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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
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
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

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
Renhui Sep 16
I: At the Benlai Misty Mountains

I am a psychiatrist, recently divorced
Seeing patients who are scarred
In the ocean of life and love.
I've come to Benlai Island for a vacation.

I am at the Tea House Pagoda in the misty mountains
Where immortals used to roam and laugh.
Eight of them all, but I've not met one
After hiking here for a day and half!

Such mists I love as I can hide
My pain unlike in my clinic.
All those mists, there must be a river
Or a stream, let me go and find it.

II: By the Island's Stream

I am an art therapist
I teach paintings to inspire children and delinquent youth
I was diagnosed with brain cancer
And have come to Benlai Island to find cure

I've heard that the water here can heal
Stories I have heard are verified with some facts
I've drunk much Benlai water and have set up
My easel by the stream . . . but where do I begin?  

Pure the water, cool clean clear.
Cancer, is it my cancer, how did I get cancer?
Was it from the chemicals plant near my home?
Or my brother who committed suicide without a note?

III:  In a Moonlit Evening

The moon is rising, I must retire
But who is there with an easel? Let me go and inquire.
“Oh, how interesting – the eagle has become the girl’s wings!
And she is not aware because her head is down crying”

"Yes, our shadow is also us," said the painter.
“Hi, I am Malong.” he looked up with a smile
I was startled by the redness of his eyes.
“I am Liya, vacationing here in Benlai.”

The full moon shines on the stream
Lighting up surrounding figures and trees
And the wild flowers on water banks.
“Would you like to go to the pagoda for tea?” he asked

IV: At the Tea House Pagoda

She has this elegant but sad look
What is her story can I read her like a book.

“Liya, that is a beautiful name!
What tea do you like?”
“They have an extensive assortment of teas
I am trying a new kind after 50 cups.”

“I will take the pointed green tea.
The tea leaves soak up water and stand up
The flavor is light and lasting.
It is my mother’s favorite tea when she grew up

“OK. I will order dao hong pao, an oolong tea
Cultivated in the 6th century in Mt. Wuyi
The taste is aromatic and strong
Is considered the king of teas.

(To Be Continued)
"A poem a day" challenge - Day 3.  I have started working on a love story of two people who devote their lives to healing others but find themselves deeply wounded in life.  How do we heal others and ourselves -- that is the question I am trying to answer in this narrative poem.
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
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