"mountainous" poems
Praise to the emptiness that blanks out existence. Existence:
This place made from our love for that emptiness!
Yet somehow comes emptiness,
this existence goes.
Praise to that happening, over and over!
For years I pulled my own existence out of emptiness.
Then one swoop, one swing of the arm,
that work is over.
Free of who I was, free of presence, free of dangerous fear, hope,
free of mountainous wanting.
The here-and-now mountain is a tiny piece of a piece of straw
blown off into emptiness.
These words I'm saying so much begin to lose meaning:
Existence, emptiness, mountain, straw:
Words and what they try to say swept
out the window, down the slant of the roof.
30.8k
I saw the Maori Jesus
Walking on Wellington Harbour.
He wore blue dungarees,
His beard and hair were long.
His breath smelled of mussels and paraoa.
When he smiled it looked like the dawn.
When he broke wind the little fishes trembled.
When he frowned the ground shook.
When he laughed everybody got drunk.
The Maori Jesus came on shore
And picked out his twelve disciples.
One cleaned toilets in the railway station;
His hands were scrubbed red to get the **** out of the pores.
One was a call-girl who turned it up for nothing.
One was a housewife who had forgotten the Pill
And stuck her TV set in the ******* can.
One was a little office clerk
Who'd tried to set fire to the Government Buldings.
Yes, and there were several others;
One was a sad old quean;
One was an alcoholic priest
Going slowly mad in a respectable parish.
The Maori Jesus said, 'Man,
From now on the sun will shine.'
He did no miracles;
He played the guitar sitting on the ground.
The first day he was arrested
For having no lawful means of support.
The second day he was beaten up by the cops
For telling a dee his house was not in order.
The third day he was charged with being a Maori
And given a month in Mt Crawford.
The fourth day he was sent to Porirua
For telling a ***** the sun would stop rising.
The fifth day lasted seven years
While he worked in the Asylum laundry
Never out of the steam.
The sixth day he told the head doctor,
'I am the Light in the Void;
I am who I am.'
The seventh day he was lobotomised;
The brain of God was cut in half.
On the eighth day the sun did not rise.
It did not rise the day after.
God was neither alive nor dead.
The darkness of the Void,
Mountainous, mile-deep, civilised darkness
Sat on the earth from then till now.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 7:53 AM UTC
Even at my age,
I see mountainous lands in the sky,
Languishing among towering clouds,
A lofty empire, lost kingdoms,
Perhaps a strange magical realm,
Thriving with dwarves and giants,
Maidens in towers awaiting rescue,
Where lone horse warriors wander,
Maybe observing us, far below.
Must be a poetic creative thing,
Or simply the child deep within,
Viewing through the eyes of the man,
Dreaming ancient days of long ago,
When the child yearned to be grown,
To know all there is to know,
Never appreciating escapism,
The chance to drift within time,
Ponder upon distant, aerial, worlds.
Or maybe I’m just a dreamer,
That and nothing more, hmm,
Telling myself, I am a poet,
A procrastinating creative spirit,
In love with the trappings of art,
The child asleep within wisdom,
Languishing among towering clouds,
I see mountainous lands in the sky,
Even at my age.
©Paul M Chafer 2015
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 5:08 AM UTC
Sunflowers can be compared to everything. Hope, love, life, happiness.
Here, let me show you.
Imagine each petal
Gracefully touching your lips, traveling all over your
Face, stopping at your twinkling blue eyes.
Love.
The Yellow of the petals is the sweltering sun,
Beating down. Warming your insides and tanning your skin.
The seeds being Laughter, Tickling the insides of your mouth.
Happiness.
The long green stems growing too mountainous
Heights, spilling over running children and smiling adults.
Life.
The scent filling your vivacious lungs,
Propelling you forward,
Content with this.
Hope.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 11:36 PM UTC
Jealousy, the venomous and deceptive emotion.
The mountainous trouble, the worry gone through,
to get to this height, then see it claimed as untrue.
The force of jealousy, can overpower most minds,
it takes hold of desire, and leads thoughts askew,
until believing wrong, is the right thing to do.
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 10:01 PM UTC
On the bank of a rushing brook
I sat for hours watching its course.
Peered into the clear gurgling mass
That cascaded down from a mountainous source
Like a slithering snake, it slinks and slips
It babbles downhill night and day
Rolling and gliding through plains and dales
It winds its way to the wider bay.
Dipping my fingers in its icy chill
How my hand got repelled as from a shock!
In its ripples stirred by the kissing breeze,
I saw trees, clouds and the jutting rock-
All floating in queer, fanciful shapes,
Shuddering, trembling and standing still
And the fishes leaving zigzag trails,
Swishing and swimming in the winding rill.
As I quietly watched her speedy flight
With her ***** rising in mournful heaves,
In my ears fell her whispering soft
Orchestrated by the rustle of quivering leaves
I hardly knew the time speeding by
Nor noticed the birds’ homeward flight
Or the Sun moving to the west end side
And the Sky reddening at his sight
As the brook thus continued her headlong ride
To be mingled finally with the ocean wide
I walked, brooding over man’s relentless stride
To be merged eventually with the Cosmic Guide.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
Till Few Months Of Reaching Back,
I Kept Seeing Her Images All Over,
It Drove Me Crazy, Her Presence...
Taking Time Out To Search Her Out,
I Went For The Mountainous Path,
It May Cease I Hope These Dreams.
The Horse Made Me Look A Knight,
I Set Out Solo For The Dark Creeks,
It Helped Me Realize My Solo Aim...
Then She Came Into My View Again,
I Was Prepared For Tackling My Illusion,
It Started Snowing Out Of Nowhere.
Took Me To A Safer Place She Then,
I Was Bewildered Again Once More,
It Was Clearing But She Vanished...
Then On My Way I Stopped To Rest,
I Looked Around For A Place To Sit,
It Came To My View A Huge Tavern.
Tavern On A Mountain Was Weird,
I Still Went To It Hoping Some Rest,
It Had Appeared Out Of Nowhere...
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
This point of time will be forever kept
Inside my mind, forever and a day:
Your greasy hair dragged cruelly by the wind.
Your mountainous nose, that gets in the way.
You do not speak the way you really should;
You speak the same as an old foreign man.
You hide dry skin beneath that tired blue hood -
To be with you would be no sane man's plan.
You're not a pretty sight which is a same
You shall never be a beautiful dame
But, oh, I love you, darling, all the same.
Your imperfections make you who you are:
A shining star not seen is still a star.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
I feel a simple joy
As I look upon the hills
The kind that uplifts my heart
Without the skiing thrills.
The trees look their best
All dressed in multi-coloured hues
And stretch for miles around
Against skies of brightest blues.
And as I watch the sun,
Rise from the other side;
I see life stirring out,
From where at night it hides.
The sky gets filled with colour:
To a warm tangerine-orange glow;
And my mind is filled with awe,
At this wondrously delightful show.
Some birds have started
Singing their happy whistling tunes;
And will continue with their songs,
Till its way past noon.
There are some that have started
Before the day broke into dawn,
And unite with the melodies
Of those who start later in the morn.
And these very merry sounds
So full of happy cheer
Makes the state of Kashmir,
Our very prized frontier.
The sounds are echoed far and wide
On this mountainous terrain
Over hills and through valleys
They reach below to the plains.
At night it gets all quiet,
Except for the babbling brook
And the occasional hoot of the owl
That startles me from my book.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 12:18 AM UTC
Stunning vistas of sapphire blue are broken only by the thin line of the horizon.
Mountainous clouds settle over ones vision and create a contrasting feeling:
The freedom of the air is replaced by the strength and solitude of being alone in the sky.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 3:49 AM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though glass, it is rimmed with gold
around the cup, handle and even the
saucer. Skilfully painted chrysanthemums
of various shades; the vermilion horizon,
Spring's honey, songbird's magenta,
sangria's fine wine, a parakeet's breast
and the Aegean sea.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And then, there are three sightly tea
caddies with lacquered wooden bodies;
one rosewood with red dancing fans,
one burr-oak with golden mountainous
landscape and one maple wood with
green bamboo. Ainhana gently removes
each of their lids by using the cloth, and
presents the pearls that were wrapped
in sun-kissed foil.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
She first lifts the rosewood caddy towards
me. I close my eyes and focus on the scent.
Without peeling back the foil, I know. It takes
me to the far distant Province of Yunnan,
past the snow-kissed mountains and rice
terraces to a very still lake. I noticed that
it began to bubble before a large splash
rose.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
At that moment, I meet the lake's Guardian,
the Imperial Wingless Dragon of legend.
With its wet emerald-kissed scales drinking
the sunlight. It's great body now entwined
in a wispy clouds as it stares at me with
eyes of liquid moons. Its tail crowned
with a peacock feathered eye-spot whips
around in the air, leaving an iridescent
trail of colours.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a great leap, he soars through
the air, trumpeting his great roar
that rattles the skies. Just as quickly
as he rose, he descends down with
a Pearl Moon in his brown claw. By
the stroke of its sienna-brown whisker,
the small Moon cracks, presenting me
it's contents, a long kept secret.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The pearls are the colour of seaweed
with streaks of yellow and burnt umber.
With earthy notes whirls around my
nose, along with some floral sweetness,
burnt caramel licks, dragon spice and
a wisp of apricot. Ah, so I see! One great
guarded secret that he reveals to me!
His best pearls ferment in the womb
of the Moons! Purified by the Star
Virtues of Elysia's Harmony!
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Wonderfully rich Pu-erh Pearls,'
I say, my eyes now open.
'My Lady's nose is as sharp as ever!'
'I just know my tea,' I chuckle, 'it's
very unique in smell and taste. I will
save such fine broth for another day.'
Ainhana nods, places on the tray and
lift the burr-oak caddy. I close my
eyes once again and my mind
wanders yet again.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
***The mountains raise their heads
To look up to the sky
Looking to kiss the eternity
Searching for the soft caress of clouds
And soothe the upheaval it went through
First drop of rains anoint the rugged surface
The sequestered waterfall cascades down
And adorns the mountainous terrains
Covering it with the soft velvety green
Enthusing life into the once lifeless rocks
Once among the rubble
The mountains have found their place of glory***
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
There are archers in rooftops 270 meters to my east
They account for the wind
They feel the humidity as the air condensates on the back of their neck
Crawling down their spine
They inhale
Let out their carbon in a slow steady sigh
Their target is at the door to my dorm room
My door creeks open
The archers let the cord to their payment slide down the mountainous ridges on the end of their fingers
One archers whispers "for freedom"
The arrow soars to the window that lets light pour onto my covers
Glass shatters
The thud of a body falls to the floor
I sit up
A thousand grasshoppers replace my bones
The hairs on my arms are attentive
The lights illuminate my illusions
I stare at my own body on the floor
I fall to my knees
Meeting my eyes to the dead stare so familiar in mirrors
Finally
This monster is dead
A ****** arrow stands from his forehead
From his toes to his hair, he falls to ashes
The broken window letting in a breeze that vaccums the ashes from the room
All that's left
An arrow stuck to my floor
The arrow penetrates a photograph
I lift the picture to take a closer look
A hole covers the eyes
What gives it away is the smile
The complection
Finally
This monster is dead
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
I bellowed into the mountainous valley, "LONG TIME – NO READ!"
–
–
Not expecting a reply, I turned away...
–
–
But it did echo faintly from f a r behind, "Long time – no write!"
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
Confessions of a Blessed Hedonist.( tri word line)
-1- -3-
Lived this long, what makes change?
Time just flew, a metamorphosis divine?
Mind playing games worms to butterflies,
Heart desiring ever. saviors, angels, messiahs?
extreme cravings doused. what makes humane,
opiates in zillions, friends, lovers, brothers?
Cocktails, a million. Destinies unknown working,
Endless revelries futile, in times unconscious,
Loves instant, genuine. drunken slumbers dead,
Clean beds crumpled, uncaring deeds cruel,
Checkouts late rewarded. Unmanly acts shameful.
-2- -4-
Friends dear betrayed, maybe one dream,
Away bartered loves. among nightmares plenty,
Much monies made, that one love-germ,
Abandoned ethics many. under in-differences heaped,
Gods all rejected, faint glimmering self,
Except the Hedonistic! beneath mountainous egos,
World enjoyed fully, a sparkling life-sign,
Life wasted lovely. in cemeteries silent.
Morphing every second, causes matter not,
Into grandiose nothing, by destiny’s graces,
Skeleton cynical final. gratefully unscathed still.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
Mountainous caverns
And cavernous depths
Plague and pillage taverns
Bridle beleaguered breaths
Forward the hour
And hoist the scattered skies
Time not to cower
Behind blatant lies
Prepare for the downfall
As the mountain gives way
Gruesome, thunderous brawl
Is my death in this day
If an avalanche is hell
Then I am surely home
Brokenly beaten and well:
Where chaos freely roams
Forget not our rise
For we are not our sins
But saints in the skies
Banefully, ****** kin
I am a vagabond in hell
And a vagabond: I am free
As heaven rings a final knell
While the mountains collapse for me
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 5:20 AM UTC
Cycling
High cadence
Low resistance
Tight corners
Horse class climbs
Mountainous descents
Back up!
Horse class climbs?
At my current weight
More like fat *** climbs!
Cycling
No high calories
Low carbohydrates
Tight spandex
More practice climbs
Mountains want destroyed
Go forward!
At my cycling weight
More like what climb?
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 8:42 PM UTC
as i sit here awake
waiting for some comfort
only received by those
who venture into the
depths that the night offers
delusions of peace
and visions of grace
cloud my weary mind
yet do nothing to ease
my troubled heart
is there any truth
to be had from my restless vigil?
i - a sentinel of the moon
i - a watcher of the shadows
i - an eloquent fool
am driven to seek
a respite from the waking world
by staying the hand of
the sandman in hopes that
these mountainous mole hills
may shrink under my gaze
futile? it may be so
yet dreams that may keep my company
scare me more than any
insomnia induced hallucination
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 11:19 PM UTC
Ecstasy mire in its own sorrow,
As if a ghost makes love to its shade.
The wooden door merely holds the knock;
Instead it punches out within the walls,
Dispersed as if a blow of clay.
There the sound hauls up a craft:
Foul of the wooden scent.
Just as it intertwines with cloisters,
The curves are lined into a silhouette.
The mountainous fogs are sharpened,
The apex is buttoned and round.
The matter it is that shapes the core:
The mere marriage of soul and dust.
How a flesh can tease its craft,
As it gnaws on a clavicle(?)
The ghost sips on a river,
As if making love to its shade.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
I shall go away
To the brown hills, the quiet ones,
The vast, the mountainous, the rolling,
Sun-fired and drowsy!
My horse snuffs delicately
At the strange wind;
He settles to a swinging trot; his hoofs ***** the dust.
The road winds, straightens,
Slashes a marsh,
Shoulders out a bridge,
Then --
Again the hills.
Unchanged, innumerable,
Bowing huge, round backs;
Holding secret, immense converse:
In gusty voices,
Fruitful, fecund, toiling
Like yoked black oxen.
The clouds pass like great, slow thoughts
And vanish
In the intense blue.
My horse lopes; the saddle creaks and sways.
A thousand glittering spears of sun slant from on high.
The immensity, the spaces,
Are like the spaces
Between star and star.
The hills sleep.
If I put my hand on one,
I would feel the vast heave of its breath.
I would start away before it awakened
And shook the world from its shoulders.
A cicada's cry deepens the hot silence.
The hills open
To show a slope of poppies,
Ardent, noble, heroic,
A flare, a great flame of orange;
Giving sleepy, brittle scent
That stings the lungs.
A creeping wind slips through them like a ferret; they bow and dance,
answering Beauty's voice . . .
The horse whinnies. I dismount
And tie him to the grey worn fence.
I set myself against the javelins of grass and sun;
And climb the rounded breast,
That flows like a sea-wave.
The summit crackles with heat, there is no shelter, no hollow from
the flagellating glare.
I lie down and look at the sky, shading my eyes.
My body becomes strange, the sun takes it and changes it, it does not feel,
it is like the body of another.
The air blazes. The air is diamond.
Small noises move among the grass . . .
Blackly,
A hawk mounts, mounts in the inane
Seeking the star-road,
Seeking the end . . .
But there is no end.
Here, in this light, there is no end. . .
3.1k
Aloft upon some distant shore
The seabird sets her wings to soar
The salt sea tang of crested breeze
Or howling gale of winters freeze,
Through oceans, mountainous or not
Or sea Sargasso flat and hot,
In dancing wavelets sparkling clear
Where hunted mackerel school in fear,
Where natives in their dugout boats
Caste out their nets and balsa floats,
That tiny bird will soar adrift
Negotiating each wind shift.
One wonders how a thing so small
Can fly against the wind at all;
But sweep she does and plunge and veer
In gracious symmetry to steer
Across the oceans vastness too,
To land right there, right next to you.
In squawking lightness, dancing swings
Sea bird alights ….and folds her wings.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
8th. December 2007
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 10:49 PM UTC
Amazon tribes looked through forested twine
to catch me with sharp sea creature needles
streaming through air currents to soak into my behind
and they brought me back to be one of their people
gold leopard spreads paw fingers to scratch the earth
and green twisted vine latches rock to wood
I have danced with fish among the surf
in mountainous shadows have I stood
weather so damp you breathe inside out
feet have become greedy eyes drinking the ground
salty skin seems to constantly pout
I am technically captive but feeling unwound.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
we leave by passing through.
by outlasting
roots.
by grooming deep runes
like arabian
horses....
mountainous [ pontoons ]
spine crack
liqueur
of soft doom
and true Orchids...
the ******** aftermath of covenants
at half mast
a limp flag of jolly rogers
pettifogging
dull noggins.
we pass through, phantom roosters
ante-Bantam
in the Bedlam....
Conscience
Chauntecleer
as
Opaque.
our blood has new boots
and now our hearts
can Mussolini
{ you strangle The Headless Horseman; as i lust for your Ichabod }
no cranes.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
I’d Love to go to France
And sail upon the Sine
I’d love to go to Germany
And Sail upon the Rhine
I’d love to see the castles
Of England and of Spain
To see the royal Princess Kate
And her lovely husband William,
Oh, to have Prince Charming as a mate
And then the rain that stays mainly in the plane
Having traveled there in luxury by lavish gilded train
I’d love to see the mountains
In Switzerland and Austria
And see the vast rice fields
In Countries like Korea
And drink frothy bubbling ale
From a tavern near a windmill in the Netherlands
And climb a tiny mountainous hill
In enchanting charming Whales
I’d love to see the canals
In a Gondola in Venice
Or maybe go to China to watch some table tennis
I’d love to see the pyramids
Of Egypt and Peru
And see the Ancient Monoliths
On Easter Island too
And feel the spirits of Celtic and Norse Gods rise inside of me
At magical stunning Stonehenge
While far off in the distance Scottish Bagpipers play for free
But Alas, Alas sadness ensues
These things I’ll never see
Poverty always haunts me
And I won’t win the lottery
I’ll never see the breathtaking things
That others take for granted
Though they will always be here
Part of this amazing planet
I’ll have to take in what I can
And not hope for what cannot be
I’ll have to imagine all these things
In my own special way
and see all I can see
Watching shows like, “Rick Steve’s Europe”
Scheduled to air, everyday
On PBS TV
Sarah Hall Minks Copyright 4/28/12
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 11:12 AM UTC