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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
hidden
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
***** 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
CK Baker Dec 2016
~ Ode to Joy ~

White gold ambassador
canine past eight
soul seekers ascend
(from cirque to seven)
to peak
to peak
to peak

Saddlerock spearhead
ptarmigan
and flute
Christmas trees
in winter glades
over dusted crystal scape

Fissile (eiger) sanction
open shale and tusk
indiscriminate members
roll the bluffs
and ice falls
above the
north face steep

dead cone silent
breathless, bitter cold
the beating hearts
and brahmas
warm the spirit
of pakalolo
jane taylor May 2016
towering gently overflowing with heightened awareness
subtle hints of blade’s keen glittering chiseled edges
untamed rugged surface powerfully averts gale’s acrid tempest
vigor pulsating that doth persuade the cloud’s reflections
if i shall not again embrace a meager glimpse; a demure echo
of thine towering mounts my soul shall ever suffer

my spirit soars with e'er one glance of thine majestic presence
replete with reminiscence seasons stir and beg thine tender mercies
to house the changing leaves at dusk of autumn’s auburn portraits
and give birth to crystal snow cascading peripherally in winter
which melding into spring then begs thy bluffs to cover
in soft amethyst of columbine blossoming first light of summer

‘tis not paramount to scale high aloft thine peaks in escalation
for small sheer glances stamp forever with imperial impressions
and ‘tho i’ve traveled ‘round and savored nature’s varied essence
none can compare thine evergreens laced in aspens nuance
my breath is gone and shan’t return ‘til in thy shadow casting
i stand and look upon thine hallowed face the rocky mountains

©2016 janetaylor
Robert C Howard May 2017
Through an open window, I hear
      the Big Thompson's steady music
drifting up from the valley below.

May breezes and gentle rains
     coax the snow-capped peaks
to surrender their alabaster cloaks
      downslope into gathering streams.

Silhouetted by light from the waxing moon,
      a cinnamon bear lopes along water’s edge,
pauses for a draught and meanders on.

A bull elk newly coifed with velvet antlers
        folds his legs beneath its belly
and kneels into grasses beside a tranquil pond.
        while the Big Thompson rushes on.

Spring beauties, calypso orchids and geraniums  
       shake off their winter's sleep and
dot every vagabond trail and verdant hill
        while fresh new leaves adorn the aspen boughs.

The Big Thompson inexorably presses on
        bound for rendezvous with time and space
and tumbles into the always patient sea.

© 2017 by Robert Charles Howard
Allison Nov 2017
Unmoved by your arrival from the west coast,
ten thousand little things are different.

It’s October and the trees are on fire:
a forge that you won't notice, 'til you're gold.

Your Kicks don’t leave footprints on these cobbled streets;
even the children have old, leathery hands.

Try to paddle-board the Eno and the bass go belly-up:
that river’s for scattering ashes and making moonshine.

All they sell at Aldi is ethnic shampoo,
so now your hair twists like the roots you’ve lacked

'til now, because all you’ll ever need is two hands:
for prayer, and work.

Life moves on like a cigarette’s drag,
while somewhere Hope’s fiddle strums;

Take off your headphones and
go put your ear to an oak.
English Jam Apr 2018
Mountains on mountains erupt from the earth's chambers of burdened lava and collapse back into their hellish landscape just as quickly

Waves assault the beach in frenzied randomness, striking their mark upon the sand and washing it away in the same breath

Birds flail about, learning to sail the clouds while dolphins soar their vast expanse of golden sea

People in suits war with each other for ****** glory, sign a ***** of paper agreeing to stop, then ignorantly carry on their violent pastiche

Far away, tucked behind his world of scattered phrases and pretentious works of art, the writer observes all this

P
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Swells Jul 2018
feverish in desert-dry tides

the mountain hungers in crescendo
for the sky that crucifies her;
her staccato tops of green
and earthly graves
are titanic gods in all-
seeing tremolo.
these congeries of grandeur
do her not rise but sink the
valley of mawkish men
trembling poignant and bare
sprouting liturgies from their
beaks, bespeaking the apex
pregnant in exploits

where the sun resurrects daily.
G Rog Rogers Aug 2017
I would ride all night
on a broken down mule
To be with you
once again

I would walk on glass
through the desert
If it would
alleviate the pain

I would crawl
across the mountains
If I could you
as you were
again regain

I would swim
the entire ocean
For you to know
my love will still
forever be true

Still nothing
brings any solace
Except the company
of someone who doesn't
always remind me
of you.

-R.

8.31.17
-LA

-MAR
©ASGP
Joseph Miller Jun 2018
From the top of the world
ribbons of ice
etch a path to the sea
Crumbling at the shore
fragments drift
and melt
as sunlight lingers
whales sing and seals play
in blue depths unseen
the ocean floor splits apart
yielding the earths burning core
fountains of fire
hiss at the sea
in a cloud of steam
an island is born
with trees that bend
in relentless wind
the darkest storms
move on
leaving mist and light
dancing in the meadow
rainbows sparkle
on the waters surface
as golden trout dart below
the sun slips behind the mountain
filling the valley
in cool shadows
the cabin looks warm
a crackling fire inside
someone smiling by the door
Janelise Feb 1
The wind brought us here;
The slate, the dirt, the lava.
We congregate at the edge
Of the endings we did not
See coming.

Dealing with debris that we
Did not ask for. Forming our
Desperation into impenetrable
walls. Pushing our hope down
To the sea floor, erecting our issues with trust.

Raising mountains has never been
so perfect, so exquisite.
Growing in strength without resentment.
Attempting architecture so complicated
that even the gods are jealous.
Nina Nguyen Oct 2018
If my depression hits
The darkest depth
Then I’ll be in the Mariana Trench
If my happiness gets to the top
Then I have climbed Mount Everest
And there’s no sign of stop
If you spark my fire, there’s nowhere to go
I’m at the boiling point
I’ll  erupt like a volcano
My personality’s never what it seems
I’m sad and I’m  happy
And everything between
I’m hit by emotion
No matter what road I take
I’ve got too many feelings and there is no escape
gracie Jan 8
Take me back to the blue ridge mountains
where clouds kiss the mountaintops
and golden light trickles through
the pines like honey;
where birds sing of home
and white-speckled fawns play
together in bluebell meadows;
where we danced
barefoot in the brook
and buried the sins of our parents;
where we taught ourselves to stargaze
and fell back in love
with the heartbeats in our chests.
Connor Dec 2018
I

I relinquished the panic of your absence one week ago today, but it wasn't easy, being caught in such swelling strings once desiring to wake in Gold

I was guided by my dream family which led me thus / glimpsing premonition Wyomings sprawl with pine & geyser
flat land fire
down river /
Spring Snow and tribulations sound with elemental reverberations of Spirit colliding with Stone
pirouetting upon a newfound expanse

My restless and uninitiated Tulpa stirs and screams
(I am owed this one) delving to ancient territories of attractive chaos
emerged unkind
but tender enough to fold into my next dressing, appropriately remote

II

By June I ascend further via Nepalese staircases carved from Mountain rock, Sun-showers resplendently endow this band of rattling Sherpas with grace
to hold, to wrap around their necks and deliver to my private Summit

(where many have died, where many have given their flesh to this
Golgotha Sagarmatha)

Sneah Yerng !
away you mortal entity death !

I consume you with Himalayan tea and the heavy sensation of my boots planting their weight to frozen earth - listening, attention to the foreground Chorus exhaling harmonies of Khmer which give further texture to the native brush

(We were once kindling set perfect across the ground - to blaze & become heavenly together - instead subjugated by time's feral will, you - now a Mother and a stranger to me, Myself - continuing & following this sense strangeness which is always present but flickering like cosmic frequency magnetically luring me into a breadbasket of fire & weeping intermittent, into a cycle, a snake - surrounding magic Islands of self-past and self-future
which whirl-about searching feverishly for a path - now that the one preceding has been lost or misguided, you're bound to this breathing child who's not ours - but yours)


This is how our story ends. Where we diverge and become Actual -
carrying separate but respectful momentum in each Epoch of life in all its various & flowing Identities, just as I'd once predicted in an Altenburg Kitchen reading Rimbaud and sipping hot water quietly, disturbed - knowing, somehow, that we'd irrecoverably commit to being temporary conflagrations in the lives of the other. The end of A summation. Events that in many ways were born there, it is forcibly behind me now.. I was the result of these things. A sword carved from heat, and pressure.

What do I do with this?
So worn with necessity - living
Enjoying occasional rain, timely - capturing passing loves
refusing to stale and finish as Petrarchan - Madame George and Myself as two ambitions which acted both honorably & dishonorably at times. As human nature dictates, as I'll know, a branded truth from now on -

I am proud of you, I love you. I will cherish you, always.
Daisy Marrow Aug 2018
My silence is not poison.
So don't be scared of me.
Just vibe with me and
maybe you'll understand my words.
Let me take you higher
to a place, a place you've never explored before.
High beyond the mountains where not a sound can be heard.
A place of pure peace.
Where no storm has erupted before.
This is gold.
This is bliss.
Can you think of anything better than this?
Nathalie Dec 2018
She dashed around in a daze

Visions of fireflies everywhere

Spiraling and dancing in twirls

A sentiment of love in the air



The ocean breeze soothed

In melodic waves

And the mountains peaks

Still echo in hymn her name



The radiance of her smile is captured

Through streams of footage

Enabling moments and memories

Of her dear life to be revived



Not a single day goes by

That her remembrance

Is not fondly remembered

By those that loved her


~Nathalie
By the stairs side
Stands
A tall stranger taking coats
White bags and light hats for that
Easy fumed air
Hanging  
Beside the wide-eyed picture
Framing the dark horses
Running
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.
drops of Jupiter Sep 2018
It's hard to fight when the fight ain't fair,
struggling as you climb the mountain
in an internal uphill battle for something
you never knew what to make of,
lost in the throes of other people's demands
while facing personal demons alone,
people's voices all mingling together
and brushing past your head,
leaving you dazed and isolated
as you can't seem to figure out how to
join in the conversation
and be a part of the flurry of life
happening all around you
because inside you, it never feels like
much is happening,
it's like your capability of perceiving
anything good has been switched off,
like someone violently flicked at it
and beat it in with a hammer
and stomped on it before tossing it into
the back of the memory room, where nothing
is ever remembered or taken back out again
and now when looking through
the lenses of your eyes,
everything is drab and gray, like a discoloring
filter has been applied to make sure you see
things for what they really are,
so that then there's never a chance to
mistake anything for being anything else
that you might have wanted it to be,
so you can remember to always remind yourself
that nothing, and no one, is there for you
and will ever be there for you,
because they are all caught up in the present,
a time when you are utterly insignificant
because one day someone decided to
reach back into the back of your head
and lower your voice and expressions several notches
below silence,
because it was better that way for everyone else's
convenience
they wouldn't have to worry anymore
about hearing your cries of help or anxiousness
of being lost in the throes of other people's decisions
for you
they wouldn't have to hear you
express any doubt or show your real longing
during a time when you were still able to
dream or recall a hazy yet bright idea
of what you wanted to do or study
of the life you might have wanted to make for yourself,
they wouldn't have to take care of you
when you broke down from trying to
dodge expertly concealed insults and recited misfortunes
being hurled at you from all directions
the only kind of pity present in your life
is self-pity and remorse,
self-pity because no one's pity would ever
be enough to accommodate
and remorse because you were never
good enough in the first place
and you know it all too well
and it hurts, that you can't even make things
better for yourself while fighting a fight
that ain't fair
because you don't know how to.
If someone (not that anyone would) ever asked where I was in life

"It's hard to fight when the fight ain't fair" --Taylor Swift (Change)

09/11/18
marianne Oct 2018
I am
born on the prairie, stark clad
blue sky desert, blacktop desert, canola yellow desert
small in the great space
between us

I am
born of the mountains, wrapped
in forest standing strong-faced and tall, my
companions, rooted
my teachers

I am
born of the quiet
meadowlark prints in bright white snow, the buzz
and thrum of tall grass prairie quiet
measure of my soul

I am
born of bleached fluorescent flicker
drawn into the whirling hurry
longing for rainfall and
idleness

I am
born into the faith of my fathers, solemn
like their God, and righteous
holding fast to the book of their fathers
unwavering

I am
born of the rhythm of my mothers
of life-force and flutter
small hands and steaming pots in a hot kitchen
my church

I am
born of ghosts and tiny monsters
the hollow between their aching past
and tangled present,
alien

I am
born of old world order imposed
on new world freedom—
the image shifts
and I blur

I am
born of memory, my fingers carry secrets
daughter of the many mothers before me, their lives
tell the story
of mine

I am
born of the unknown, a swell in the stream
that spills into the ocean, I am
mother of many daughters
to come

Tell me who you are...
Because we are always part of something bigger.
Daisy Marrow Sep 2013
The first time I saw you it was in math class.
I didn't notice anything about you at first I just memorized the back of how your head was.
After all, I had an hour to ****.
The second time I saw you were in English class.
You sat next to me but not by choice.
But I was happy about it.
It took me about four to five weeks to talk to you,
and I wasn't even the one to speak first.
You introduced yourself and then we worked together on an assignment.
It's been two weeks and I haven't said another word and I probably won't out of random.
My anxiety swallows me whole
and I'm sorry I can't even say hello.
But I have had time to notice you.
And let me just say
I'm in love with your taste in music
I'm in love with the way you hold your books
thinking that if you change the sound of your voice when the diagonal changes,
or if you struggle reading words you've never seen before and sit there for a few seconds trying to piece together what they mean.
I love how you can play the mandolin, you should show me sometime.
As I think about these things I also pick up how you would never even think of me.
I mean really,
you probably want some girl that's outgoing and can strum a guitar solo at midnight with you.
You probably want someone with long hair you can intertwine your fingers in,
or someone you can spend an afternoon together after church with.
I can't move mountains
and I can't even speak without looking like a fool,
but even if nothing will ever happen
It would be just as quite exciting being friends with you.
We could trade books and make each other mixtapes.
It hasn't even been a month yet and I'm already writing mediocre poetry about you.
I'm sorry about that by the way.
I'm not asking for a relationship but a friendship with someone like you would feel just the same.
I wrote this in like 20 minutes and I apologize I don't even know
2013
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