Calamiterror (Section VI)
1
Meandering abroad in the Lincolnshire meadows day
Day and day a month perhaps, lying at night lonely,
The early September evening administering a mystery,
The moon executing its wavering sleight of hand, I sense the
Advent of the extraordinary event, the calamiterror,
Turn and encounter the mountain descending upon me
The moment of terror flashes like dead powder
Revealing the features of the mass as mine.
2
Time like a mountain made of my own shadow
Collapsing on me, buries me in my life.
It is the future, undermined by present,
Failing appallingly backward. I bring
The cracked escarpments hurling down, I catch
The agonised glint of years in a fall of
Rubble, the time clatters down with branches
I hear the broken life scream and sob like me.
3
Meandering abroad in the Lincolnshire meadows
Throw up no mountain featured with self's face.
Idling like Hylas beside the Babylonian stream
Admire the harp on the willow not the bright mask
Suspended through the depths or down
Internally and eternally drowned you go. I know.
I wandered at night admiring the moonlight mountain
The moon had made the monster of my own.
4
I see the elements of my growth were drawn
Not from the objects that encourage growth,
The mountain ornamented with morning tears,
The musical tree, the hesitating river,
But the distorted mountain of the bowels,
The hysterical tree that branches to the arms,
The lunar river from the sexual fountain.
Feeding on self, the internal cannibal
Stands like a gap over its swallowed self.
5
About the adult like the solar system
Objects revolve, holding the man in place.
The abdomen of youth is the balloon world
Twisted to fit between the ribs. The Spartan boy
Had his own fox-globe hidden at his belly.
The youth of sorrow mourns this indigestion,
The world swelling in his guts. I vomit.
This is the act that 1 now execute.
6
Why walk at night admiring the moonlight mountain,
It is to find and feel the real and fine.
More may the glittering angle indicate
The physiognomy of the divine than thine.
Who is the parent of the innumerable plant,
It is not the sweet onion hanging at my loin.
The green tree springing in the rear of space
Follows the Greek sun and not my face.
7
1 recall how the rosetree sprang out of my breast.
I recall the myriads of birds in the cage of my head,
I recall my third finger the branch of myrtle,
I recall the imprisoned women wailing in my bowels.
I was the figure of the Surrealist Exhibition
With a mass of roses face. I hung like hawk
Hungry over the running world, I hung
Like sun that pulls the bright boys, like the spider.
8
1 saw the moon nightly performing a circle about
The pivotal point of my eye. The bird flew
Either towards or from me, sang to me or was
Silent. I sensed the violent spinning of things, -
I was their axle like the polar tree.
The key of kings had fallen from the blue
Into my keyhole eye, I knew I knew.
I felt the crush of hell in my left side.
9
It was on Sunday the 12th April I saw
The figure of William Blake bright and huge
Hung over the Thames at Sonning. I had not had this.
Familiar with the spatial mathematic,
Acknowledging the element of matter,
I was acquainted with the make of things,
But not this. I had not acknowledged this.
I had not encountered prototype.
10
I saw William Blake large and bright like ambition,
Absolute, glittering, actual and gold.
I saw he had worlds and worlds in his abdomen,
And his bosom innumerably enpeopled with all birds.
I saw his soul like a cinema in each of his eyes,
And Swedenborg labouring like a dream in his stomach.
I remember the myrtle sprouting from his hand
And saw myself the minor bird on the bough.
11
1 recognized the cosmology of the objects,
The contributing and constituting things,
Which contemplated too close make a chaos,
The glorious plethora, the paradise mass, the chaos of
Glory, in which the idiot wanders collecting.
I recognized the cosmology of chaos,
Observing that the condition rendering
Chaos cosmos is the external fact.
12
William Blake was larger than my Lincolnshire mountain
When like my mountain fell. I heard the catastrophic
Fragments of his torso breaking past me, it was
The object of the physical world breaking on me
Like Krakatoa like Krakatoa like the
Fist shooting out of the box like the gradual
Appearance of morning at morning like Tutankhamen
Carefully divesting itself in public places.
13
1 achieved apocalypse - hearing slowly the sounds
Against which my ears had made their own music.
I heard first the Rhondda choral echo up the valley
Trying to find god's ear, I heard the presage
Ironically rumbling along the Channel, war:
The ancestral voice, the ancestral voice.
And 1 saw in a fog of gas Mr Baldwin orating:
We must repair the deficiencies of our forces.
I heard three women weeping in lrun's ruins.
14
Nothing 1 could not hear, Berliner
Tageblatt, Daily Telegraph, L'Humanite, Isvestia,
The air like newsboys shrieking, recounting
Instances of hate, of insult, aggravation, and
The Rhondda choral, the Durham hymn, over all.
I met seven saints in Salisbury with cotton wool in their ears.
I remembered with shame my own music.
The splitting of the central pillar like aural lightning,
I felt it crack my abdomen, the world.
poem by George Barker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Mountain Sprite
In yonder valley there dwelt, alone,
A youth, whose moments had calmly flown,
'Till spells came o'er him, and, day and night,
He was haunted and watch'd by a Mountain Sprite.
As once, by moonlight, he wander'd o'er
The golden sands of that Island shore,
A foot-print sparkled before his sight --
'Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite!
Beside a fountain, one sunny day,
As bending over the stream he lay,
There peep'd down o'er him two eyes of light,
And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite.
He turn'd, but, lo, like a startled bird,
That spirit fled! -- and the youth but heard
Sweet music, such as marks the flight
Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite.
One night, still haunted by that bright look,
The boy, bewilder'd, his pencil took.
And, guided only by memory's light,
Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite.
"Oh thou, who lovest the shadow," cried
A voice, low whispering by his side,
"Now turn and see," -- here the youth's delight
Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite.
"Of all the Spirits of land and sea,"
Then rapt he murmur'd, "there's none like thee,
And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light
In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite!"
poem by Thomas Moore
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Lifes Like A River
Music :ulrich roth, rudolf schenker
Lyrics:c. fortman
As years are passing by
Silence becomes your friend
You see the world in a different way
Dont be afraid of getting old
Lifes still full of joy
And the beauty of the past is rejoicing your mind
When days are getting short
And winter comes along
Your life slows down and down
Like a river is getting wide
The worlds have lost their voice
You remember your morning flowing to the endless sea
When days are getting short
And winter comes along
Your life slows down and down
Like a river is getting wide
The worlds have lost their voice
You remember your morning flowing to the endless sea
Lifes like a river in the mountain
Lifes like a sea without end
Lifes like a river in the mountain
Lifes like a sea without end
Lifes like a river in the mountain
Lifes like a sea without end
Lifes like a river in the mountain
Lifes like a sea without end
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Mountain Blues
Out in black mountain a child will smack your face.
Im saying out on black mountain a child will smack your face.
The babies cryin for liquor, and all the birds sing bass.
Well, those people in black mountain are mean as they can be.
And those people in black mountain are mean as they can be.
Now they uses gun powder just to sweeten up their tea.
Well, out in black mountain you cant keep a good man in jail.
Yeah, out in black mountain you cant keep a good man in jail
cause if the jury convicts him, the judge will pay his bail.
I had a man in black mountain, the sweetest man in town.
I had a man in black mountain, the sweetest man in the town.
But then he met a city gal, thats when he throwed me down.
Lord, Im bound for black mountain, me and my razor and my gun,
Im going back to black mountain, me and my razor and my gun.
Im gonna fire him if he stands still, Ill just cut him if he runs.
Lord, now youve heard my story, now youve heard my news.
Lord, now youve heard my story, now youve heard my news.
Now my man can clear off, Ive got the blackest mountain blues.
song performed by by Janis Joplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Blue Ridge Mountain Boy
From a shack by a mountain stream
To a room in new orleans
So far from my blue ridge mountain home
The men I meet aint warm and friendly
Like the one in old virginie
Oh they aint real like my blue ridge mountain boy
I was just a little past eighteen
When I came to new orleans
Id never been beyond my home state line
There was a boy who loved me dearly
But I broke his heart severely
When I left my blue ridge mountain boy
Life was dull in my hometown
Lights were out when the sun went down
And I thought that city life was more my style
But nights get lonely away from home
And its easy to go wrong
The men aint kind like my blue ridge mountain boy
New orleans held things in store
Things Id never bargained for
And every night a different man knocks on my door
But late at night when all is still
I can hear a whippoorwill
As I cry for my blue ridge mountain boy
Oh but I can never go back home
Since the boy I love is gone
He grew tired of waiting for me to return
They say he married last october
But I never will get over
Oh the sweet love of my blue ridge mountain boy
Blue ridge mountain boy
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Buddhist speaks: a man listens, drinks
‘The burning flames of anger have parched the stream of my being.
The thick darkness of illusion has blinded my intelligence.
My consciousness drowns in torrents of desire.
The mountain of pride has flung me into the nether worlds.
The driving blizzard of envy has dragged me into samsara.
The demon of belief in the ego has me firmly by the throat.’
(Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche)
[samsara = the flow of the world] ]
*
Oh Dilgo! You too? And you,
high in the snowy mountains, in a thriving monastery,
surrounded by devotion, love, study, meditation, prayer…
what hope for me and us, if this is what you find in you?
Then I remember your serene and smiling face,
untrammelled, unaffected, giving, and compassionate;
your first thought, before and after meditation
and the seeking of those light-clouded inner worlds,
compassion for the world; as you in turn were taught..
what hope for me and us, what can we do –
but, read this… not with self-loathing, but compassion,
the compassion that brought you, too, to write…
and I recall how snow, hanging from a mountain ledge,
forms drops of water sparkling in the sun and mountain air;
now and then, they drop; join together in a trickle;
a little way below, a mountain stream
gurgles, laughs upon its way;
makes a channel in the rock, splashes from the overhangs;
further down below (silent and still from up here, but for
a single bird, wheeling, gliding, in the lower air)
down below – a mighty river plans to form;
how pure its water tastes.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Dream
I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night;
I went to the window to see the sight;
All the Dead that ever I knew
Going one by one and two by two.
On they pass'd, and on they pass'd;
Townsfellows all, from first to last;
Born in the moonlight of the lane,
Quench'd in the heavy shadow again.
Schoolmates, marching as when they play'd
At soldiers once - but now more staid;
Those were the strangest sight to me
Who were drown'd, I knew, in the awful sea.
Straight and handsome folk, bent and weak, too;
Some that I loved, and gasp'd to speak to;
Some but a day in their churchyard bed;
Some that I had not known were dead.
A long, long crowd - where each seem'd lonely,
Yet of them all there was one, one only,
Raised a head or look'd my way;
She linger'd a moment - she might not stay.
How long since I saw that fair pale face!
Ah! Mother dear! might I only place
My head on thy breast, a moment to rest,
While thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest!
On, on, a moving bridge they made
Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade,
Young and old, women and men;
Many long-forgot, but remembered then,
And first there came a bitter laughter;
A sound of tears a moment after;
And then a music so lofty and gay,
That eve morning, day by day,
I strive to recall it if I may.
poem by William Allingham
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Mountain Woman
They lived together in a dirty old shack
At the edge of the black rocky mountain
And they drank mountain dew and they lived on the food
That they grew at the side of the mountain
Shes a mountain woman, hes her mountain man
They [? ] down the valley
Shes a mountain woman, hes her mountain man
Uneducated but theyre happy
Mountain woman couldnt read nor write
But she knew good from evil, she know wrong from right
When the government tried to buy her water rights
Her intuition was her only guide
Shes a mountain woman, hes her mountain man
They [? ] by the valley
Shes a mountain woman, hes her mountain man
Uneducated but theyre happy
Spend my life with my mountain woman
Were uneducated by were happy
The civil servant used compulsory purchase
To acquire the [? ] for the nation
Theyll dig up the land, theyre gonna make a dam
And build a hydroelectric power station
And now she lives on the 33rd floor
Of a man-made concrete mountain
She got an elevator and refrigerator
And an automobile to run around in
Fast talkin lawyers from the government
Went and beat proud mountain woman down
Hey mountain woman, take your mountain man
They took your land and flood your valley
Spend my life with my mountain woman
Theyre uneducated by theyre happy
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silhouette of my soul
The dark mountain behind me looks so different
For every time I look it’s changed
My soul has the same identity
For when I think I have finally got it under control
The silhouette changes
The mountain starts it day dark with a siloute that defines it
My soul is always in dark
The mountain gets more defined as sun comes up
My soul is always dark
The mountain end up dark again
The silhouette changes
My soul starts it day
Always hung-over from last days confusing silhouettes
so I begin clawing my way out of the deep hole
Even in sleep my soul is confusing
I dream about things that always seem in the dark
Then one of my silhouettes comes up and shines all the darkness away
Bring a smile to day that started with a mountain of undefined silhouettes
I can hold this in place as long as I need it, because I do…always
So when the darkness approaches to make the mountain undefined
It silhouette lost again my silhouette of counterfeit dies a death everyday
In comes the dark
Drunk again with so many silhouettes of my soul that want to be
I fall down under my mountain of darkness in a silhouette
My soul surrounded by light, but the face of my soul in the dark
Hidden the truth of what all these moments mean
So I pass out drunk on confusion for the next day will be the same
The silhouette of my soul
Fire Coming Out Of A Monkey's Head
Once upon a time at the foot of a great mountain,
There was a town where the people known as Happyfolk lived.
Their very existence a mystery to the rest of the world,
Abscured as it was by grey clouds.
Here they played out their peaceful lives,
Innocent of the litany of excess and violence
That was growing in the world below.
To live in harmony with the spirit of the mountain called Monkey was enough.
Then one day Strangefolk arrived in the town.
They came in camouflage, hidden behind dark glasses,
But no one noticed them: they only saw shadows.
You see, without the Truth of the Eyes, the Happyfolk were blind.
Falling out of aeroplanes and hiding out in holes,
Waiting for the sunset to come, people goin' home.
Jump out from behind them and shoot them in the head,
Now everybody's dancing the dance of the dead,
The dance of the dead, the dance of the dead.
In time, Strangefolk found their way into the high reaches of the mountain,
And it was there that they found the Caves of Unimaginable Sincerity and Giving.
By chance, they stumbled upon the Place Where All Good Souls Come to Rest.
The Strangefolk, they coveted the jewels in these caves above all things,
And soon they began to mine the mountain, its rich seam fueling the chaos of their own world.
Meanwhile, down in the town, the Happyfolk slept restlessly,
Their dreams invaded by shadowy figures digging away at their souls.
Every day, people would wake and stare at the mountain.
Why was it bringing darkness into their lives?
And as the Strangefolk mined deeper and deeper into the mountain,
Holes began to appear, bringing with them a cold and bitter wind that chilled the very soul of them up.
For the first time, the Happyfolk felt fearful for they knew that soon the Monkey would soon stir from its deep sleep.
And then came a sound.
Distant first, it grew into castrophany so immense it could be heard far away in space.
There were no screams.
There was no time.
The mountain called Monkey had spoken.
There was only fire.
And then, nothing.
O little town in U.S.A, your time has come to see
There's nothing you believe you want
But where were you when it all came down on me?
Did you call me now?
song performed by by Gorillaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Colors Of The Wind
You think you own whatever land you land on
The earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know evry rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name
You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
Youll learn things you never knew you never knew
Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned ?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain ?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind ?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind ?
Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest
Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth
Come roll in all the riches all around you
And for once, never wonder what theyre worth
The rainstorm and the river are my brothers
The heron and the otter are my friends
In a cirle, in a hoop that never ends
Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or let the eagle tell you there hes been
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain ?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind ?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind ?
How high does the sycamore grow ?
If you cut it down, then youll never know
And youll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
For whether we are white or copper-skinned
We just sing with all the voices of the mountain
Need to paint with all the colors of the wind
You can own the earth and still
All youll own is earth until
You can paint with all colors of the wind
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Of The Mountain
Come on
Im gonna climb the mountain
Im gonna hit the top
I wanna go where nobodys ever been
Im never gonna stop
Im gonna reign, Im gonna shine
Im gonna beat the ground
Im gonna shoot through the night like a shot gun
Im gonna get on down, I wanna get on down
Im the king of the mountain, Im the king of the mountain
Listen, dont try to save my soul from destruction
Im never gonna fall
Dont try to give me a piece of the action
Im gonna take it all
All the kings horses, all the kings men
Were gettin crazy again and again
Make up your mind, its time we get goin
Were gonna get on down, were gonna get on down
Im the king of the mountain, Im the king of the mountain
Im the king of the mountain, Im the king of the mountain
Yeah, now
Oh, yeah, king of the mountain
Say it, king of the mountain
Im the king of the mountain, Im the king of the mountain, yeah
Im the king of the mountain
And the winner takes it all, lets go, lets go, lets go
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Big Music
I have heard the big music
And Ill never be the same
Something so pure
Just called my name
I have drowned in the big sea
Now I find Im still alive
And Im coming up for ever
Shadows all behind me, ecstacy to come
I have
Climbed the big tree
Touched the big sky
I just stuck my hand up in the air
And everything came into colour
Like jazz mana from sweet, sweet chariots
I have seen the big mountain
And I swear Im halfway there
(youll never get there, youll never get there, youll never get there)
But I will, I will always climb the mountain
Because...
I have heard the big music
And Ill never be the same
Something so pure
Has called my name
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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River
Here is the river
And I am searching it
In the map that is
On the wall of my house
That is not there.
I do not know
The mountain is in between
The river and my house
That dressedup geography
And taking me from
Place to place.
I am on my own journey
While the sky is breaking
And I with the night dream
Passing passing and passing
The hard days with
Fire of the mountain
And water of the river.
Where is the river
That I am searching
To driveout troubles
Where I am
Here is the river
Wash your face eyes
Somebody is kind enough
To tell in my house.
I am not in my house
See.
And Where am I
And the sea is here
No river no mountain
Here is the river
If you find again
Inform me please
I am grateful then.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Mountain Of Hope
He had climbed the highest mountain this
World had ever known.
He had climbed the highest mountain
On maps it can’t be shown.
It was a mountain of tears, suffering and pain
And no ones life would ever be the same.
Then a second mountain was built
And it was higher than the first.
This mountain was built with the
strongest material known to man.
HOPE! In our hearts and our minds it will stand.
Each time hope is fed, there lies another bed.
And as each bed is filled
The mountain gets higher still.
But it was he who climbed the mountain
Of tears, suffering and pain.
And because of it he took away the shame.
And this mountain came to be.
because CHRIST Made a sacrifice
for you and for me.
And if we was able to put HOPE
Into a color scheme
It would be the most beautiful
Rainbow that you’ve ever seen.
So every time you see a rainbow
Without a beginning and without a end
It’s because hope is building up
And that’s a guarantee my friend.
poem by Louis Rams
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Stagger Mountain Tragedy
I was born on stagger mountain in the sunshine and the snow
And leavin was the first mistake I made;
But I hungered for the shadows in the valley down below
And the girl that danced the tune the devil played.
Her smile was like the blindin light of sunshine on the snow
And the flashin of her hair was black as sin.
And her body set the smokes of hell a-boilin in my skull
When the fiddle of the devil made her spin.
Morning sunshine [sunshine] high on the mountain,
Where the air is pure and cold;
But theres darkness in the shadows
In the canyons of my soul.
The lantern cast a shadow like a demon on the wall
And the naked sweat was breathin on her skin;
Then the room was spinning closer as her clothes began to fall
And the eagle started screamin in my brain;
Then I saw the laughin dagger and I heard the devil scream
And her bleeding heart was beating in my hand.
Then the darkness blew away and I was standin by a tree
With a hanging rope a-danglin from a limb.
Morning sunshine [sunshine] high on the mountain,
Where the air is pure and cold;
But theres darkness in the shadows
In the canyons of my soul.
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Pine Tree
'Listen my child,' said the old pine
tree, to the little one nestling near,
'For the storm clouds troop together to-night,
and the wind of the north I hear
And perchance there may come some echo of
the music of long ago,
The music that rang when the White Host
sang, marching across the snow.'
'Up and away Saint George! up thro' the
mountain gorge,
Over the plain where the tempest blows, and
the great white flakes are flying
Down the long narrow glen! faster my merry
men,
Follow the trail, tho' shy moon hides, and
deeply the drifts are lying.'
'Ah! mother.' the little pine tree replied,
'you are dreaming again to-night
Of ghostly visions and phantom forms that for-
ever mock your sight
'Tis true moan of the winter wind comes
to my list'ning ear
But the White Host marching, I cannot see,
and their music I cannot hear.'
'When the northern skies were all aflame
where the trembling banners swung,
When up in the vaulted heavens the moon of
the Snow Shoe hung,
When the hurricane swept the hillside, and the
crested drifts ran high
Those were the nights,' said the old pine tree,
'the great White Host marched by.'
And the storm grew fiercer, fiercer, and the
snow went hissing past,
But the little pine tree still listened, till she
heard above the blast
The music her mother loved to hear in the
nights of the long ago
And saw in the forest the white-clad Host
marching across the snow.
And loud they sang as they tramped along of
the glorious bygone days
Whan valley and hill re-echeoed the snow-
shoer's hymn of praise
Till the shy moon gazed down smiling, and the
north wind pause to hear
And the old pine tree felt young again as the
little one nestling near.
'Up and away Saint George! up thro' the
mountain gorge.
Over the plain where the tempest blows, and
the great white flakes are flying.
Down the long narrow glen! faster my merry
men.
Follow the trail, tho' the shy moon hides, and
deeply the drifts are lying.'
poem by William Henry Drummond
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Ain't No Mountain High Enough
Listen, baby
Ain't no mountain high
Ain't no vally low
Ain't no river wide enough, baby
If you need me, call me
No matter where you are
No matter how far
Just call my name
I'll be there in a hurry
You don't have to worry
'Cause baby,
There ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you
Remember the day
I set you free
I told you
You could always count on me
From that day on I made a vow
I'll be there when you want me
Some way,some how
'Cause baby,
There ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you
No wind, no rain
My love is alive
Way down in my heart
Although we are miles apart
If you ever need a helping hand
I'll be there on the double
As fast as I can
Don't you know that
There ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you
Don't you know that
There ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
song performed by by Michael Mcdonald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Of The Mountain
Walking through the high dry grass, pushing my way through slow
Yellow belly black snake, sleeping on a red rock
Waiting for the stranger to go
Sugar train stops at the crossing, cane cockies cursing below
Bad storm coming, better run to the top of the mountain
Mountain in the shadow of light, rain in the valley below
Well you can say youre peter, say youre paul
Dont put me up on your bedroom wall, call me the king of the mountain
Blacksmith fires up the bellows, cane cutters burning the load
Workers of the world, run to the top of the mountain
Mountain in the...
I cant take my hands from my face, there are some things we cant replace
Mountain in the...
Over liquid tarmac wastelands of cactus and heat
Down cobblestone alleyways of washing day sheets
Up ghost prairie mountains of sunset and space
Down the road at a familiar place, across the wilderness
Out further than the bush I will follow you
(hirst/moginie)
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Echo.
Here, Echo, was thy reign of old,
Among these hills, a mystic crowd
Whose thunder rolled
When they speak loud
Still shocks the sea: here thy hair grew
Long as a cloud whose shadow drew
Itself o'er chaos, ere Time rose
With life and death and all of those
Who live and die, whose weakest word
Thine ears have heard;
Still as thou sitt'st with sightless eyes
On a bright cloud in the lone vale,
Or leaning o'er a mountain rill
Dost hark the ebbing roar
Of a dead sea on some primeval shore,
Whose unrecorded memories
Are like the language of old gods who fell
From some starred pinnacle
In the lost years — as all things will
Too fall at last, and the great tale
Of Time be never more retold;
Ay, e'en when chaos is re-rolled
O'er the opprest and the oppressor, thou
(Unseen, and but a word within that wail)
Shalt pass as in a trance where thought may go
When all is lying low.
poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The hammer’s tale
There’s a tale of a hammer
that dropped from the sky
and fell at the feet
of a warrior chief
while he was hunting
and before he saw it
a flash of blue-white lightning
cracked down at his feet
from a cloudless cobalt blue sky.
Amazed at the thunder
his gaze went into the air,
but he could see nothing there
but he sensed something
and looked more carefully
and something still unseen
threw a shadow covering him
and at his feet lay something strange
while in the east he heard the sound
of something huge
hitting the ground as if dead.
A metallic hammer huge in size
fit for a giant
with a colour somewhere between
copper and gold lay gleaming
as if it was filled with some strange
sort of energy
and it was crafted beautifully
with intricate runic patterns
decorating its shaft
and while the shadow
became much larger
and more threatening
and he swore
that he could hear
something breathing
and he reached for the hammer
trying to pick it up
and it was light
as a feather in his hands
and the hammer changed in colour
to a bright white blue hue
and started humming
as if it was coming alive
and it changed in size and shape
becoming much smaller
but like a big war maul
and he wasn’t dreaming
but a giant of a godlike thing
was in fury looking at him
and a flaming sword
was in its huge fist
with a hound with red gleaming eyes
following it
and holding onto the hammer
with both hands he took a swing at it,
hitting it with a tremendous thundering blow
and it fell over into a valley
facing the wooded west
but with a still swiping sword
and the warrior ran
trying to avoid it
and in anger bashed
at the mountain
rising in front of him
and the mountain shattered
while tremendous lightning bolts blazed it
causing the mountain to fall
over the god’s breast
and the hound tried to kill him
but he knocked it
right over the mountain
with lightning bolts sizzling over it.
[Reference: Gluskap’s Hound by T.G. Roberts.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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