one know
The heart of the matter than
To isolate the heart, at least
For a moment or several, with
What remains of earth and air?

Leave it alone without water.
Send it into the woods with nothing but
A flimsy packet of beef jerky,
No swimwear, and hope
That the sky doesn't pour itself in riot.

So be ready for anything with
The grace to let the self
Be washed, dunked in a lake
Of coffee to emerge what it could
Have been from the beginning.
Ashley Chapman Jul 2018
Pressesd tenderly,
your carnal flower opens,
its butterfly released,
hovers like a hummingbird
drinking from the bill.

Oh, I too would steal you away
and cage you happily,
to get under your black-fringed skirt; 
to see that pretty dress,
fly off once more,
and see you bare;
burned now forever in my banks,
a first sight,
of dark curls!

As I think of it,
my desire stirs,
but of us
I have already masturbated twice:
hips pinned,
sliding over our wet perspiring bellies,
in our jungle heat:
'cause in the firmament of our embrace
- it's hot -
where glued we **** into each other,
stoking flames,
until sleep,
when we disappear from each other.
My mind crowds,
with niggling neurotic inanities;
yours with manic dreams where bed-wetting criminals in cages beg to be freed,
before better spaces overtake.

When I awake,
I am lying next to you,  
Gwen over the horizon of your fertile valley,
a mountain,
white and reposed.
murmuring desire for me.
I can't wait to answer.

It is late,
late morning,
and we are all half asleep.
You have your back to me,
as we lie,
rubbing feet,
stroking hands,
(the oiled bulb at the end of a finger),
your fine shoulders,
(that delicate but persistent bone in your wrist that stretches with pointed elegance);
as quietly inside,  
(warmly enveloped),
my couched *****,  
rocks us:
each diffusing into the other
like the early morning brew.

Lust and love,
which for a good while on edge had been:
the weeks,
faint promises from afar;
sometimes a little closer,
our shadows in daylight cross,
as one over the other storms;
and once (or twice),
a sleeve brushes,
even better,
hair crackles,
as a speaking lip touches lobe,  
and for a moment,
taking in the other's scent,
a hint sublimely overpowers.

And these,
dearest of fancies,
are just some,
with which to ******* your mind,
as you have mine:
the energy of my yielding tenderness,
inviting you to complete me,
as I spread for you with desire.

Much later,
those daring looks you have,
the way you walk our stage:
your beautiful elongated face,
those quick-fire arousing eyes,
your sultry self-assuredness,
your pre-possessing self.

I could talk about your couple,
of generosity,
reaching up,
beyond mere comprehension:
of the fact that I like Gwen
(his love gift for you, me);
but actually,
in truth,
I prefer to take this moment to make love to you;
to say how wrapped I am,
folded in your limbs,
in our mingling sweat;
how with your joy,
you touch my desires,
into yours,
so they flow,
run rather:
honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.

You love my smell,
you say,
and I dream of gathering you in pheromones,
of drugging you,
of intoxicating you,
so once again you will find me,
take me,
have me.
Entice you once more like a creature from its shell:
where I can ravish you,
all of you,
lay naked to me,
your very bones;
those fine elbows,
those knees I would like to ******* over;
wash their smooth surfaces in my come:
from these cliff heights,
rain ***** on the rocks below.

To once more cast aside your socks and get at your toes,
to pour oil on 'em,
to rub and squeeze' em,
while in the moist cavern of your insides,
we ****,
half washed over by our own tide.
And as we do,
I quail,
speaking sweet nothings of appreciation;
from full lips,
your sounds return,
the hypnotic rhythm of your breath:
I engorge and in our labyrinth,
- the maiden and the bull -
we consume ourselves.

Sweet Lentiform,
you did it,
you got me rolling in flesh,
lusting after your intimate parts,
wanting you in bed as I know you must have me:
pulling me on you,
kissing and biting;
my arousal in your palm,
as you run a curved finger over my nethers.

lying prone,
lying ******,
never unconsumed,
please us,
with more;
so rarely,
unfucked even for a pause,
nothing doing more than sleeping and carousing;
our sustenance barely enough to keep us at it,
an occasional comic thrown in.
throw the ******* comic at me,
will you?
Beat my ******* flesh with it if you like.
Anything to see you standing in all your pearly naked glory!

And if you can,
keep texting me,
so I can hang on your every word like a ******* puppy!
skin tight,
gorgeously wild,
woman ...
Now pull me by my **** into your **** -
where I love it best.
rgz Mar 25
yester to yonder
the mountains would wander
and ponder on what they should do
"Let's visit the forest." "Let's trek through the desert."
"Let's dip in the cold ocean blue." "Let's travel the poles."
"Let's dig a big hole." "No, let's swim through a river or two."
East, West, North and South, they circled round, never settling down
Until one day they caught sight of you. Not before had there been
a more enveloping scene, they knew at once what they would do.
So they settled their feet, "Let's stay here." they agreed and to this day they still haven't moved
Remember windows vista? Man that was awful, the antithesis of this vistal pitch
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