2014 Poetry Theme Challenge

#06 Mountain View




Thank you all who took up the last challenge. I hope this next one provides you some food for the muse. It is hardly a secret that I love mountains especially those of Wales and New Zealand. Being sat on atop a mountain peak and looking at the world is breath-taking. So this challenge is about the things that take your breath away. It is no easy task to capture those moments in verse so I wish you all the best of luck.


Quote - Winners take time to relish their work, knowing that scaling the mountain is what makes the view from the top so exhilarating - Denis Waitley


Alone Looking at the Mountain

All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I.


Li Po



Mountain View Theme Challenge



Kathy Anderson

O'er Mountains

Terry Clithereo

Avalanche
Blue Mountains
Drought in the Mountains
Pavey Ark

Divena Collins

Bardic Love
Mountain Dew
Mountain High
Warmth Within

Peter Willowdown

At the Edge of the World



Terry Clitheroe

Avalanche

When I fell,
I fell head first,
and was swept along
gathering speed.
this was no downhill glide
to oblivion
it was an avalanche of emotions!

One kiss
required more
becoming
an exponential ride to heaven
they themselves requiring more
creating
an avalanche of desire!

When does love change
from lust
or does lust create love?
and will that sated love
becoming an Avalanche of peace?

I ask only
because of how I feel about you
and the avalanche you create
inside of me.



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Blue Mountains

The beautiful thing about Sydney
Is the Blue Mountains
Once you have seen them
Explored them
You are theirs forever
There is a scent
You will never forget
This scenery is what you will see
When you return to Heaven
And if you live there
You are in Heaven.

Where there is Heaven
There must always be Hell
Close by.
I have seen lightening strikes
And its creation of fire
The blue Eucalypt gas
Feeding the flames
Till all that was left
Was blackness.

The creator of that death
Is also the creator of birth
And within weeks
And rain
All is thriving once again
By the growth of green leaves
Where you'll see life thriving again
The blue mist rises
Again it becoming the blue mountains.



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Drought in the Mountains

Early morning autumn clouds mist the mountains
All to soon the rising sun will burn them away
And black and brown replace the mysterious grey
Bereft now of glistening streams and fountains.
For rain and more we're all starting to pray
The Shaman calls forth the spirits of the rain
Awake from your dreamtime see your work again
Look down see the scree contrast with cracked clay.
What was lush and green is nought now save pain
Beautiful mountain flowers are all dead and gone
Lavender bushes and their like, there's nary a one.
The Shamans pleas were unheard, and all in vain
But were they wasted, were they heard by no-one,
Will sometime their wishes be finally done?



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Pavey Ark (Memories)

After the blue of Stickle Tarn
The green grass
Is replaced by stones
Ancient stones mixed with new
Scree leading up to the vertical rock
The face of Pavey Ark.

There is a scar in its face
Jakes Rake
Starting at the Eastern end
It climbs westwards
Right across its face.

I have never ascended by Jake
But have descended many times
After ascending via the climbs.

On Pavey Ark's face.
I have introduced people to rock climbing
Via Gwynne's chimney
And ascended many climbs
Testing myself on the traverse
Soloing across the whole face.

The picture in my mind
Is naught but a memory now.
It is on the opposite side of the world
And almost half a century ago.

I also remember half running
With my mates
Down the path to the New Dungeon Ghyll
Where pint glasses of Guinness were drunk
In celebration of a good days climbing.

I raise my glass now,
Thankful for those memories.



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Divena Collins

Bardic Love

They climb both together a mountain high
Higher than the land they had left belo
Where the winds of nature shall ever blow
Casting of spells that lovers may not deny
Mystic songs from his Lire that gently flow
Creating harmony that flows amidst words
As he plucks the strings within vocal chords
This serenade of love shall forever bestow
Such tenderness shall entice love onwards
Thus shall display within his bardic palm
For his instinct therein shall only be calm
A pledge of love that may nurture rewards
Within a lyrical bard that gently embalms
Upon mystic myths within mountain realms.



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Mountain Dew

Winds that whisper within mountains
Echos of voices from a previous lore
As Spirits of the past visit the future
Within eternal heights for evermore
Ghostly visions devoid of all breath
Warn the living of an eternal death.

Yet still this mountain side prevails
Fascination that shall beckon forth
Drawn like a magnet unto danger
For all that their presence is worth
Casting aside fear of the unknown
Bravery shall exist and valour shown.

Spirits remain as ghosts of the past
That shall prove not of hesitations
Premeditated thoughts of the sky
Shall remain within constellations
Of heavenly stars that shine above
Revealing eternal visions thereof.



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Mountain High

I cannot and I dare not climb to the top
Not even to overcome my fear of heights
Down slippery slopes of snow cap peaks
I the intuder shall obtain no legal rights
To claim if I disfigured an arm or my leg
Not even if I lose all my pride and beg.

It shall be upon my own safe interest
To stand at the bottom and look ahead
And admire the views from a distance
A mountaineer I was never to be bred
Yet so beholdent to a luring attraction
Should I dare to interpret their actions

My admiration shall not ever go amiss
Brave the courage that urges them on
Though a mountaineer I shall never be
For my days of bravery are so long gone
Come to think it is only strength of will
When this mountain high is only a hill.



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Warmth Within

Cast aside the bitterness of winter
When cold winds blow from the north
With a promise of frost before snow.
Spring flowers shall soon burst forth
When the winter months have perished
It is then springtime may be cherished.

Lovers shall reunite within this season
Feeling the warmth of love deep within
Sofly spoken their words of affection
Creating the moment when love begins
The sensual warmth of a summers touch
Shall endow the charm of fantasy much.

Autumn shall blow what was once green
Unto golden hearts of a new serenity
Blowing softly within the winds of time
The blessedness of lovers sincerity
Retains warmth both may share together
Where eternal love shall remain forever.


Tutt Art - Robert Papp

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Peter Willowdown

At the Edge of the World

At the Edge of the World
there are tall silver trees
and on the underside of their leaves
the whispered names of a thousand, million
sweethearts take shelter
from the winds that blow them hither
from north and south, from east and west,
in chariots hammered from autumn's best
that, whan they reach the edge of the world at last,
crumble, distinergrate and have their rest,
their final duty done.
At the top of the sky
higher even than the vaulting arch of rainbows
or the summer palaces of falling stars
(summer is a short-lived season in heaven)
a little gnome built a pavilion
in which to ensconce his love,
a pretty little river nixie
with limbs like silver streams
and laughter like a rushing river.
For eighteen years the little gnome and his brother
hammered at the stuff of the sky,
making its floor, its walls and its roof,
a dozen diamond-shaped windows
and a lovely round door
with a view of all the Earth.
Its furniture was made by craftsmen in China
and flowers and orchids filled exquisite vases
in all of its airey chambers.
But alas, the heat at the top of the sky
proved too severe for the pretty river nixie
and after just two weeks she evaporated away completely
save for a single passionate tear
which, falling on to one of the silver trees
at the edge of the world,
made all its fragile, pearlescent leaves quiver
and a great sigh went up from that tree
and from all its neighbours.
I was searching on the barren sand-swept shores of northern Libya,
hoping to find the last crumbled ruins of vanished Atlantis,
when I heard that soulful cry and watched in amazement
as a million silver raindrops fell out of the clear, cloudless sky,
the first rain in Libya for nearly ten thousand years.
Wakened by the pattering din,
a host of sleeping sphinx and dragons rose up,
astonished that reality should prove more marvelous
than the most splendid of their dreams.
As the desert put forth a luxurious carpet of flowers
they sang and danced and copulated.
But in a little valley in Norway,
just ten kilometres north of Oslo,
a sad little gnome beat at his brow with his fists
and, throwing down his magical hammer,
he left the Country of Gnomes
and set out for the North Pole on foot
and has not been seen by man, beast
or fairy-thing ever since...
Ah, but where is the exact location
of the Edge of the World, you ask
and what was the little river-nixie's name?
The Edge of the World is everywhere
and nowhere, my friend;
and as for the name of the Gnome's doomed love,
listen carefully to the winds
that blow through all the world,
from north and south, from east and west
and you will hear them repeating it,
again and again...

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