Blow my peak, tweaking climb,
her higher ground, etching billowed crevasse,
mind striding sky, feathering precipitation.
I crave a flowered sigh in granite grooves,
dropping wild in silvered moves
above the limits of greener grassland.
Soul is wispy syllabic conscience,
purging silken strands of poisoned philosophy,
repelling in waves, beyond my borders,
word wind wandering touch, in wonder,
this mountain's blushing eastern morning;
fall's orange flush, busting peel in deliverance.
A contest entry
- Twelve lines on or from this Mountain, by Lyndon.
1000 points, ended November 26, 2007, 15 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Congratulations, Rich
Now I know it is you!
Good writing. I think I have said what I needed to assessing anonymously.
Ron.
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Dear Poet
This line could, perhaps, be less prosaic by leaving off the initial preposition: "repelling in waves, beyond my borders," ~ left out 'by'. What do you think?
A rhymed title ... interesting.
Many of your lines are imagistically rich and similar to Dylan Thomas's predeliction for wrestling, rolling, tumbling images.
Alliteration, among other techniques, works well for you.
Thank you for entering.
Lyndon of the Winklings.
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Your mountain (or any mountain for that matter) must love the songs you sing them, the poems you lay at their feet. This is wonderful poetry, my friend in so many colours and sounds - beautiful - and excellent poetry.
~ Nicolette
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This poem is so beautiful. The use of word and metaphor is very evocative. And, there's something incredibly spiritual about it.. reading it made my soul wish I was climbing a mountain.
"fall's orange flush, busting peel in deliverance."
Just gorgeous... Good luck in the contest.
- Kate
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