Mountain Memories

Bristlecone Pine on 'The Table'.

Image via Wikipedia

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ragged ridge lines

carving sharp, contrasting vivid shapes

discerning, configuring the horizon.

 

Ancient Bristlecone Pine

regal and proud, yet bent  by savage winds will

knurled, rugged, resilient.

 

Shale rock slides

above the tundra covered slopes

treacherous and beautiful.

 

Whistles of a Marmot

complaining for the intrusion sounding

lost, lonely, forlorn.

 

Barely visible trails

worn into the mountainside, long forgotten,

lay hidden yet visible.

 

Big Horn goat

sure footed, confident, climbs on high

clinging to mountainsides not possible.

 

Lost , lonely, frail

cabins from times past  prosperity

ghostly presence abound.

 

Treasures, tools,  remnants

from pioneer minors long since forgotten

strewn, haphazard, decaying.

 

babbling brooks flow

over rocks and shale, giving mystic music

for ears properly tuned.

 

Arastra, lonely, decrepit

remnant of times past purpose

carved into stream bed.

 

Fast setting sun

making way for luminous moon and star filed night

long awaited sunrises.

 

Cold crisp nights

covered by pure clean white snow

gives form to mystic shapes.

 

Standing on clouds

the mountains provide that vantage, vista

with a solid sure perch

 

Solitude, serenity, peace

mountain ranges majestically surround and provide

those feelings I miss so

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34 comments:

Comedy Plus said...

Yep, your an outdoor mountain man for sure. Very well said. :)

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Anonymous said...

Yep, your an outdoor mountain man for sure. Very well said. :)

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Eric S. said...

Thank you :-[

Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Eric S. said...

Thank you :-[

Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Anonymous said...

This is really beautiful Eric. Very moving and definitely a strong work. Really exceptional.
Vikki 8-) ;) :) :-D

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Anonymous said...

This is really beautiful Eric. Very moving and definitely a strong work. Really exceptional.
Vikki 8-) ;) :) :-D

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ShawnD said...

Very descriptive, and very deep, I felt like I was there on the mountains. 2 Thumbs Up! :)

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ShawnD said...

Very descriptive, and very deep, I felt like I was there on the mountains. 2 Thumbs Up! :)

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Eric S. said...

Thanks Vikki, your too kind. :-[

Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Eric S. said...

Thanks Vikki, your too kind. :-[

Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Eric S. said...

Thanks Shawn, I appreciate it. ;)

Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Eric S. said...

Thanks Shawn, I appreciate it. ;)

Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Jena Isle said...

WOW Eric, I didn't know you're a brilliant poet. You've hidden this for long. This could be a good entry to helium creative. it is such a touching and beautiful poem. Kudos to you.

Anonymous said...

WOW, Eric you're a brilliant poet. How could you have hidden this side of you for quite a long time. this could be earning stars for you at helium creative. You should write more poems. This is a hauntingly beautiful poem :-D

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jena isle said...

It's me Jen. Kudos to you.

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Eric S. said...

Thanks Jena, I wouldn't say brilliant, just reminiscent and homesick. O:-)

Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Eric S. said...

Thanks Jena, I wouldn't say brilliant, just reminiscent and homesick. O:-)

Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Anonymous said...

That is a very visually expressive poem of the beautiful vistas of mountainside! It reminds me of Wordsworth's nature poems :)

Anonymous said...

Well done Eric. Reading this I could picture each memory you have of the mountains. Excellent and moving! 8-)

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Anonymous said...

Well done Eric. Reading this I could picture each memory you have of the mountains. Excellent and moving! 8-)

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robert bourne said...

well done Eric t I thoroughly enjoyed this

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robert bourne said...

well done Eric t I thoroughly enjoyed this

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shadow said...

i love your mountains.

Anonymous said...

Whew . . . poetry is tricksy stuff, hard going for the author, intriguing for the reader.

Very cool Wee Bro.

I did an intensive study of the poetry and drama of William Butler Yeats during the studies toward an MA. He never "closed the book" on any of his poems, he fiddled about with them constantly, even after first publication, nipping, tucking, repatterning.

I've tried my hand at poetry . . . nothing to crow about, but if I happen to come across any of it I'll forward a copy for your review/comment.

Hugs

Anonymous said...

Oh, Eric, the Poet in you brought the rocky mountains of Colorado within eye view, allowing me to admire their beauty, to explore what’s within them, to discover ancient trees that had been weathered by horrible climate conditions, to come close and personal with their inhabitants, to float on ancient rivers that run through them like arteries going into different directions, and, most of all, to be able to sit on top of the highest mountain to ruminate in total serenity. :)

Tasha

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Anonymous said...

Oh, Eric, the Poet in you brought the rocky mountains of Colorado within eye view, allowing me to admire their beauty, to explore what’s within them, to discover ancient trees that had been weathered by horrible climate conditions, to come close and personal with their inhabitants, to float on ancient rivers that run through them like arteries going into different directions, and, most of all, to be able to sit on top of the highest mountain to ruminate in total serenity. :)

Tasha

Recent blog post: 28. Clint and Makenna

Eric S. said...

Thanks Lilly, Your too kind. :)

Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Eric S. said...

Thanks Lilly, Your too kind. :)

Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Eric S. said...

Thank you Robert I appreciate that. :)


Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Eric S. said...

Hey Kel, I decided to give it another try. I was in an unusually reminiscent mood, and this is what came out. Not great, but I'll keep working on it.

I've never done any "real studying" of poetry. I just like reading it, and trying to figure out the thought and emotion behind it. I can't say that I have any favorites yet.

I'll have to check some of Yates stuff, I know I've read some, but just can't place it in my memory banks. :-D

Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Eric S. said...

Wow Tasha, thank you. Youre feeling a little poetic today yourself. I am so glad you got such visions out of it, for that is what I see in my mind when I'm homesick. =-O :) ;)

Recent blog post: Mountain Memories

Judith "Jlo" Quinton said...

That was wonderful, Eric - what a wordsmith you are!
Poetic, evocative, emotional...makes me yearn for the mountains, or the desert, where time stands still and gives us rarified space to breathe in and out at nature's pace.
Hope you still get opportunities to journey there, now that you're a city boy.
Jlo

Eric S. said...

Thank you Jlo, I was in a rare mood that day, and missing the mountains so. It provided for a good inspiration. I guess there is something to be said for being homesick.

Kel said...

The Ballad of Moll Magee

W.B. Yeats

Come round me, little childer;
There, don't fling stones at me
Because I mutter as I go;
But pity Moll Magee

My man was a poor fisher
With shore lines in the say;
My work was saltin' herrings
The whole of the long day.

And sometimes from the saltin' shed
I scarce could drag my feet,
Under the blessed moonlight,
Along the pebbly street.

I'd always been but weakly,
And my baby was just born;
A neighbor minded her by day,
I minded her till morn.

I lay upon by baby;
Ye little childer dear,
I looked on my cold baby
When the morn grew frosty and clear.

A weary woman sleeps so hard!
My man grew red and pale,
And gave me money, and bade me go
To my own place, Kinsale.

He drove me out and shut the door,
And gave his curse to me;
I went away in silence,
No neighbor could I see.

The windows and the doors were shut,
One star shone faint and green,
The little straws were turnin' round
Across the bare boreen.

I went away in silence:
Beyond old Martin's byre
I saw a kindly neighbour
Blowin' her mornin' fire.

She drew from me my story --
My money's all used up,
And still, with pityin', scornin' eye,
She gives me bite and sup.

She says my man will surely come,
And fetch me home agin;
But always, as I'm movin' round,
Without doors or within.

Pilin' the wood or pilin' the turf,
Or goin to the well,
I'm thinkin' of my baby
And keenin' to mysel'.

And sometimes I am sure she knows
When, openin' wide His door,
God lights the stars, His candles,
And looks upon the poor.

So now, ye little childer,
Ye won't fling stones at me;
But gather with you shinin' looks
And pity Moll Magee.

"The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats," a new edition. Ed. Richard J. Finneran. Collier Books, MacMillan Publishing Company, New York. 1989

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