How They Command
Snow capped mountains sharply pierce the sky,
Ragged peaks jut upwards stiff and stark.
Cold and frozen wilderness so high,
Standing out, a permanent landmark.
Vastness that amazes all who see
These giants made of rock, rising sheer.
Inhospitable. Only a few
Dare to climb them even though they fear.
These pinnacles soar above the hills,
And give views that take one’s breath away,
How massive they, from a distance seem,
Steep and lofty in their grand array.
They stay the same as year after year,
The elements attack endlessly.
But strong remain, how they command,
And move the rapt soul to ecstasy.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Related quotes
Killer Of Giants
If none of us believe in war
Then can you tell me what the weapons for
Listen to me everyone
If the button is pushed
Therell be nowhere to run
Giants sleeping giants winning wars
Within their dreams
Till they wake when its too late
And in gods name blaspheme
Killer of giants threatens us all
Mountains of madness standing so tall
Marches of protest not stopping the war
Or the killer of giants
The killer of giants
Mother nature people state your case without its worth
Your seas run dry your sleepless eyes are turning red alert
Killer of giants threatens us all
Mountains of madness standing so tall
Rising so proudly it has nowhere to fall
This killer of giants
This killer of giants
Killer of giants threatens us all
Mountains of madness standing so tall
Marches of protest not stopping the war
Oh the killer of giants
Oh the killer of giants
Killer of giants
Killer of giants
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cold and Alone
Cold and alone,
Shrouded by mist,
Frozen and desolate,
An isolated tundra sits, and waits,
Cold and alone,
Intimidating to humans,
A lonely snow-capped mountain,
In the middle of nowhere,
Cold and alone,
As the night wades on,
Screaming endlessly,
But drowned out by the howling wind,
Cold and alone,
Lost forever,
Encased in ice and snow,
Never to be discovered,
Cold and alone,
Hope’s candle flickering,
Buried for eternity,
Cold and alone.
~Rustic Winter~
Mountains high
Chilled to the bone
Evergreens sigh
Shivering tones
The cold-is a dance
Filled with rustic ambience
With survivors brave stance
Eclectic deep woods and
Deep woods romance
It's just little ole me
And my wise old muse
Out in the cabin
Of most majestic of views'
Snow capped mountains
Delight to the eye
Building a Promethus fire
From high in the sky
Warming up winter cabin
Of cold
Beckoning in all brand new
And out with the cold old
poem by Theodora Onken
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Makarora
Rocky peaks of Makarora in the summer wear their snow
And down the lush green grassy valley the clear mountain river flow
Songbirds piping in the beechwoods songthrush, bellbird and
redpoll
This a place of peace and beauty Makarora has a soul.
These great mountains look no different than to when the first man came
They have a wild rugged beauty for want of a better name
To the coming generations these high peaks will look the same
Man will not build houses on them man such wildness could not tame.
Summer's come to Makarora and along with her brought her green
Beauty to compare with any with the finest I have seen
This place would inspire an artist peaks in summer white
with snow
Beechwoods and through lush green valley sparkling mountain river flow.
Those high peaks of makarora will not change as years go by
Out there on those rugged mountains bones of Maori hunter lie
Still these mountains keep their secrets monarchs of the higher ground
Overlooking Makarora and the woodlands all around
Snow clad peaks of Makarora reaching upwards towards the sky
I am just a passing stranger and I'll be bidding you goodbye
But I will take with me the memories of beauty I have seen
today
Woodlands in a lush green valley by those mountains far away
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sonnet VII
The strong man's hand, the snow-cool head of age,
The certain-footed sympathies of youth -
These, and that lofty passion after truth,
Hunger unsatisfied in priest or sage
Or the great men of former years, he needs
That not unworthily would dare to sing
(Hard task!) black care's inevitable ring
Settling with years upon the heart that feeds
Incessantly on glory. Year by year
The narrowing toil grows closer round his feet;
With disenchanting touch rude-handed time
The unlovely web discloses, and strange fear
Leads him at last to eld's inclement seat,
The bitter north of life - a frozen clime.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Over The Lofty Mountains
Wonder I must, what I once may see
Over the lofty mountains!
Eyes shall meet only snow, may be;
Standing here, each evergreen tree
Over the heights is yearning;--
Will it be long in learning?
Pinions strong bear the eagle away
Over the lofty mountains
Forth to the young and vigorous day;
There he exults in the swift, wild play,
Rests where his spirit orders,--
Sees all the wide world's borders.
Full-leaved the apple-tree wishes naught
Over the lofty mountains!
Spreading, when summer hither is brought,
Waiting till next time in its thought;
Many a bird it is swinging,
Knowing not what they are singing.
He who has longed for twenty years
Over the lofty mountains,
He who knows that he never nears,
Smaller feels with the lapsing years,
Heeds what the bird is singing
Cheerily to its swinging.
Garrulous bird, what will you here
Over the lofty mountains?
Surely your nest was there less drear,
Taller the trees, the outlook clear;--
Will you then only bring me
Longings, but naught to wing me?
Shall I then never, never go
Over the lofty mountains?
Shall to my thoughts this wall say,--No!
Stand with terror of ice and snow,
Barring the way unwended,
Coffin me when life is ended?
Out will I! Out!--Oh, so far, far, far,
Over the lofty mountains!
Here is this cramping, confining bar,
Baffling my thoughts, that so buoyant are;--
Lord! Let me try the scaling,
Suffer no final failing!
Sometime I know I shall rise and soar
Over the lofty mountains.
Hast Thou already ajar Thy door?--
Good is Thy home! Yet, Lord, I implore,
Hold not the gates asunder,--
Leave me my longing wonder!
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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The Singer Of High State
On hills too harsh for firs to climb,
Where eagle dare not hatch her brood,
Upon the peak of solitude,
With anvils of black granite crude
I forge austerities of rhyme.
Such godlike stuff my spirit drinks
I make grand odes of tempests there.
The steel-winged eagle, if he dare
To cleave these tracts of frozen air,
Hearing such music, swoops and sinks.
Stark clangours of forgotten wars,
Tumults of primal love and hate,
Through crags of song reverberate.
Held by the Singer of High State,
Battalions of the midnight pause.
On hills uplift from Space and Time,
Upon the peak of Solitude,
With stars to give my furnace food,
On anvils of black granite crude
I forge austerities of rhyme.
poem by Louis Golding
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Song Of The Evergreens
Listen to the briskly whistling winter evergreen
Whispering through the frozen morning light
And tell me whats to come
Saying my time is near
Never fear
I close each year
Im winter
Reminding me to trade my t-shirts for my woven wools
Trade my sandals for my skis
Whispered warnings in the wind
Saying soon come the dancing snowflakes
Theyre kissing every tree
Theyre kissing you and me
Please hurry
Falling
Dazzling dancing diamonds from the sky
Prisms
Rainbow sparkled flurries in our eyes
Whipping across the frozen crystal meadow
Pond of ice
Race the snow
Well build a warming fire there
And cuddle close and wine and dine
The setting sun
The morning light will find us high
Shooting down the glistening mountain side
Screaming through the whispering pines
The freedom of each day
Will cleanse our minds
I can hardly wait for winter
I can hardly wait for the snow
I can hardly hardly wait for winter
I can hardly wait for the snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sky Is High
The sky is high.
I'm thrilled to uplift and pierce,
Through a capacity.
The Sun on me sets a glow.
Deserving of this quickened drift...
I'm in ecstasy!
Something fresh with blessings,
Is going to happen!
Packed all doubts to leave to keep this breeze...
Licking on me.
To soar,
Effortlessly!
The sky is high.
I'm thrilled to uplift and pierce,
Through a capacity.
The Sun on me sets a glow.
Deserving of this quickened drift...
I'm in ecstasy!
Nothing is there to dare my movement.
Aware I am that I've got to fly.
Obstacles small and great are crumbling.
Just like the leaves,
Under my feet.
That fell from the Autumn,
October trees.
The sky is high.
I'm thrilled to uplift and pierce,
Through a capacity.
The Sun on me sets a glow.
Deserving of this quickened drift...
I'm in ecstasy!
And I reach for the sky.
Yes, that sky that's so high!
Something fresh is going to happen!
All doubts are packed...
And ready to leave!
And I lift effortlessly!
The sky is high.
I'm thrilled to uplift and pierce,
Through a capacity.
The Sun on me sets a glow.
Deserving of this quickened drift...
I'm in ecstasy!
The sky is high.
I reach for stars so clear,
A smile appears in my eyes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Northern Mystery
Silver snowflakes fall
into the northern mystery,
so stark against the background
of the resilient evergreen tree -
The blue wind
finds it's course,
a flow of snow
and deadly force -
Rivers black
and frozen ice,
the unprepared
pay a terrible price -
The clear cold, sharp as
hot prairie lightning,
tears the frigid air
fierce and frightening -
More than
half the year,
a freezing death
lingers near -
The great northern mystery is
the courage of those who stay,
the strong and sturdy
who refuse to be driven away -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Helderberg Hill (Sestina)
You are the high hill with numerous peaks,
that in summer looks magnificent and cheery,
where I have climbed up to waterfalls, to heights,
where I got a view of sun, beach and sea,
felt as if in presence of God, with tranquillity
with your moods you remind me of a lady.
Once I wandered with a young lady
on a twisting trail among your high peaks
to find some inner peace, some tranquillity
and she was quite happy and rather cheery
gazing up at the blue sky, down at the sea
from both of those dazing heights.
Climbing up to the sheer heights
was like exploring the body of a lady
as if finding a secret kind of sea
with beautiful rising pointed peaks
and the experience was quite cheery,
suddenly leaving an own tranquillity.
My privacy is invaded by her tranquillity
as from far I still do watch her heights
and although feeling rather cheery
there is danger in this lovely lady
that beacons me with her high peaks
to look upon an endless open sea.
I long to gaze out upon the sea,
to be with her in tranquillity,
to wander among her peaks,
to again explore her heights
as if to visit a dear kind old lady
but I wonder if I will find her cheery?
But I must now continually stay cheery,
keep far away from the troubled sea,
avoid all of the dangerous heights
of live to be able to find tranquillity
but still the beautiful ageless lady
is luring me continually with her peaks.
How glimmering and cheery with ice her peaks
high above the sea, do glow from their heights,
she is without tranquillity, a chilly frozen lady.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Racoon
Racoon wakes up every night,
with its black soft mask and painted paws,
its quiet and still and white,
The sparkling snow mountain is where all the bundles of food is kept,
It walked up the frosted moutains,
just like the giants that came once a year,
up on the mountain there is a big wooden den, where the giants snore,
but Racoon has not come for watching the giants,
he has come for the big shining silvery can,
like the lonely stars that shone above,
Inside there is enough food to last for moons,
the sun rises and Racoon runs home,
For when the sun sets Racoon will climb snow mountain again.
poem by Sora Yoshimatsu
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A New Year, Another Chance
One more year to change…
One less year to do it in
Start now…don’t give in
One more chance
To do it in!
You can be better…
If you try
You can feel better
That’s no lie
You can do better this year
Through thick and thin
Look up! Start now!
Don’t give in!
A new year…(you only get so many)
A new start… (only you can do it)
One more chance… (this time stick to it)
To do it in!
New year ‘s eve is near
Are you gonna stay the same
If so…shame, shame, shame! !
No war! No more fear!
You can do it! Let’s do it…
different this year! !
Stop smoking…lose weight
Be happy…Work out! …No drugs! …
Love yaw! ! lot’s of hugs
poem by David Whalen
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Frozen Pride
Snow covered hills
In the deep of January
Freezing cold
Jitters makes me shake
On the side of the house
Icicles cling high
Overly clear
Unlike the sky
Overcast and gray
Precipitation likely
Heard just now
The winter wind
I'm frozen in place
Can't feel my feet
I wonder why
I'm standing outside
In the dead of winter
Seizing the frozen pride
Soon to participate
With the dance of the cold
poem by Russell Sivey
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The Imaginary Iceberg
We'd rather have the iceberg than the ship,
although it meant the end of travel.
Although it stood stock-still like cloudy rock
and all the sea were moving marble.
We'd rather have the iceberg than the ship;
we'd rather own this breathing plain of snow
though the ship's sails were laid upon the sea
as the snow lies undissolved upon the water.
O solemn, floating field,
are you aware an iceberg takes repose
with you, and when it wakes may pasture on your snows?
This is a scene a sailor'd give his eyes for.
The ship's ignored. The iceberg rises
and sinks again; its glassy pinnacles
correct elliptics in the sky.
This is a scene where he who treads the boards
is artlessly rhetorical. The curtain
is light enough to rise on finest ropes
that airy twists of snow provide.
The wits of these white peaks
spar with the sun. Its weight the iceberg dares
upon a shifting stage and stands and stares.
The iceberg cuts its facets from within.
Like jewelry from a grave
it saves itself perpetually and adorns
only itself, perhaps the snows
which so surprise us lying on the sea.
Good-bye, we say, good-bye, the ship steers off
where waves give in to one another's waves
and clouds run in a warmer sky.
Icebergs behoove the soul
(both being self-made from elements least visible)
to see them so: fleshed, fair, erected indivisible.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Fastest Rhyme
Well... Young MC that is my name
And rockin it for you is my game
It is my game but whatdya like
The Young MC is on the mic
On the mic and in the place
I'm rockin it to the vicious pace
The vicious pace the vicious house
I'm really gonna make you hypnotized
Hypnotized but then you're gone
I'm rockin' it to the break of dawn
The break of dawn the break of D
Cus my name is the Young MC
Young MC is what i'm called
I'm not too heavy, not too tall
I'm not too tall, i'm never the wack
The Young MC give a heart attack
Heart attack is what i give
I'm really gonna make you want to live
You want to live you want to die
You rockin' the vicious can't deny
Can't deny just what you hear
You rockin' it days and month and year
Month and year and month and day
I'm really gonna take your breath away
Breath away and breathalizer
Rhymin' like a synthesizer
Synthesizing music machine
Rock the house you know what I mean
What I mean is what I say
Going to rock the house today
You rock today you rock tonight
You're gonna to really do it right
Do it right and do it wrong
I'm going to make you sing a song
You sing a song cold with the glee
Cause my name is the Young MC
[transcribed by Doug Harple - [email protected] - 6/17/95
song performed by by Young MC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meeting Among the Mountains
The little pansies by the road have turned
Away their purple faces and their gold,
And evening has taken all the bees from the thyme,
And all the scent is shed away by the cold.
Against the hard and pale blue evening sky
The mountain's new-dropped summer snow is clear
Glistening in steadfast stillness: like transcendent
Clean pain sending on us a chill down here.
Chirst on the Cross! -- his beautiful young man's body
Has fallen dead upon the nails, and hangs
White and loose at last, with all the pain
Drawn on his mouth, eyes broken at last by his pangs.
And slowly down the mountain road, belated,
A bullock wagon comes; so I am ashamed
To gaze any more at the Christ, whom the mountain snows
Whitely confront; I wait on the grass, am lamed.
The breath of the bullock stains the hard, chill air,
The band is across its brow, and it scarcely seems
To draw the load, so still and slow it moves,
While the driver on the shaft sits crouched in dreams.
Surely about his sunburnt face is something
That vexes me with wonder. He sits so still
Here among all this silence, crouching forward,
Dreaming and letting the bullock take its will.
I stand aside on the grass to let them go;
-- And Christ, I have met his accusing eyes again,
The brown eyes black with misery and hate, that look
Full in my own, and the torment starts again.
One moment the hate leaps at me standing there,
One moment I see the stillness of agony,
Something frozen in the silence that dare not be
Loosed, one moment the darkness frightens me.
Then among the averted pansies, beneath the high
White peaks of snow, at the foot of the sunken Christ
I stand in a chill of anguish, trying to say
The joy I bought was not too highly priced.
But he has gone, motionless, hating me,
Living as the mountains do, because they are strong,
With a pale, dead Christ on the crucifix of his heart,
And breathing the frozen memory of his wrong.
Still in his nostrils the frozen breath of despair,
And heart like a cross that bears dead agony
Of naked love, clenched in his fists the shame,
And in his belly the smouldering hate of me.
And I, as I stand in the cold, averted flowers,
Feel the shame-wounds in his hands pierce through my own,
And breathe despair that turns my lungs to stone
And know the dead Christ weighing on my bone.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Fir tree [Bradul]
When sun in May burns in the sky
When winter wind is mean,
The stately fir, on mountains high,
Remains forever green.
Its root is strong and goes inside
The rock with perfect skill,
And from above, so dignified,
It keeps on drilling still!
With that huge granite, dense and strong,
It joined its slender form,
And both are shaken all along
By the relentless storm.
And wood and rock are just one frame,
The green spot charms the eyes;
Inhales the frost, endures the flame
And thunderbolts defies!
The raging wind disturbs its breast
And with the clouds it strives,
Year after year can find no rest,
However, lives and thrives.
If someone took it to the vale
To make it feel secure,
Would miss the rocks, would miss the gale
And it would die, for sure!
When sun in May burns in the sky
When winter wind is mean,
The stately fir, on mountains high,
Remains forever green.
poem by Bogdan Petriceicu Haşdeu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Cold Snow Fall
The snow fall this year will be cold.
How will the homeless surive;
living on your doorstep,
or in your garden?
They will trudge through the snow,
their feet getting wet.
Their hands getting frostbite.
Their lips turning blue.
The snow fall this year will be cold.
Whining for food at your door.
Limping and shivering from the cold.
Why should they be treated like this?
The strays will try to do what they can to surive;
eating leftovers,
scrounging on the bins,
being swept away with a broom.
The snow fall this year will be cold.
You'll be at home,
getting warm by the fire,
opening gifts.
Your door is shut,
the curtains are drawn.
You have no clue what is going on outside,
in the cold cruel world.
poem by Scarlet Outlaw
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For my beloved sister II...
Sister
Do I dare to compare your love
To the lighthouse engulfed in fog
Shining it’s beacon of light
That guides through stormy seas Sister
Do I dare to compare your love
To the soft whispers carried on a breeze
As it rustles through copper colored leaves
Words of encouragement
Sister
Do I dare to compare your love
To the snow capped mountains
Majestic peaks against a soft hue of blue
The epitome of strength
Sister
Do I dare to compare your love
To the vast meadows of wildflowers
A motley of colors put on display
Simplifying beauty
Sister
Do I dare to compare your love
To the endless skies overhead
And it’s never-ending exhibit of light and dark
Infinite
Sister
Do I dare to compare your love
poem by Shashidhar Kumar
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