two close Filipino friends
two of them in a tow
on top of a rock
a mountain
somewhere in the hidden forest of Mexico
behind them are the shadows of
tall unexplored mountains
misty, around them is the coldness
of this tapestry
of boulders, and fog and smoke of the
breath of the earth
fronting them are the mountains again
behind and on the sides of their
twin existence
being, uncertain, true, insisting,
growing, mysterious
after this short rest, they move again
to complete their journey to the other side
edgeless.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Everyday Way
I delight in the everyday Way,
Among the mist and fog, the plain;
Every rock and cave is joined,
Feeling is believing, loathing me.
The plain speech of the Way
Excites me as I meander through the forest
Of the mountains in the angelic spirit,
Finding rocks and boulders rising.
Everyone who glimpses the mountain
Sees a man outside and indoors,
It climbed you as well in the forest,
You cannot fathom these words.
I delight in the ways of the Mountain,
How it climbed you so well and wet;
The water is like a river of beauty
From the excitement housed in the air.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Then There Are The Mountains
On a mountain's peak is there peace?
Mountains that overlook the quiet prairie.
Mountains that borders life in rural counties.
Mountains chiseled by years of wind and rain.
Mountain winds creep keeping all secrets.
Mountains a kin to the lower hills of death.
Mountains at the height of glamour baked in sunshine.
Mountains that reach for more majestic planes.
Mountains giving to the ridges, valleys and cliffs.
Mountains in spring the fulfillment of adventure and dream.
Mountains which can shelter one from storm.
Mountains an enduring symbol in poetry.
Mountains which inhabit the calls of the wild.
Mountains of spectacle, below the bending roads between.
Mountains embracing, magnifying the sounds of river.
Mountains the stellar monuments of time.
poem by William Blackman
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Faith Can Move Mountains
-artist: nat king cole
-peak billboard position # 24 in 1952
-words by ben raleigh and music by guy wood
Faith can move mountains
Darling, you will see
I can move mountains
If you have faith in me
Faith can work magic
This I find with you
Yours is the magic
To make my wishes come true
So tell me again you love me
Kiss me and Ill be strong
What couldnt I do when I know that you
Are here to help me along?
Yes, faith can move mountains
Darling, you will see
I can move mountains
If you have faith in me
So tell me again you love me
Kiss me and Ill be strong
What couldnt I do when I know that you
Are here to help me along?
Yes, faith can move mountains
Darling, you will see
I can move mountains
If you have faith in me
Yes, I can move mountains
If you have faith in me
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Journey to Be
I think I'll journey out some day to wondrous lands afar,
Or even chart a journey to a distant blazing star.
But rest assured that when my journey begs to take its cue,
Always know that when I go, this journey takes you too.
We'll start our journey out from here by horse and cart of old,
The seaside docks - and journey pauses - where we shall behold
A noble schooner for the journey primed to launch as planned:
To sail with dolphins cross the seas then journey back on land.
And so our journey goes by foot to conquer mountains tall:
A chapter hence the journey reached, with scenes that should enthral.
But when we tire, let's rest our journey, stretched in fields of flowers,
And bathe atop the mountain from the journey - autumn showers!
Refreshed, our journey takes a turn - we'll venture back for home,
But first we'll let the journey take a tangent just to roam.
And in the winding route, this journey's bound to bide content,
But most of all take heed - let's make our journey life's event.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Twin Mountains In Marawi
the twin mountains in Marawi
from a distance as you sit calmly
in the sala of your house
your window overlooking
the misty morning
you shall see how perfect
are the breasts of the
virginal native brown
mountain woman
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mystery Mountain
Mountain of mystery,
Rising high above the clouds.
Mountain of magic,
Standing tall and proud,
Your magical veins
Flowing silver and gold,
Your cumulus cloud glows misty red,
As apollo sets beyond your head.
Releasing the pressure built over the years
The mountain is crying hot lava tears
Molten rock created under vibrations of
Sub-terranean thunder
Ejecting boulders like pieces of sand
The mountain is
Giving birth to the land.
Under your feet you feel a rumble
As thousands of rocks are starting to tumble
Above the trees where the buzzard flies
Swirling vapors begin to rise
Beneath those misty peaks you hide
A tremendous force boiling deep inside.
song performed by by Journey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Climbing And Climbing
for every step
a hundred deep breaths
you know how hard it
is to climb a mountain
but he chooses the mountains
though hard
as its sides are steep and sharp
because it is only through
mountains that he can
rise from the plains
the wise man once says
he chooses the mountain
because it is there.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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T8
there is a winding river
beside tall mountains
you must know that we have
crossed this river
ten times already
it is the same river
winding through the banks
of these foggy mountains
the tall cogon grasses
can deceive us and so
are the boulders of rocks
that lie along our paths
we are grasping for air
to reach the highest peak of these range
of mountains and valleys and
plains
at the topmost
there we can see the truth and negate
that we can never step twice
on that same river that winds through the hillsides
snake, boa, venomous circuitous foggy paths
damned, we stepped on the same river more than twice
this is the tenth, and this is the highest peak
the world is nothing but a winding snake.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In the mountain
in the mountains its cold thats why i want you tby my side holding me, in the mountains around the campfire, i am wishing you could be at my side, hlding me. in the mountains by that small creek i am fishing but not for fish but for love from you. in the mountains i relaize i need and love you more than i thought i did
poem by Makayla Straight
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The Mountains
you feel like a leaf steady on a pool of
water,
around you is thick fog
and beyond is the haze of a misty morning
the house on the river bank is deserted
and the boulders of rocks are gray and hard
the grass is nil dipping its tongue on the shallow waters
ripples of the wind bring the shadows of shimmer
the mountains stand still
merely looking without any hint that it is curious at all
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Mystery
The river hemmed with leaning trees
Wound through its meadows green;
A low, blue line of mountains showed
The open pines between.
One sharp, tall peak above them all
Clear into sunlight sprang
I saw the river of my dreams,
The mountains that I sang!
No clue of memory led me on,
But well the ways I knew;
A feeling of familiar things
With every footstep grew.
Not otherwise above its crag
Could lean the blasted pine;
Not otherwise the maple hold
Aloft its red ensign.
So up the long and shorn foot-hills
The mountain road should creep;
So, green and low, the meadow fold
Its red-haired kine asleep.
The river wound as it should wind;
Their place the mountains took;
The white torn fringes of their clouds
Wore no unwonted look.
Yet ne'er before that river's rim
Was pressed by feet of mine,
Never before mine eyes had crossed
That broken mountain line.
A presence, strange at once and known,
Walked with me as my guide;
The skirts of some forgotten life
Trailed noiseless at my side.
Was it a dim-remembered dream?
Or glimpse through ions old?
The secret which the mountains kept
The river never told.
But from the vision ere it passed
A tender hope I drew,
And, pleasant as a dawn of spring,
The thought within me grew,
That love would temper every change,
And soften all surprise,
And, misty with the dreams of earth,
The hills of Heaven arise.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Irish Air
Over the Wicklow mountains,
Where the air is pure as can be.
Over the hills and moor lands,
The waterfalls to see.
Spectacular the waters fall
Between the crevices deep,
To splash on rocks and boulders,
Down the mighty mountains steep.
The peat bogs on the moor land,
For fires to warm are toiled.
The men and women working.
Their clothes and hands are soiled.
But ‘tis worth the toil and strife
To see the Wicklow mountains dear.
To know the joy of being in Erin,
Where the air is crisp and clear.
You can keep your city factories,
And your office blocks so tall.
For to live and work in Ireland,
Is to know you have it all.
poem by Rosi Caswell
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Children Do Not Suffer
As I look out on this sea of
suffering children. I cannot
turn away, and look into the
distance, and pretend I have
not seen, and I do not know
of their sad journey in this
life.
I am led to respond to their
needs. My heart is aware.
In God's eye these childen
are most precious.Their
needs must be attended to.
To whom much is given, much
is expected. If we look away,
the price we pay will much
greater than the few dollars
we would give to help their
development.
Alone one cannot accomplish
much, but as nations coming
together we can move mountains,
with God's help.
And when God speaks mountains
move.
poem by Heather Burns
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A Version Of Solitude
you feel like a leaf steady on a pool of
water,
around you is thick fog
and beyond is the haze of a misty morning
the house on the river bank is deserted
and the boulders of rocks are gray and hard
the grass is nil dipping its tongue on the shallow waters
ripples of the wind bring the shadows of shimmer
the mountains stand still
merely looking
this is my poem for solitude
yes, my own version of solitude when all else fail
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Exploration
Many waters speak wonders, like oil
That fuels us with teeth.
Many mountains provoke a trouble,
From their very sight and wealth.
Like the victory of good, the human help
Carried us further than the nature all around.
A man of magic surmounts a favourite rock of height-
A mountain of mighty metres, the same number as god.
Like the night, we see this world, all night,
And every day there is a new complete journey.
This is how to always explore your crafts,
This will prove all your remedies.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Tapestry Of LIfe
I see life
Like a Tapestry
Were you weave
In and out of life
As the journey unfolds
Each thread
Inter woven in your dreams
Have vibrant colours
That burst into being
That burst into life
Then often as in life
You have the black
Grey and white
The hidden nightmares
The hidden dreams
The shadows of life
The beauty of it all
Is how each thread
Intertwines its way through life
Each colour vibrant
With each thread you sew
Even the shadows
Bring out the colours
On a tapestry of Gold
poem by Kaila George
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Giant Snail
The rain has stopped. The waterfall will roar like that all
night. I have come out to take a walk and feed. My body--foot,
that is--is wet and cold and covered with sharp gravel. It is
white, the size of a dinner plate. I have set myself a goal, a
certain rock, but it may well be dawn before I get there.
Although I move ghostlike and my floating edges barely graze
the ground, I am heavy, heavy, heavy. My white muscles are
already tired. I give the impression of mysterious ease, but it is
only with the greatest effort of my will that I can rise above the
smallest stones and sticks. And I must not let myself be dis-
tracted by those rough spears of grass. Don't touch them. Draw
back. Withdrawal is always best.
The rain has stopped. The waterfall makes such a noise! (And
what if I fall over it?) The mountains of black rock give off such
clouds of steam! Shiny streamers are hanging down their sides.
When this occurs, we have a saying that the Snail Gods have
come down in haste. I could never descend such steep escarp-
ments, much less dream of climbing them.
That toad was too big, too, like me. His eyes beseeched my
love. Our proportions horrify our neighbors.
Rest a minute; relax. Flattened to the ground, my body is like
a pallid, decomposing leaf. What's that tapping on my shell?
Nothing. Let's go on.
My sides move in rhythmic waves, just off the ground, from
front to back, the wake of a ship, wax-white water, or a slowly
melting floe. I am cold, cold, cold as ice. My blind, white bull's
head was a Cretan scare-head; degenerate, my four horns that
can't attack. The sides of my mouth are now my hands. They
press the earth and suck it hard. Ah, but I know my shell is
beautiful, and high, and glazed, and shining. I know it well,
although I have not seen it. Its curled white lip is of the finest
enamel. Inside, it is as smooth as silk, and I, I fill it to perfection.
My wide wake shines, now it is growing dark. I leave a lovely
opalescent ribbon: I know this.
But O! I am too big. I feel it. Pity me.
If and when I reach the rock, I shall go into a certain crack
there for the night. The waterfall below will vibrate through
my shell and body all night long. In that steady pulsing I can
rest. All night I shall be like a sleeping ear.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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World's Desire
Love, there is a castle built in a country desolate,
On a rock above a forest where the trees are grim and great,
Blasted with the lightning sharp-giant boulders strewn between,
And the mountains rise above, and the cold ravine
Echoes to the crushing roar and thunder of a mighty river
Raging down a cataract. Very tower and forest quiver
And the grey wolves are afraid and the call of birds is drowned,
And the thought and speech of man in the boiling water's sound.
But upon the further side of the barren, sharp ravine
With the sunlight on its turrets is the castle seen,
Calm and very wonderful, white above the green
Of the wet and waving forest, slanted all away,
Because the driving Northern wind will not rest by night or day.
Yet the towers are sure above, very mighty is the stead,
The gates are made of ivory, the roofs of copper red.
Round and round the warders grave walk upon the walls for ever
And the wakeful dragons couch in the ports of ivory,
Nothing is can trouble it, hate of the gods nor man's endeavour,
And it shall be a resting-place, dear heart, for you and me.
Through the wet and waving forest with an age-old sorrow laden
Singing of the world's regret wanders wild the faerie maiden,
Through the thistle and the brier, through the tangles of the thorn,
Till her eyes be dim with weeping and her homeless feet are torn.
Often to the castle gate up she looks with vain endeavour,
For her soulless loveliness to the castle winneth never.
But within the sacred court, hidden high upon the mountain,
Wandering in the castle gardens lovely folk enough there be,
Breathing in another air, drinking of a purer fountain
And among that folk, beloved, there's a place for you and me
poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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Forest Follies
The Green Man
and the gargoyle
sat idly by.
As the forest
caught fire
and the flames
they grew high.
Till mountains of smoke
had covered the sky.
Then down flew the fairies
in fury they came.
And battle they did
with that furious flame.
Sending in torrents
of free falling rain.
Then away
to the mountain
the fairies did fly.
As the souls
of the forest
did softly sigh.
poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
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437
On A Trip Well Planned
When Most Of The Hours
Are Spent Inside The Car
Where You Dream
About What Lies There
On The Place Of Your Destination
Some Flowers
And Treks On Mountain Trails
And Bridges
And Rivers Where You Look Down Below
Cloud-Filled Skies
And Big Mountains With Enormous
Shadows And Cold Places
At Their Peaks
You Find Rest Somewhere
On A Rock Under A Big Pine Tree
High On This Plateau
Where You Can See
The Green Valley Below
You Think Of Home
Your Bed And Your Room
And The Poetry Books
And Some Love Poems
Of Friends That You
Miss Reading
You Realize You Are Getting Old
And Your Taste For The World Has Gone Cold
Inside Another Long Journey Is Waiting
And You Think It Is More Exciting
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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