The Mountain Like A Lion
Windsor Seep was dry and covered
with pine cones and dirt; on hands and knees
I could never have extracted water
there for my barren tongue to lap.
The saddle, with deer plentiful
as pests, huddles my tent and me;
where I saw the spinning stars
against the towering twin peaks.
My boots were wired to my feet,
kicked by rocks and prickly pear,
whose fruit I'd had to eat
for the juice bound by a thousand neddles there.
Then, another night.
The winds of autumn howled down the peaks
like javelinas,
yet the mountain itself was a lion,
Looking me between the eyes,
then pouncing.
poem by Stan Petrovich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Early Works - Far Beyond
Far beyond I see a sky of blue,
still further beyond I see
mountain peaks covered in mist.
Just beyond the sky of blue
and mountain, peaks covered in mist
lies a sun setting peacefully.
As the sun sets
it colours the sky
lighting the mountains
like a roman candle
and far beyond these burning mountains
the sun rests its head peacefully
as the day come to a close.
Date unknown
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sierran Song
To the California Sierra Club
Come climb the mountain trails with me,
Where pine-trees plume the sky,
Where snowy peaks salute the sea
When herald winds pass by.
Wah ho! the day is blue,
The night with stars aglow;
And all the dreams come true
Up there—wah ho!
The stream runs dancing on its way,
The meadows flush with flowers.
The gay birds sing a roundelay
Through all the crystal hours.
Wah ho! the sky is blue,
The world is soft as snow;
And all the dreams come true
Up there—wah ho!
Come hit the trail—the cliff-bound vale
Our stately house shall be.
Our feet shall tread beyond the pale
Of dull mortality.
Wah ho! the world is new,
And heaven is all aglow!
And every dream comes true
Up there—wah ho!
poem by Harriet Monroe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Framing a spurt of Spring
the day is baroque
with daisies' faces
lifted to the sun
my feet lift and knock
on spring's lenient ground
where tortoises' dance
lead them to drink from proud
prickly pear's leaf
and rocks are small
under the yellow rays
of the round clock
the slow spring day
is ticking and saying
the day is baroque
and colour licks
an orange shock
for autumn's mind
left summer behind
in green thorny itch
and I am treading
an interesting quest
for prickly pear's nest
in a field of daisies
and winter's leaking ills
in the splendor of spring
Burning Down
]from the back of my neck, oh oh oh
Wired a glass jaw, oh oh
Plantation burning your boat is coming in
Strum your jews-harp, youre reeking gin
Running water in a sinking boat
Going under but theyve got your goat
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
Johnny mike is reading in the yard
His storys timely, oh oh oh
What river is it anyway, radio
Not in a boat, in your ear
Running water in a sinking boat
Going under but theyve got your goat
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
You pick your island in the sun
Take your island off hes got a gun
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
Hes cooking in the woods, a brush fire in your neck
Feeling mighty mighty, oh oh oh
You can pick your island in the sun
Take your island off hes got a gun
Running water in a sinking boat
Going under but theyve got your goat
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Dance In Silver Moonlight
I would dance with thee
among mountain peaks
beneath soft star lit night
under silver moonlight
sound of whisper creeks
to lovers hearts speaks
among moonlit silver rays
lover bound heart slaves
dance in silver moonlight
dance throughout night
sliver shadow love peaks
as this soul is lost in thee
two hearts moonlight free
never more parted can be
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Edge
I thought to die that night in the solitude where they would never find me…
But there was time…
And I lay quietly on the drawn knees of the mountain,
staring into the abyss…
I do not know how long…
I could not count the hours, they ran so fast
Like little bare-foot urchins - shaking my hands away…
But I remember
Somewhere water trickled like a thin severed vein…
And a wind came out of the grass,
Touching me gently, tentatively, like a paw.
As the night grew
The gray cloud that had covered the sky like sackcloth
Fell in ashen folds about the hills,
Like hooded virgins, pulling their cloaks about them…
There must have been a spent moon,
For the Tall One's veil held a shimmer of silver…
That too I remember…
And the tenderly rocking mountain
Silence
And beating stars…
Dawn
Lay like a waxen hand upon the world,
And folded hills
Broke into a sudden wonder of peaks, stemming clear and cold,
Till the Tall One bloomed like a lily,
Flecked with sun,
Fine as a golden pollen -
It seemed a wind might blow it from the snow.
I smelled the raw sweet essences of things,
And heard spiders in the leaves
And ticking of little feet,
As tiny creatures came out of their doors
To see God pouring light into his star…
… It seemed life held
No future and no past but this…
And I too got up stiffly from the earth,
And held my heart up like a cup…
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Peaks
In the night
Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,
And the peaks looked toward God alone.
'O Master that movest the wind with a finger,
Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.
Grant that we may run swiftly across the world
To huddle in worship at Thy feet.'
In the morning
A noise of men at work came the clear blue miles,
And the little black cities were apparent.
'O Master that knowest the meaning of raindrops,
Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.
Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord,
That we may sing Thy goodness to the sun.'
In the evening
The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights.
'O Master,
Thou that knowest the value of kings and birds,
Thou hast made us humble, idle futile peaks.
Thou only needest eternal patience;
We bow to Thy wisdom, O Lord -
Humble, idle, futile peaks.'
In the night
Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,
And the peaks looked toward God alone.
poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
That Is What A Kept Faith Does
After one has become accustomed,
To experience repeated attempts to reach peaks...
From cloud covered and mist strewn valleys,
Of course there is going to be some bragging...
When that brightness of a peak is reached.
Regardless of one's scars and bruised knees.
Or the pettiness of distant voices heard.
One's repeated attempts to reach peaks,
Develops a capability...
To even ignore pain.
That is what a kept faith does!
Especially if one is devoted and focused,
To accomplish heights,
That appear to beckon those who dare.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In the night
In the night
Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,
And the peaks looked toward God alone.
"O Master that movest the wind with a finger,
Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.
Grant that we may run swiftly across the world
To huddle in worship at Thy feet."
In the morning
A noise of men at work came the clear blue miles,
And the little black cities were apparent.
"O Master that knowest the meaning of raindrops,
Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.
Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord,
That we may sing Thy goodness to the sun."
In the evening
The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights.
"O Master,
Thou that knowest the value of kings and birds,
Thou hast made us humble, idle futile peaks.
Thou only needest eternal patience;
We bow to Thy wisdom, O Lord --
Humble, idle, futile peaks."
In the night
Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,
And the peaks looked toward God alone.
poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Autumn Falls
Autumn falls,
Before Indian Summer begins.
And in New England...
Temperatures cool,
To warm again.
Autumn falls!
And so do Chestnuts and Pine cones,
As well as leaves blown swiftly...
From an assortment of Oak and Maple trees.
And those that remain to cling...
Bring astonishing colors,
Of Orange, Red and mixtures of hues...
Yellow and Brown to them bring.
Autumn falls...
Dramatically!
To leave barren the trees,
Except for the Pine...
Mysteriously,
Just before the first snow of Winter...
Covers with a bright white majesticness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Full Moon
Above the tower -- a lone, twice-sized moon.
On the cold river passing night-filled homes,
It scatters restless gold across the waves.
On mats, it shines richer than silken gauze.
Empty peaks, silence: among sparse stars,
Not yet flawed, it drifts. Pine and cinnamon
Spreading in my old garden . . . All light,
All ten thousand miles at once in its light!
Full Moon
Above the tower -- a lone, twice-sized moon.
On the cold river passing night-filled homes,
It scatters restless gold across the waves.
On mats, it shines richer than silken gauze.
Empty peaks, silence: among sparse stars,
Not yet flawed, it drifts. Pine and cinnamon
Spreading in my old garden . . . All light,
All ten thousand miles at once in its light!
Waves
I saw a tiny God
Sitting
Under a bright blue umbrella
That had white tassels
And forked ribs of gold.
Below him His little world
Lay open to the sun.
The shadow of His hat
Lay upon a city.
When he stretched forth His hand
A lake became a dark tremble.
When he kicked up His foot
It became night in the mountain passes.
But thou art small!
There are gods far greater than thou.
They rise and fall,
The tumbling gods of the sea.
Can thy heart heave such sighs,
Such hollow savage cries,
Such windy breath,
Such groaning death?
And can thy arm enfold
The old,
The cold,
The changeless dreadful places
Where the herds
Of horned sea-monsters
And the screaming birds
Gather together?
From those silent men
That lie in the pen
Of our pearly prisons,
Canst thou hunt thy prey?
Like us canst thou stay
Awaiting thine hour,
And then rise like a tower
And crash and shatter?
There are neither trees nor bushes
In my country,
Said the tiny God.
But there are streams
And waterfalls
And mountain-peaks
Covered with lovely weed.
There are little shores and safe harbours,
Caves for cool and plains for sun and wind.
Lovely is the sound of the rivers,
Lovely the flashing brightness
Of the lovely peaks.
I am content.
But Thy kingdom is small,
Said the God of the Sea.
Thy kingdom shall fall;
I shall not let thee be.
Thou art proud!
With a loud
Pealing of laughter,
He rose and covered
The tiny God's land
With the tip of his hand,
With the curl of his fingers:
And after--
The tiny God
Began to cry
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
More Peaks to Find
I've seen those peaks pass,
As I climbed.
Looking back and feeling fantastic.
To breathe deep the fresh air.
And being aware of accomplishments,
Wished.
'I have done this! '
I can now say it.
I have dreamt that I could.
And did.
What has been desired in my heart...
Has been done.
But I can not rest.
I know my best,
Has not yet come.
I take a deeper breath.
Wasting no time to take more steps.
Continuing to climb I do.
With achieving on my mind!
And knowing there would be more peaks to climb!
More peaks to find and leave behind.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The prickly pear has company only when it bears fruit.
When Snow Melts
When the hot winds blow and trees beep,
The snow clad peaks melt as if they weep,
The icy water trickles, falls gushing down,
From the rocks crimson, grey and brown,
It merges, mixes, flows through the streams,
Passes through the plains fulfilling dreams,
Water then converges itself into an ocean,
Whereupon remain trade-ships in motion
Armadas move, linger to settle the clashes
Launching missiles with smoke and flashes.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Boots
When I got out of bed this morning
a pair of boots stood on the stairs.
I don’t know to whom they belonged
or how they happened to be there.
The black boots looked large and heavy,
slightly worn, so not new or old.
The laces were long and tucked inside
and the tongue had a forward fold.
They looked really soft and comfortable,
and I couldn’t resist trying them on.
They slipped onto my feet oh so easily,
and in an instant I was up and gone.
I couldn’t do anything to stop them,
they had taken control of me.
I ran all through the day and night,
with no breakfast, dinner or tea.
I was totally exhausted and tired,
and was running in my sleep.
I awoke running along a forest path
and then up a hill so steep.
I could hear the sound of water
and ran down the riverbank.
The water wasn’t going to give way,
so I very quickly sank.
As I continued along the pebbly bottom
I very quickly ran out of breath.
My feet came out of the sodden boots
and I swam from the water’s depth.
I suppose those boots are still running
and they’re probably now out at sea.
I know that I’ll never again try on boots
that don’t belong to me.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pearl of My Heart
The sky is blue, clouds are clear
I know the stars will do the sky,
Here I sit and wait, for one so dear
Pearl of my heart, so lovely and pretty.
Once I set my eyes, I knew that day,
I saw Angle in you, twinkle in your eye
Set my blood rolling and galloping like a Deer
Pearl of my heart, so lovely and pretty.
In my dreams, you conquer
I dream about outings, on beaches
Of lovely views on mountain peaks and flowers
I look up the sky, I’ll wait, the clock ticks,
Pearl of my heart, so lovely and pretty.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Homeward Bound
In predawn darkness, gangway cleared.
All lines cast off, anchor’s aweigh.
Bow turned toward beckoning, open sea.
We proclaim at last, homeward bound.
A rising sun, o’er shadowed peaks.
Touches and warms our stern.
Following winds, caress gently,
then fill canvas, slack to taut.
Our final port, fades to mist.
No longer, elusive horizon we chase.
In search of adventure beyond.
Thoughts n’ dreams, to yon’ homeport turn.
Wanderlust, satisfied at last.
Now we pine, for sunny meade.
The essence of fresh pine break.
Of comforting, home fires burning.
Softness of earth, beneath our feet.
Riding, the rise n’ fall of rolling swell,
we count empty days, n’ dream lonely nights.
Impatient anticipation, of renewed romance,
with loved ones, so long denied.
14May08
poem by Kurt Hearth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!