"mountaineer" poems
“What do you think
The bravest drink
Under the sky?”
“Strong beer,” said I.
“There’s a place for everything,
Everything, anything,
There’s a place for everything
Where it ought to be:
For a chicken, the hen’s wing;
For poison, the bee’s sting;
For almond-blossom, Spring;
A beerhouse for me.”
“There’s a prize for every one
Every one, any one,
There’s a prize for every one,
Whoever he may be:
Crags for the mountaineer,
Flags for the Fusilier,
For English poets, beer!
Strong beer for me!”
“Tell us, now, how and when
We may find the bravest men?”
“A sure test, an easy test:
Those that drink beer are the best,
Brown beer strongly brewed,
English drink and English food.”
Oh, never choose as Gideon chose
By the cold well, but rather those
Who look on beer when it is brown,
Smack their lips and gulp it down.
Leave the lads who tamely drink
With Gideon by the water brink,
But search the benches of the Plough,
The Tun, the Sun, the Spotted Cow,
For jolly rascal lads who pray,
Pewter in hand, at close of day,
“Teach me to live that I may fear
The grave as little as my beer.”
8k
I'll ravage your flesh with a ferocious hunger,
devoid of any restraint or inhibition, as I immerse myself
in the pursuit of satiating my most primal desires.
With every inhale, the intoxicating scent of your flower
captivates my senses, leaving me lusting for the delectable
sweetness that lies within. It's a flavor that seduces like a
symphony playing upon my taste buds, awakening an insatiable
craving that consumes me from within.
So, my love, settle upon my tongue and allow yourself to
indulge in the enchanting sensations that await you there.
Feel the heat of my breath mingling with your essence, teasing
and coaxing, guiding you towards the pinnacle of pleasure.
As the strands of your hair intertwine with my grasp, I will
shape our movements with unwavering confidence, leading you
through the tumultuous symphony of our desire.
In my presence, the strength of our connection will resonate
through every fiber of your being.
Your legs will surrender to their trembling under the weight of
our intense union, while your heart and soul collide with a force
so powerful it leaves no doubts or hesitation in your mind.
You will know, without the shadow of a doubt, that you
belong to me and me alone.
And allow me to confess, my darling, that my words possess
a hypnotic quality that penetrates your very core.
Even before my teeth sink into the tender flesh of your neck,
my lips will grace its surface, ascending its contours like
a mountaineer seeking the highest summit.
With every touch, every caress, the walls within you will
yield gradually and willingly, testaments to the profound pleasure
I offer and the ecstasy we create together.
As our passionate encounter reaches its zenith, I want you to
revel in the knowledge that every moment has been a sensational surrender to the depths of desire.
My whispers, soft as silk against your ear, will affirm the
undeniable truth that our connection is beyond question or doubt.
It is a truth that we share, etched upon our very beings, binding
us together in an unbreakable bond.
In the end, my love, there is no room for uncertainty.
Your complete and utter enjoyment of our encounters is not
a mere fleeting possibility but an irrefutable reality that we
both embrace. In the whispers of our ecstasy, in the echoes
of our connection, the affirmation resounds loudly and clearly:
__You belong to me, my love... and forevermore,
you shall remain mine and mine alone.__
Feb 10, 2024
Feb 10, 2024 at 12:08 PM UTC
Walk with a mountaineer
She will always be near
When feeling fear,
She will comfort you dear
Fly with a mountaineer
She will catch you when you fall,
She will give you all
She will take you high
She will give you the sky
Fall with a mountaineer
She will not let you cry
Promise, she's not telling a lie
Fall in love with a mountaineer
Fall in love with me. <3
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 5:27 AM UTC
and the poet said to the mountaineer
don’t look at the peak
as a goal to be conquered
look at it instead
as a loved one to be adored
and explored
and it shall be yours
forever
- 03.01.2013
Vijayalakshmi Harish
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 12:30 AM UTC
a daring mountaineer
ran out of lonely peaks
and women he could brag to
he met a wild woman
just as tired
of her narcissistic journey
they attached
and hoped
they were in love
this projection
became their Everest
with no summit
they ate crackers and soup
listened to talk radio
fell asleep wondering
they sighed in unison
quit dreaming
of mountaintops
Dec 25, 2011
Dec 25, 2011 at 1:17 PM UTC
~
Ivory-teal ruffled his parochial feathers
His tongue dipped in languages
He wanted to learn the pronunciation of life
As he folded himself in Egyptian ink
He opened his mind against the dioramic surface of syllables
Painted in alloy; dripping from a papery canvas
He brushed his ivory creme feathers
in crimson and lavender hieroglyphics
Bleeding their pictorial valor inside a golden sepia lantern
"Go on, light the world with your suspense and mystery"
Ivory-teal twittered to himself
Wrapping the bijoux night around his little body
he disappeared into the stars
The teal birthmark on his forehead; glowing
He took the lantern in his gold beak
fluttering away into spirals of smoke
Toward Mythology mountain
Where a storm of butterflies
were winging their seasonal weather
Ivory-teal sometimes wished he could be a candle flame
Flickering in the darkest of moments
Letting the sunshine bleed through his beautiful feathers and soft skin
But his destiny was a bit different
He was folded in cultural prophetic proverbs and
sewed neatly in parabolic traditions
Where nationality is mixed into colorful pixels inside skin
Accents are curved in throats and lilted on the edge of tongues
Ivory-teal was carved in diamond flex dreams
In a temple of mythical patterns
Imprinted in mercury cocoons laminated with knowledge
The Angel Apostles printed him in their book of Dreamtales
Where he became a bilingual silhouette
He was birthed right here on this mountain
As he balanced himself on thoughts
He had learned to love himself to this point of his life
He wanted to be the change he wanted in the world
He gently lifted the little lantern
It rose up toward the sun and exploded into rainbow fireworks
The contexts that were inside split sideways
Tilting and pressing themselves into the air particles
If birds could smile then that would've been Ivory-teal
As he laughed quietly
"Now breathe in earthlings, breath in the wonders and knowledge of life"
He then spread his gorgeous ivory creme wings
tattooed with all the languages of the world and life itself
He twirled into the sunset and bled himself in a cloud
A mountaineer had been watching and wondered to himself
As he unknowingly breathed in the context from Ivory-teal's lantern
"If flying is a language I would love to learn and speak it with my wings"
But shouldn't he know that language already
For it is the language of freedom
Ivory-teal is one of many symbolic accents
Of that beautiful language
~
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
You see me Hurrying and scurrying
Gathering my food cautiously,
Looking around constantly worrying
Sneaking around precociously.
Weaving; bobbing, always dodging
Bushy tailed little scavenger I am,
So may despise me as I dwell in their lodging
But all I want is a home so don't give a dam.
Climbing my tree like a famous mountaineer
Old and young will wave or sit and say hello,
Quickly I think it's time to evacuate from here
The all clear I see and again on the ground I go.
Fluffy and Grey sometimes even Red
Speeding around among the leaves,
Time to nest and put my children to bed
Until once more the summer itself retrieves.
Grant Dickson 04/09/2017
This poem was inspired by a Squirrel
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
I'm an enigma, a quitter and survivor, a pioneer weary of the change that literally defines the career
In desperate need of a savior or at the very least a lucky rabbits foot souvenir
One to keep me free and clear from the type of bad karma that's over the top severe
I've been thinking I don't belong here, I don't know if it's me talking that talk or the fear
I let it take the wheel and steer, my driving advise from the rear seat falls on a deaf ear
I guess I ain't suppose to interfere with the charioteer, the why isn't clear
Now I've gotta kick it into another gear to commandeer my own life like a buccaneer
This deer in headlights nonsense won't get me anywhere near my "new beginnings" frontier
I lost track of my trail guide mountaineer, forgotten about like I'm the fourth musketeer
The sheer volume of every collected tear almost drowns me at least once a year
Or acts like pavement when I smear across it after falling from the atmosphere
My guardian angel is a horrible puppeteer, seems to disappear when needed most like he's the one with crippling fear
...go figure
©2021
Jan 4, 2021
Jan 4, 2021 at 2:05 AM UTC
He sat in a small compartment by
The window, on a train,
The passengers huddled around him
Saying, ‘Tell that one again!’
He spoke in a low and measured voice
As they held their breath, to stare,
Watching his hands, as they described
Vague circles in the air.
There wasn’t a sound outside, except
The carriage, clickety-clack,
A sound that would tend to hypnotise
As the train sped down the track,
In every one of his listeners
Was a picture, in each mind,
That spoke to them of that better life
Which had been too hard to find.
And seagulls circled the skies above
As he primed their minds with ‘If…’
And led them all in a straggly line
To stand at the top of a cliff.
The sea was blue and the clouds were grey
And the rocks below sublime,
As they teetered there for a moment where
They stood, at the edge of time.
For then he’d show them a garden, with
The form of an only child,
Who seemed to be so familiar
That most of them there had smiled,
The scent of a pink wisteria
Had wafted the carriage air,
And then their tears rolled back the years
As they whispered, ‘I was there!’
He showed them a woman in mourning
With a cape, and a darkened veil,
Who knelt alone by a headstone,
Each listeners face was pale.
The bell of the church began to toll
As it sounded someone’s knell,
His face was the face of the gravedigger
As he held them in his spell.
The carriage was filled with waves of fear,
The carriage was filled with joy,
He’d tell of the death of a mountaineer,
Of a child with a much-loved toy,
Their tears they’d dry as the train came in
To the tale of a Scottish Kirk,
And one by one they would rise to leave
And head off the train, to work.
But the Storyteller would stay on board
And close the compartment door,
His restless hands were trembling still
As his eyes stared down at the floor.
The train heads into the future while
The past is deep in his well,
He sits and weeps in the corner for
The tales that he doesn’t tell.
David Lewis Paget
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
I am a bunch of grapes
Squeeze me into juice
And drink me to quench your thirst
I am a tasty plantain
Peel me and swallow
Me to satiate your hunger
I am a jasmine flower
Suck my nectar
Like a buzzing bee
I am huge mountain
Climb me like a mountaineer
And reach the highest peak
I am a deep valley
And ****** deep into me
To fathom my inexplicable beauty
I am a pure ******
Don’t miss my eternal kiss
Hug me like a hissing snake
And have the divine bliss
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 2:56 AM UTC
There is a beetle on the high street,
pushing the sun along at a fraction-
0f-a-mile-per-hour. He is pondering
his plans for the summer.
Perhaps different venues?
Perhaps different dung?
But he knows it's all foolishness.
He never goes anywhere.
Then a god falls out of the sky.
Not a particularly large one,
a medium-sized god as far as
they go. Roughly human-
shaped. Not counting those
streaming banners of fire
that pour from his eyes.
Few humans have burning eyes.
A dagger drips from an open
wound and he clenches his
blood (it is his own blood) in his hand.
More are coming he realizes.
All of them. And he's quite
correct. Without trumpets or
lights or choruses or bowls or
scrolls, it starts to rain.
The beetle pauses in his
pilgrimage to survey the
man underneath the god's feet.
A hand in a crater of asphalt
with a keen, nigh-inaudible
wheeze of breath. A cough
and a choke.
And the beetle scuttles on.
They fall from clouds that aren't,
I mean, actually in the sky. They crush
buildings and businessmen, They
eat fountains. They descend into an
unthinkable and unthinking
age like a dizzied chorus that cannot
pick up on the beat. Purple sash
and green helm, They build mountains.
Teeth chip around the clay- the men
and women- like fireworks.
The gods' great works resolve
like a finished slider puzzle, like the
back of the sun. Mannequins watch
the moving marble for a moment.
But the Mutes eventually find a voice,
they shout, they run into the fray.
Tantalus' mouth fills with
wine. The beetle walks around his
head. Sisyphus' back was broken
by a boulder. The poor little fellow
descends into an inferno and
climbs the devil's back like a
Purgative mountaineer. Such struggle,
thinks he, to have to take a detour.
Sky sets fire to the shell pink
sun at night.
The liquid spheres engulf ideas
on a dry stretch of ocean.
Clouds splinter in a victor's hands,
are frozen shut.
and everything sinks back home
in the middle of a wor
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 2:32 PM UTC
I can fall in love with your words,
Without ever meeting the person behind them.
I could be infatuated by what you have to say,
Without ever hearing a moments speech from your lips,
Feel touched without the need for physical embrace,
Because every emotion shared is a kind of kiss.
It's certainly not romantical (although it offers no barriers to such),
No, this is something far more real,
Transcending the animal need for the flesh to intertwine,
So much more than the roundabout hellos and goodbyes,
Beating even the are you OKs and I feel that way toos.
It's the simple "I am here. This is me."
So glorious in its simplicity that it could break a heart,
Or mend it, depending on the reciever,
Although I suppose the point is there is no reciever,
Like the triumphant cry of the lone mountaineer,
Or the screams of a mother who's lost her child,
Only far more composed in their release.
I sometimes feel like I'm reading words not meant for my eyes,
(And, in a sense, I suppose they're not).
They are far more beautiful than words that need to be read,
These are words that were meant to be written.
I find myself hating humanity to its very core,
Although each individual has traits I love endearingly-
Every last one- (even ****** created works of beauty),
But you, who have encapsulated a piece of divinity,
Within such common things as words - I love you more.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC
Take me to the peak,
Show me how to get there, I
trust you with my life.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC
Lone fire ant
like a sprightly mountaineer,
climbs on to the summit
of an alopecic head,
as if he has a a firm intent.
(is he just a scout?
a larger team's expedition
is about to commence?)
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 8:32 PM UTC
It's ninety degrees in the shade back home
And September brings no relief I fear
From sweating and fretting, oh, no, let's go-
We'll be riding on the Rocky Mountaineer
Expecting the best, we heard the "All aboard!"
To the sound of bagpipes whining
Longing to see mountains, trees and streams
But it's for sighting of bears that I'm pining
The meals keep coming-no one stays hungry
With our hostess, Holliday, we haven't a care
By the end of the day we spied osprey, geese and ducks but
When pulling into Kamloops, no one had spotted a bear
A walkabout, then sleeping so deeply
Whisked back on board by our competent crew
I remembered my dream of a bear in a stream
With her cubs-how I wish it comes true
The Monashee Mountains are so peaceful
We spy snow-capped peaks from afar
The leaves on the trees changing gold and red
But rolling into Tumtum still no bear
Soon we crossed the Columbia River
Salmon tantalizing eagles for a bite
While passing through the town of Revelstoke
A family of bears-all plastic-came in sight
"Look out!" came a call from the front of the train
A signal to us who pulled up the rear
We "Red Line" passengers ready with cameras
A false alarm-no bear or moose is near
The Selkirk Mountains promise some glaciers
And Stonycreek Bridge is followed by lunch
The Kicking Horse River showed spirit it's true
But no bears will show up is my hunch
And so surely to see that elusive bear of my dreams
I'll just have to return come next year
Til then I will dream salmon-filled mountain streams
And the all-aboard call of the Rocky Mountaineer
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
Poppy
Fell in love with a clean shaven
Yet scruffy looking
Blonde man
Who went by the name
Charles Nigel
Though she was
Meant for a monk.
She was fascinated with the blonde mountaineer.
Even though he drank and cursed
They fell in love
With eachother
But when her bleeding stopped
Poppy told her parents
About the love affair
She was banished
She found a rundown house and brought her lover to.
As a home
And
As a love nest.
Everything was going well
Until he
Slapped her
Though they loved eachother
Dearly
Poppy was abused and controlled
She thought
He lover become a monster
One night while
He drank
She couldn’t
Take
The loneliness
Anymore
She took some poisonous herbs
And
She died in sadness.
Poppy and her unborn child
Were reborn
Repeatedly.
Seeking justice.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 9:29 AM UTC
Once,
after twenty years of fruitless scribblings,
a composer finally crafted his magnum opus.
Then a gas line sparked and exploded
killing the man and his work.
Once,
a sculptor knelt on a beach
to mold an intricate scale model of ancient Greece fifty feet long.
But no one saw it,
save the moonlit tide as it soaked it’s way through the replicated sand pillars.
Once,
a lone mountaineer gathered up his courage
and embarked on a climb never conquered.
He summited
just before freezing in a snowdrift.
Life is a thin rice paper.
It can burn.
It can tear.
It can decay.
It will expire.
However,
it can also be painted on with colors
more vibrant
more stunning
than the shades of the soul.
Once,
there was a universe
that held a floating rock with water and heat and air.
Then a life formed
and the universe observed itself…
…If only for a while.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
// --------''____//
//-----------//''''''//
//-----''''¡____~~~····¡
//~~~~//
// ''''//
X''''
(you are here)
we are on a switchback trail
going nowhere? hear this tale
this is a tragic tearful vale
there will be great storms and hail
you may stumble upon shale
but in the end you can prevail
i don't pretend to be a seer
but i won't give you a *** steer
ask any seasoned mountaineer
climbing K2 it's a bear
you need to know
the way that's clear
or you'll be cryin' in your beer
the switchback trail may be slow
you'll be turning to and fro
but to get high you must start low
don't resist! go with the flow!
you have a backpack. yes, it's true
with things that we will all acrue
if you have weights you may be blue
shuffling off the burdened hew
you can find a way that's new!
some will try to climb straight up
they may find a bitter cup
the fall is greater from the top
too fast, the fall will never stop
'til you hit bottom with a plop!
so let us find the narrow way
listen to what i have to say
you will find it if you pray
you'll have valleys come what may
the winds will make you
bend and sway
you may not find the peak today
but when you do... hip *hip hooray!*
soulsurvivor
(C) 6/22/2015
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
My eyes shoot into her like daggers
Her hair rests just upon her shoulders
too short for anybody to love her
Her eyes too small to see the world
But big enough to see the worst
A nose with a ridge so high
not even the best mountaineer could climb
Her scars remind her of the bombs once there
And blemishes on her face mark the ones not yet gone
Chin so big they think of her as a warrior
but they think of her as a warrior
Shoulders broad to carry a heavy load
of unjust love
Fat that is too much to squeeze
But not enough that anyone will hold on
Arms impeccably short
but no matter, everyone still keeps their distance
She's crumbled to the ground
Given into my wrath
I put away my weapons
Get up
And walk away from the mirror
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 2:28 AM UTC
There’s a village on top of a mountain
That’s always surrounded by mist,
They have a miraculous fountain
Allowing the folk to exist,
And no-one remembers the world below
They think that they float in the void,
Their library holds a single book
Called something, ‘According to Freud’.
They choose a new partner every night
In a version of musical chairs,
Nobody knows who belongs to who
And nobody really cares,
The women weave and the men deceive
In the way that it’s been for years,
And then at night, they put out the light
And lie back, counting the stars.
They’re trying to bottle the moonbeams,
To capture the secret of light,
And catch the sparkling frost that melts
Up on the mountain’s height,
The day that a mountaineer appeared
Climbing up out of the mist,
They thought the devil had somehow reared
Out of his precipice.
The villagers gradually dwindled,
They died or they jumped right off,
He spoke to them in a different tongue
And they said that they’d had enough.
He tried in vain to explain again
That his name was Karsikov,
But the village slowly emptied out,
They thought that he’d said, **** off!’
David Lewis Paget
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 4:26 AM UTC
Feel fossils
Prioritize dinosaurs like a paleontologist
Aim like an ambitious mountaineer
Explore mountains
Try to touch your dreams
Ignore glochids
Notice the patterns of cacti
Keep in mind
since we are human beings
the superego will be the winner
good things will defeat bad things
sooner or later
Sep 7, 2023
Sep 7, 2023 at 2:18 AM UTC
Ask me how my life is and
I'll tell you it's hard,
when three feet don't make a yard
but you struggle on
and it's hard.
My life is diamond as well,as
rough cut as hell
but bright and the light shines on through.
I see today, not from some distance or
some listless indifference and now I'm a part of it,the ******** and strife but isn't life good?
hard but good and not as hard as it could be,luckily I have family and friends,not to be used as a means to an end,
but those who would lend an ear,allay a fear,be here for me,give me sanctuary and the will.
Ah yes,
the will,that reason we have to climb up a hill because it's there,because we want a share in the majesty of this life,I'd be a mountaineer because you were here for me.
What has gone is lost,no good counting the cost it won't bring things back,waiting for one more heart attack does not make any sense,living past tense,too intense.
Ask me how my life is and
I'll tell you it sparkles
like sun on a stream,like one of those dreams that you don't want to end but you want to awake and take more of a part,
at the heart of it discounting the ******** and strife
life is
good.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC
The monotonous sound of the engine running
running but unmoving under the hood
still as the air and silently purring
as if not to wake anyone
None stirred as the beast sat waiting
waiting in the bitter cold of night
cold as the ice and silently churning
as if not to wake anyone
Light emerges from the crack beneath
beneath the door, slowly climbing
climbing like a mountaineer and silently burning
as if not to wake anyone
Silent rendezvous beneath the stars
stars and sleep soon after followed quietly
quietly as you stood and silently left
as if not to wake anyone
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 10:37 PM UTC
There in 1932
A semi poor mountaineer
Charles Nigel
From Britain
Came to climb
The tallest.
But ended up falling in love with a beautiful local girl
A Sherpani
Who’s name meant Poppy
He callled her Poppy
Though Poppy was ment for another
For the first while
They had to keep love a secret
Until she told her parents
Who disowned her
He even though he was a drinking man
He always loved and loyal to
Her
When he couldn’t find her
On night
He flew into a rage
When she came back
He slapped her
And they fought
He became more controlling
And abusive
Leaving the poor girl
Alone
As he went to drink.
One night he found his love
Poisoned her self
To death
While carrying their love child.
Then
Only then that he felt remorse
And love again.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 9:18 AM UTC