"outcrop" poems
I'll scale the hairs of Lincoln's beard,
Leap to the bridge of Roosevelt's nose,
Balance on Jefferson's brow,
Then plead on Washington's pate:
*America, stop ******* up.
I'm slipping on the eyes
Of this granite outcrop*!
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
No *** for awhile.
Not really looking right now,
Give me your number.
Waterfall Rainbow:
We embraced on an outcrop,
Under a fine mist.
Her head on my chest;
She smiled, then falls fast asleep,
I fall asleep, too.
“What” I asked, “again?”
*** three times in one hot night—
I wanted to sleep.
Do not get too close—
I have had my fill of love,
Now you have been warned.
Nothing left to say,
This will be my last Haiku,
Still thinking of you.
Black Widow in bed
Waiting for the right lover
To ****** and eat.
I fell in love once,
The sweet taste lingered for awhile
Then turned quite bitter.
Love is a question;
No one has all the answers
We can only guess.
The first time we met—
My body overheated,
It hasn’t cooled yet.
My Chevy’s backseat:
Many memories linger
All of them are good.
Tina Turner said:
“What’s love got to do with it?”
I say, “Everything!”
My fidelity,
Along with my love, is all
I have to offer.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 6:23 PM UTC
They don't breath under water they told me
I did think they were joking at first
but when a ship hit our rocky outcrop
they were screaming underwater
I tried to pull some down to the depths to safety
they just convulsed in spasms and died
as many as I tried to save
they just died in my arms
screaming underwater
Do they all die this way
with no gills and no will to live
yet I know they breath through their skin
I did read that in sapien law
in water they take no oxygen in
and so all that I tried to save
just died screaming underwater
my fins will be clipped now
**** just like my bloodied wings
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
A pelican glides by
Making a long, lazy slice through the air.
The look of an ungainly and awkward bird
But a more graceful glide and flight
You will not find.
Catching the updraft right off the surface
And that pelican rides along
With barely a movement.
It is effortless.
Inches from the blue-grey waters.
It pulls up and lands on a rock outcrop
To watch as a lonely boat cuts
The water of the harbor
Heading out to sea.
Five knots in the entrance channel.
Soon it will gear up and find cruising speed
En route to who knows where
In this weather.
I hope they get there before
Those rains on the horizon arrive.
Because alone at sea in a boat
Is no way to ride out a storm.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
And now we see the singularity
of the artist, wrists spread bare on
mimed canvas, finally we see
his consistency.
Lazarus is dead on the first day.
Gold background, rocky outcrop,
sense of cluttered space.
Do you see the decay?
Can you sympathize, or do you notice?
I cannot sympathize with Duccio,
I am too vain to admit his Maestá
survives while my brain rots from
alcohol. But I remember Duccio is
at least fifty years old when his Maestá
preeminently destroys my career
as a visual artist. I do not mind.
Lazarus is dead on the second day.
Duccio had many pupils, among them
Simone Martini, whose Annunciation
is a cropped rehash of Byzantine/Gothic
flopped with Duccio's handy flair,
a pious reverence and virtue.
It sweeps and moves. Or attempts.
Lazarus is no longer sleeping.
I have never been to the city of Florence,
not now nor the 1300s, so I need not
explain my lack of comprehension.
Lazarus has risen now,
but it is different than I remember.
Lazarus is all alone, and
Lazarus is alive,
doomed to walk in mortal Hellfire
a second time over.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
I love when colored salmon spawn
And leap with ease over towns on high
With rippling waves and glistening sheen
How they bound between these rocky outcrop clouds
And spread their whispy tendril fins
Across the cascading pinkish sky
I love the night just before it breathes
Quiet as waivering gills unseen
When the salmon color seeps into the sky
Sep 19, 2019
Sep 19, 2019 at 7:55 PM UTC
1.
And so, I clamber up the heavy slope
and sit alone upon a wide, flat rock.
I still the voices clamouring hard within
and try to listen to the air settle and breathe . . .
The eagle swoops low, whirring loud beside the rocky outcrop
likening its talons to sustain the hold of life . . . (this line to be amended ...sounds odd)
Leaves quiver silent on massive trees
obedient to nature, yet roots bold outgrown . . .
Shade reaches and stretches genial arms
while feel of dark and moist, fertile ground pervades . . .
Air thick with teeming life the eye can't see
thrums with invisible threads, linking slow tendrils . . .
Quiet sky looms dignified and peers squinted
while sun rays slant into pores, kiss my cheek.
Beetles scamper light along the soft, red sand
and not unlike them, I seek still the answer within . . .
2.
Fierce fire takes up dry tinder, consumes into heated coils
destroying with relish, yet offer cleansing balm . . .
3.
Sudden rains refresh, glance off surprised face, upturned
sweet deluge leaves all sodden to delighted heart . . .
4.
I turn not away
I look up
to receive . . . gladly.
I give such thanks
fall on knees to see . . .
No red sky (as in my nightmares)
No lost sun
No smoky horizon
No grey trees
No dead leaves.
Only yellow sunshine
Only blue sky
Only green leaves
Only clear horizon
as far as the eye can see.
S T, 8 May 2013
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
Crashing surf on roiling sands
Bouldered with volcanic might,
Westward storms howl from the sea
Battered seagulls shriek in flight.
Pale dune grasses thrash to leeward
Scattered shafts of milky light,
Wild and storm caste portraiture
Of cruel sea's eternal might.
Searching eyes across this tumult
Reaching gaze amongst the foam,
Sodden gown to clinging body
Frantic eyes in cold waves roam.
Desperately she seeks the lover
Hauntingly she calls his name,
Writhing seas consume her words
Crashing surf dispels the blame.
Sad solitude in loneliness
Outstretched slender arms so frail,
Yearning for that tender kiss
And for his cold, dead features pale.
Rain soaked girl on lonely outcrop
Railing at a raging sea,
Lost within unfeeling vastness
Unobserved by all...but me.
Marshalg
On the wild & remote, black sand beaches of Taranaki
20 November 2010
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 11:06 PM UTC
Thunderbolt was a bush-ranger
And a gentleman at that
He rode The New England Ranges
In a broad brimmed hat
From Tenterfield to Uralla
His exploits were well know
Stealing the best of horse flesh
The ones with pace in their bones
He was a cunning fellow
Avoiding the constabulary
Hiding in farm houses
With his friends and family
On the way to Tamworth
He was cornered at a rocky outcrop
And met his fatal end
In the form of a gun shot
Outside Uralla
On The New England highway
The rock where he was shot
Bears his name to-day
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
The wet lichen
and I
sit upon the dew-slicked
outcrop of boulder bits -
both preternaturally verdure
Each seeking solace in the
space
each seeking what we need from
air
Inclined to commune here, both
'til
the sunrays fade-
my companion soaking sun from
without
and I, I seek a subtler, silent
inner light
We two ourselves
had thought perhaps
to sitstill alone
here
And having found (of course,
of course) a fellow
sit-seeker here
changed course (of course)
and sat astride this
same (but not for long,
only for long) stone
What'd've been an I
(grumble,sigh)
was now a we you see
and I, as well was never
only I but, rather I
as I'd not yet known
and my body and its songs
The lichen too
composed
of two
sat as seeming One
but was as much
a fibrous mesh of fungal
strands sit-seeking
along with its
(not hosted but self-same self)
algal (not plant, not animal; not
either, not both) or cyanobacterial
bits of cells and life material
So together, apart and as much
as One
we looked down
in late-October dawn
into the pond
(to see the sun's rise and blush)
and each and both of us
hoped then to find and feel our Light
Then, through the rising
warm mists,
I sought the Sky -
cloud-filled with cattails’ tufts
and there at last
(of course)
through the irreal fog
(annihilated obnubilation)
I saw the fog
and clouds as One
We two, too
were One.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
Silence expends all possible thought of nameless emotion
Nighttime of soundless expression
Driftwood on beaches of shaded joy
Rocky outcrop escapes
Rivulet beauty we don’t see
Rock skip hip hop euphoria
Asunder Sauntering
When Eventually Someday Comes
The snow outside
My sparkling paradise
Evanescent dreams
When snowmen melt
And angels disappear
Spring blooms sunshine daisies
Let’s go smell the roses
Sit down and see-saw the morning glories arise
Summer blows in on the breeze
Running for your heart
I have green grass melancholy
Erring rain emanations:
Like a candle in the wind.
Someday Eventually Will When Only Loosely
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 3:37 AM UTC
The novelty of the young ewe
Blinded by its fleece
White is reflective of all colors
Absorbent of none
It stumbles about bleating
Intent on its own way
Falling in the crevice
Thinking it's reached day
But when the sun dips past the outcrop
And daddy sheep is gone
The little ewe will mewl again
And Pappy wolf will come
He knows the ropes
And he's no vegetarian
He ate knowledge
So he could come again
And he remembers
How the sheep forgot him
In their disorderly straying
Old and young alike, claiming the right to rule the kingdom that is his
And so with teeth he teaches them a lesson
A few bright ones he shares his land with
The rest are supper
Now that's Nature
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 1:29 PM UTC
I sing of arthritis, whose shaft is old, who limps slow the grounds, the pure maiden, old hag, who delights in laughing without teeth, the sisters to apoplexy, he with the limp sword, over the shadowy hill and wind worn peaks, she draws her insulin syringe, rejoices in the chase and yearns for sugars, the barren topped mountain trembles, and the tangled words echo
with the outcrop of forests not tended since 1959. But, the goddess with an old heart turns every way , belching and farting, voraciously, so
maybe ****** is needed.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
The ocean, of deep blue mysteries,
Sways in a crushing pool of wonder and histories.
Full of life, larger than small,
The fish swim together, one and all.
It stretches further than the eye can see,
The ocean is entirely free.
Waves that crash on the rocky outcrop,
They will never not move, they will never not stop.
The Ocean gleams off the bright sunset,
Sharks that lurk beneath, propose a threat.
Seaweed dangles beneath the broad sea,
Seagulls sway above flying in a spree.
Lifeguards rest on the shore ahead,
Crisp sea air blows against their head.
Dolphins, Squids, Seals and more,
Wait until you hear the whale’s mighty roar.
I love the ocean; it’s beautiful to me,
I just hope you see the same, I plea.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
The walls codify what the white-peaked vista
peeping out over teal seas, allowed to pasture--
somebody's transient, blooming, ranging thoughts.
A heart leaping, often imperceptible, both of the world
and of us,-- we need to pen the loved.
So our wants, they are already turning to concrete.
A path sprouts up from where you plant one foot,
lightly, on the green, ever-reaching growth of plants,
white cities climb outward, a garden of footsteps
from where the hill drank the sea and enjoined
that meeting with a rose, a temple.
Desire must be willing to want its own outcome, death.
We met on the ramparts of the new city of which
whole lives are built up to find. And now?
There are no ladders from top to bottom.
The sun just setting is just the same as a wild poppy,
hanging in the green whose outcrop already is beginning
to disassemble this stronghold back into hill and sea.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 1:17 PM UTC
We failed the summit that year
Diamond Peak
summer of 1974
There on a razor's edge ridge
sheer drop to the east
thousands of feet
certain death on that side
no safe path forward
And the way we had come
an arduous boulder-strewn slope
Angle of Repose.
As we pondered our next move,
I told my friend a story
that had just come
into my thoughts.
A young man,
as we were,
promised his friends
he would fly.
To their horror
he stretched his arms
toward the sun
and leaped into the chasm.
Most saw a young man
in the long arc of his demise
falling to earth.
But one sharp-eyed friend
saw a fierce bird of prey
come rising
with the winds
and land
there
on that ridge
where we sat
and from which he fell.
The story was a presence
there between us.
We sat together
lost in its meaning.
And then it happened.
A bird of prey,
entirely white,
unknown to us,
perhaps unknown
to Science,
came rising with the winds
from below
from where that boy in the story
had fallen.
It landed on the outcrop
from which he
(in the story)
had jumped.
This magnificent creature
turned its impenetrable gaze
to us
and screamed.
The instant the bird alighted
and flew down the mountainside
we leapt to our feet
to follow.
What came next
took place in myth.
In that myth,
we were heroes
able to run at full speed -
some would call it a breakneck pace -
down that long mountain slope
Boulder-strewn.
Without fear
Without hesitation
in full stride
one boulder to the next.
Boulders the size of cottages
Some the size of a grey whale
mysteriously beached on a mountain.
Flying more than running.
With the falcon as a guide
we wandered the afternoon
through trackless
wilderness.
A timeless afternoon
in the Garden.
And then humbly
back to camp.
You might not believe this story.
But it is a story
as true as myth
and every bit as real.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
Swimming with only the eyes showing
Like a predatory crocodile
Stealthily circling the pool
With the sound track from'Jaws' gathering pace in my mind.
Moving in for the ****
In charge, in control, peeping out just above the surface,
Ready to strike at will.
And then a glorious stillness envelops me
No gaudy happiness
But a silver - blue peace;
An outcrop of sorrow.
The buoyancy holds me benignly
Expecting nothing.
The water covering my face cools the heat in my eyes.
With force I push my arms down towards my hips
And feel the corresponding ****** forward.
All my doing - my propulsion.
Down, down into the depths
With my eyes wide open now
Knowing that I will re- emerge,
That I can swim above and below
And that I need not fear the depths as
The deeper I go
The stronger I become.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
Around an armful of
pillows and blue blanket
you offered a parting hug.
I stepped into an embrace
that was lint speckled polyester
and the width of your hand spread
open at the small of my back.
We were infatuated children
pecking kisses innocently on cheeks
to express sincere emotion
rather than as a prelude
to the symphony of stirring sheets.
We were lopsided in structure.
Me with my right arm scraping
the outcrop of your shoulder.
My left tucked under your armpit
snagging the loose folds in your shirt;
while your forearms cradled
blue softness and half my ribs.
One one-thousand, two one-thousand
counted before we pulled apart gently
disentangling your fabric from mine.
And with a foot of concrete between
our feet we grew up once more.
Re-learning the warm colors of
violence and ***
The cool colors of
drinking and drugs.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
The tide abates
As the storm rages on
Slowly the shore reveals itself
Assaulted by the waves
Twenty years ago
Here I would sit
Upon this rocky outcrop
Watching the ancestors of these waves
The rocks and shingle roar
Growl to me from below
Why don't I jump in and save them
From their steady,slow erosion
A long, piece of driftwood
Is flung airborn by a wave
Part of a long-lost craft
Only now finding landfall
The light begins to touch me
Through the tangy, salt-sea air
I retrace my steps once more
Leaving home behind me.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
Rounding the outcrop
the cougar was leaving
big tail making lazy circles
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
he almost died when his car built with his hands and time,
and some of his money,
rolled over and over and over more times than mortals can
survive the shock of the stop,
after the pounding of every three sixty and hit finally a rocky, outcrop.
But my friend lived, more bumps and bruises than could be counted,
by his girl friend. Years later though,
south wind blew overnight with ten more centimeters, of light white powder,
when two died the slide came down after the copter left,
high in the mountains with no cleft,
to hug or find, safe passage as the snow cascaded faster than his car
ever did, driving him into, through the trees, far
he rolled over and over and over, the mass of white powder pushed
and pounded
until all was still,
and he was one of two held tight in the frozen grasp too long until
they found him,
eight others
were safe that day, as he told them how to do it the right way,
he went first,
then the number two, and that was all it took for the monstrous white
wall to become larger and harder than a rocky outcrop,
the only thing that ever made him stop.
©DWE102013
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
I stand on the precipice -
Feverish yet clear,
Shaking, consumed, saturated -
Overlooking the valley of the year ahead
Stretched out below.
I must somehow chart a course
Using only these distant glances from aloft
Which shall be revised again and again
As I forge my path.
But in this moment,
On this mountain,
All is still.
There are no words.
Only a pure tone
Ringing forth from my heart.
It is the quiet breath before.
Before questions.
Before answers.
Only this breath suffused with light.
Only truly being.
This state of awe.
This heaven.
I stand with the Shepherds of Wonder.
The leaders of spirits, hearts, and minds
To places within and without.
Those who can wrangle the wandering cries
into joyous song.
Those who can speak their minds
defending justice in word and deed.
Those wily leaders of sultry passion
who dance the pleasures of flesh.
Those whole-hearted carousers
who invite raucous laughter to exhaustion.
Those who know that truth,
however fragmented,
speaks through passion.
That reality,
however subjective,
is anchored to our place in all this.
Those who know that fear is the arrow
pointing us where we must go.
I stand among them,
Gathering the Pause,
Eyeing and toeing the cliff's edge.
Then suddenly
The swell
The stirring excitement
The revving
The sudden skip in heartbeat
in anticipation of
All future Loves, Losses, Silences, and Laughter.
The sudden idyllic nostalgia for all future cycles
Yet to pass into life
And out of time so quickly -
Future stories yet to be told
And soon to pass from all memory.
The suspense of the unknowable
In a race against mortality
Draws me nearer the edge.
I draw a breath on the outcrop.
Once again,
Like the Shepherds of Wonder before me
I find the spark to journey on
In the calm
Before the leap.
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 5:37 AM UTC
_Beyond the shanty town of Midtendrift, where the moneylenders ply their trade among the aimless and avaristic, lie the ice prairies of Ensomfelt. The region is a barren wasteland whose boundaries are flanked to the west by the bottomless crevasse of Issorg and to the east by Lake Hjertestorm.
Those who come to wander this no-man’s-land may find that they disappear from the earth for a time - from themselves, and from the memory of others. Relying only on intuition to guide them, they pass this way unseen, their weary feet making shallow graves in the freshly fallen snow.
The rocky outcrop at Engeldrøm marks the gateway to the in-countries. Nestled beneath the foothills of Mount Håp, this is the place to which souls lost to the world of ego and ambition return to take up their torch and remember.
During the long northern winter, the sky above Håp is an expanse of indigo ocean punctuated with an infinity of lamplights. Among these lanterns which float free of the earth, the North Star shines the brightest. It is here that you will find your journey’s end and a treasure trove of truth, forged in fire and sealed in ice._
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 8:13 PM UTC
Up at the top, I
Feel like a wolf, surveying
lands below me
From that rock outcrop
The river stretches below
With its valley town
From that tower, I
See the city in its whole
Mansions and the slums
From that outpost, the
Land stretches out on both sides
Praries and coastlines
From the mountain ledge
I see the forests below reach
To suburbia
For the top's enclave
Though a little lonely, is
The lens of the world
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
We both sit on this rocky outcrop
he's killing critters, me I am playing drums
and whist I am composing something dire
the monkey is playing with his plums.
The lions on the plain of reality
look lustful hunters so ready for dinner
but monkeys say what monkeys do
just **** by will and ****** well gibber
I sit as more and more come to the rock
I watch them push and fight, day and night
and I start to wonder, should I leave them
should history be, Me and the monkey man
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 5:01 AM UTC