“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label avalanche. Show all posts
Showing posts with label avalanche. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 4, 2017
Stone's throw
When the words dislodged
and came hailing down,
as an avalanche seeking the comforting
earth below
in free fall, the lege, a paragraph
or precipice gives itself away,
all the dense granite words,
could never be shale, not fall apart
nor could any illumination find light
after the full weight suddenly shifted,
to be mined. It was only words that the
mountains rose to meet at
The End.
Painting by Carl Schuch [Public domain], 'Mountain stream with boulders' (c.1888) via Wikimedia Commons.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
A Pinnacle of Stony Tries
A Pinnacle of Stony Tries
The mountain started it.
Imposing its challenge
upon sky and sea.
I must accept it.
I am compelled to conquer.
I've become drawn to touching,
sharing senses,
exchanging skin.
Stoicism is a rock.
Yeah, right.
Both are metonyms,
found in caverns up high,
like oxymoronic holes in the sky.
Spelunking down the spyglass,
on stalagmite stairs;
pointing the way
in collected columns,
that climb
like us.
Rocks feel pressure,
cave in and crumble;
like grains of time,
an avalanche of life,
too much for itself
to hold it together.
Ascending I dare to grapple,
with textures and temperatures,
gradients by degrees
of warmth rest
in the velvet granite
flesh, accepting,
caressing sand paper cheeks
I trust the friction.
Finding my weight
propped against the mass,
I hold the balance.
The weight erodes, sloughed
in pebbles of problems;
raining by rocks in applause,
anticipating their early release,
from master sculptor,
whose has been a model prisoner,
Medusa obeying and repelling.
A climb is not a race.
A scale includes the middle march;
all possible paths, knobs,
and steps fossilize.
Planning each step,
I am pulled up by my own
labored breath,
my stomach in knots secure my spot.
I am too heavy on myself.
Yet,
the higher I get,
the further away,
I like to stay
because now I can see
all that I've known,
becoming strange, deranged.
I strain to focus on all that is,
and it clearly became,
miniature and small.
It is meaningless,
without this fight
to keep holding on,
even if I never make it
to the top
and Fall,
forgetting
all about
looking back
down
at the waiting world,
I found my wings
while giving up.
Image By George Edward Mannering [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Photo of Emmeline Freda du Faur (1862-1974) first female mountaineer in New Zealand.
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