Tag Archives: Mountains
Spill me o’er the crystal falls where eons stretch to hold!
Kindly beckon courage from the iron will in stories told!
Grant me one last flight on wings above the alpine valleys low!
Spill my heart between the seams where mountain shadowed waters flow!
Dance my spirit o’er stormy tops in fields of azure skies!
Dash the color from the wounds there left beneath these fading eyes!
For all that I experience,
I am the subtle cause!
For all that I endure through life,
still grows a purpose from the loss!
Oh! Bathe me white in frozen streams!
Echo hearts’ resplendent joys!
Although I’ll leave as silvered man,
I lived here as a boy!
Tucked among the southern pines,
seams of road in shadowed lines,
rend the compass pause, despair,
dissolves to solve the anywhere my journey longs to hold.
Sweet the ardor clings in green,
Spanish moss as ghosts between
the flickered gold of summer’s light,
or silver damp by moonlit night, defines the dewy cold.
Yet dodging through each quilted bank,
between the berms that stand in flank,
with balanced roar and roll of wings,
I slay each dragon tail there seen
to dance into the sun,
and through the southern forests run!
There between the fir’s snowed branches, whispers haunt in winter’s dance,
“Hush!”, she cried in rare defiance, “their whispered dreams don’t come by chance!”
Softly sparkled whiskers flitting through the early morning’s gleam,
whispering wishes for the new day held within this whispered dream.
Written for dVerse Poets Pub, Quadrille #24
Image – courtesy of public domain
Between the gilded scents of morn, standing open, beckoning,
an archway calling heaven’s song, reaching for my soul.
Spun in precious mountain light, thinnest air in reckoning,
stretching white the shadows long, waiting for my toll.
I know no sparkled band of path that led me to this place and time,
I know the keeper, owner, not, yet dare, I seek to meld sublime
into the space held just beyond, heart and soul in conflict,
upon the points of life and death, one free, one earthly convict.
Above the azure honey drips, wet and washed, brush marks lain,
a hint of flame arising slow, rushing through this quiet song.
Flaxen hints in burlap’s hatch, flagging dawning, midnight’s stain,
burgeoned lust in afterglow, blushing in sweet sunbeams, long.
It calls to me, I know, yet know not where I wander,
free to pull, above, below, tear my present self asunder,
break this living’s hesitation, rend a soul from deeper hues…
It calls me, beckons, pleads me home, ‘til quietly, I float right through.
Image by David Richter – Mesa Arch – http://www.davidrichterphotography.com
Posted for dVerse ~ Poets Pub 10-May
Lillian prompted us to consider doors; the suspense of what lies on the other side; the transition of passage; the simplicity and beauty of the doorways of our world.
You can find many great poets at dVerse. I wholeheartedly recommend you take a look.
Paused before the frozen lea,
in subtle murmured rhythm,
a hidden rill in whisper sings
a quiet song of heaven.
Alpine giants upon their knees,
stretch low to earth to listen,
their sacred prayer hushed in woods
whose sun kissed boughs of emerald glisten.
No single soul disturbs the peace
within this supplication,
gently blessing winter’s love
across the drifting white’s elation.
In witness stands a wolf in grey,
transfixed upon a slope and seam,
lone with head in reverent bow,
eyes closed in silent dream.
His crystal breath moves round him,
in echo to the rill’s sweet song,
drawn in single dawning ray
suspended ‘cross the meadow long.
Upon the morning field of white
a sea of diamonds stretch in fire,
blending blue and gold to bathe
this single prayer’s pyre.
Hidden at the forest’s edge
my heart and soul hold hallowed praise,
in awe of God’s sweet secret here,
enrapt by dawning’s brilliant rays.
What gentle hands that grant such peace,
what blessed soul entreats us,
what love blends balance in this day
with life and hope to keep us.
It calls me…
Finely focused mid-day autumn sonnet pulling deep from in my stuttered silence. Haunting me in summer’s wake, diffused, yet burnished real, to form the present in the musk of its decay.
It calls me…
The road beckons, “Follow”. Weary bones seduced, surrender to the calling of horizon’s haze. I feel Georgia. Georgia in June! A far cry from the wintered edge of this Rocky Mountain aspen glen.
What purpose does this longing hold? What ravels ‘tween the whispers sold? That from this alpine meadow’s gape I press the long thin lines, escape?
It calls me…
Leaves me sore in wanton’s trust, leaves me drunk in wanderlust but aye, alas have neither means nor hope. November holds me now, above the nearly frozen rill that spills my dreams across this day, this anxious blue of day.
It calls me…
Amber dawn, ‘neath blushing skies,
quells the azure’s limpid eyes
from dewy tears of morn
that cling in hush and silenced breath
beyond the long cold arm of death
that’s stilled in stone when days are born.
Here upon this Scottish hill
o’er grassy lea and whispered rill
the sea in silence kisses
rocky shores where lovers leapt,
shipwrecked crews whose secrets’ kept
within their love, their misses.
I in humble witness here
mend in hope the simple fears
that balance dawn and death,
by simply casting prayers out
in hopes such dreams may come about
to grant sweet love its breath.
That crescent moons in morning skies
wipe clear the tears from lovers’ eyes,
stay the blush to truth,
that closely held to beating breast
will grant eternal peace and rest
with memories’ lain in threads of youth.
This amber dawn, these blushing skies,
draw a tear unto my eyes
and prayer from my lips,
that as I rise to find my day,
blessed in love I’ll sweetly stay,
leave just my dreams with sunken ships,
for here the day is born.