Tag Archives: mountain

Long Stop Through Nowhere

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Chapter one.

The only thing that the red truck in front of her wasn’t going to do was kill her. Maybe cars in this side of town went slow, you know, like that phrase–slower than molasses in January? Yeah, that’s the one. No, It definitely wasn’t going to kill her. But she had heard her mother say very distinctly that the world was much more stark and scary when you went out into it’s clutches, and cars were one of the things you had to look out for.

“I told you. Practically no one drives here Cornelia, it’s a dead zone. Nobody lives here.” said Peter.
“Then why’s he stoppin’?” drawled Cornelia vacantly.
“Because we were just about gettin’ ready to cross the street, that’s why. Didn’t nobody ever tell you ’bout such a thing as driving rules?”
“Uh…no” Cornelia admitted defeatedly.
“Well then, what are you waiting for? That truck ain’t gonna wait for us any longer! go on, git!”
“You sure, I?…”
“Git! go on ahead, that driver ain’t got all day!”
The brisk morning air suddenly struck the two young travelers as they flittered across the narrow dirt road. Pine trees ran along it’s whole length; an endless wood ran on either side of the mountain highway like a secret hideaway into the endless mystery of nature. But that wasn’t their focus anymore. They were almost on their way to a city, and this was just where civilization had begun to turn up.
A twisted grin began to play on peter’s sun burnt face as they continued walking along the road.
“What’s so funny?” whined Cornelia, who was just about through with her brother’s pointless games.
“You don’t know about the pedestrian’s right of way, Corny. It’s like knowin’ the world goes around the sun. Common knowlage.”
She hated it when he called her that stupid nickname. And she hated how he knew more big words than her, since he was in the tenth grade.
“What’s a ped-est-rian?” Asked the bewildered girl carefully, who was now at her wit’s end. This question only made Peter laugh harder, snorting through his nostrils and cackling like a hyena, which made Cornelia even more outraged. At least, thought Cornelia,we only have ten more miles to go. It was a comforting thought at best.

If seen from above, the whole journey would have seemed startlingly picturesque; A young girl with shockingly red hair walking down a mountain path along side a much older, very red and tan boy dripping in sweat, looking as if they were on some secret spy mission to save the world, hold up the one car traffic of a huge scarlet truck in the middle of the day.

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry
I do not own this photo

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Air and Smoke–Stream of Consciousness #14

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Frogs croaking at midnight
a twin heartbeat
like moss engraving stones entwining with spongy hearts that bleed
the question now is who will carry the porridge?
who will listen to Sumter describe the events that followed his desasterous night of frogs croaking, camping in the woods?
who listenes to him, the dusky hours grow long
the day widens into a smile
furrows into a frown
the clown
Sumter,
banned from the camping ground just as the air was warm
in the chill,
he knows the only comfort can come from
humming a silent tune
a tune which he will pick himself
in doing so he sounds just like the twin heartbeats of the two croaking frogs
he must find his little world
he must find it
or the summer will drag him through an endless pit
and he will see himself as a small boy
groping for the sidewalk and the sun
not knowing that the only eventual destination was death and lead,
the spongy twin bleeding hearts his own.
he feels the ground
the moist air lightens his eye
upwards is an unforgiving sky
tinged with something else he cant describe,
but we shall call it a vague
and unmistakable hope.
he clings to the forrest ground, the moss,
like a child refusing to leave behind his blanket.
the porridge is on a stove growing cold
it’s breakfast fire
warming time
but poor Sumter on the forest ground
the enemy of which he made last night
sleeping on a bed of firs and pine cones.
the last of his breath escapes from his nostrils,
tendrils of air and smoke in equal measure
percolate the air
but he is not there with his friends to see the fire or to hear the stories
because he has told them his story
and that was the one story
they could not hear
so instead they decided to shut him off
and he, with his breath
and they, with the fires, keep burning aloft in their own separate ways,
he pains to think of them, the little children he has left on the
other side of the mountain.

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry

Tuesday Already

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what does mother say?

she lifts her head above ground to the silken sky

making symmetrical arches on the side of the green mountain

it’s bold, 

it spurts like a fountain

god, it’s lovely today,

and the breeze has found itself another way

to curl up into my arms and spread over my hands

as if it had it’s own brain with it’s own plans.

my mother says to look down

the counter -intuitive head spin that makes my head drown

in nausea, from the drop.

heights are never ending and they never stop

and it’s Tuesday already

and mother has climbed out of her burrow once more

closing the door

and her eyes

once more

god, it’s a lovely day.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Prometheus

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I am a cave among dwellings
surrounded by boulders.

Watch
as they sauntered down
jauntily
(I might fall)
falling like an dusty angels

I want to stutter and shake in defiance
but I am forced into silence.
The rocks drop on me, birds fly Jauntily
lifting me vainly
back to the ledge where I have fallen over thousands of times with the rocks.
Birds,
are you still trying to help?

Might I ask, birds, if the wind has ever lifted you up on bubbles
and you heard a swift voice through the air
or felt the angels ?
I’m just wondering
just wondering if maybe the rocks aren’t really falling.
Maybe I’m just being reborn,
again and again.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

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Suspended

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I start to lower myself to the ground

  but

Yosha is behind me

   and the mountain speaks furtively

because

it’s snow will soon

  topple.

now, I notice,

  yes, Yosha is still behind me

 coiled around cords and ropes

 that hold him there

   in middair

    and a nearly magic sight, but

         the cold

    night is swept down

          with the sharp hand

 of the mountain-

    the

   snow will carry us down

     but before it does,

let us make sure we fo not

  leave here empty-handed.

 we bled our hearts out on these

rocks, so where is that morsel

   of goodness buried? is it within

   these tall towers or does it cling

   to our ruby stained hands, that touch,

   almost translucently, and I say

                 “don’t look down”

                      “don’t look down”

 

Copyright 2012 by Golden Star Poetry