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Posts Tagged ‘waterfall’

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smoky waterfall

I walked the narrow mountain trail
At first both up and down
Until I reached what seemed to be
The Smoky mountain’s crown.

And there, I paused upon the path
And looked out through the trees
To see the low slopes stretching out
In Autumn’s careless ease.

And then the hike was not as dear;
I ambled down the slope,
Pulled by the mountain’s own descent,
By gravity’s veiled rope.

I walked upon a rug of leaves
That, plastered by a rain,
Was Autumn’s decoupage of tints
Upon my traveled vein.

A tree had fallen ‘cross the way,
A trunk too big to climb.
On hands and knees I scuttled ‘neath,
Like snails slide through the slime.

I’d gone so far without a sign
I started to despair
Of ever finding what I sought –
The treasure that was rare.

More than a few times, turning back
Seemed what might be the best
And sacrifice what I had spent
In failing Smoky’s test.

I made a vow – a few more yards
Down and around the trail.
And there! – a place that matched my map!
I’d found my holy grail!

I clambered down the trail of rocks,
At times on hands and knees,
And at the bottom of the path –
The spot of pleasantries

That I had bought with energy –
A lonely waterfall,
A modest one that hid itself
Away from almost all.

I marveled at its majesty,
And mumbled to myself
As threads of silver water silk
Fell tumbling from a shelf.

Then, pictures taken in my mind
And in my camera, too,
I packed my gear and took my leave
For I had work to do.

That long descent, that downward glide
That ate away at time
Was now a mountain up above
That I would have to climb.

With weariness, I took my steps.
No longer did I stride.
And in the silence of the slope,
My age was amplified.

I warmed and shed my early coat,
Like trees had shed their leaves,
Like workers start their laboring
By rolling up their sleeves.

And toil I did, with trudging steps
That were both short and slow,
With frequent stops to catch my breath
For I had far to go.

I guessed two thousand steps would take
Me to the rest I sought.
I counted each so that my mind
With pain was not distraught.

I knew that predators would oft
Stalk, following the weak.
And if a bear was trolling me
I would surrender, meek.

I was the old man, and my sea
Rose o’er me as a slope
That I must conquer or be lost
Alone, and without hope.

I took two thousand steps and more;
Came to a mind-marked place.
Adrenalin seeped to my flesh,
And I, as snail, could race

The thousand steps it took to end
My private odyssey,
Where I could sit in weariness
While basking blissfully.

The precious jewel that I had found
Would never make me rich.
And present satisfaction would
Not stop a future itch.

But such things filed within the heart
When man’s done something fine,
Are treasured nuggets in one’s life
Like gold within a mine.

———————————————————

The photos are mine: one is the trail I took with its obstacle.
The second is that secluded waterfall.

———————————————————

© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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A Divorce

The largest
I have ever seen –
Crack in rock.

——————–

 

A Cow’s View

Other side –
Luscious, inviting.
Grass greener.

——————–

 

And We Say “Ah!”

Waterfall –
Where a flowing stream
Sticks out tongue.

——————–

Divorce – photo by Nicolas Raymond at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nFfWt6e/Flowerpot+Rocks+-+HDR

Cow – photo by Elvis Santana at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oosEHV2/fence+3

Ah! – photo by Colin Brough at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oiROrSo/Cascade

——————–

* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/

——————–

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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…….
Exuberance Of Youth

The water stepping down the stair,
A little girl at play,
Reveals her silver petticoats
Each step along the way. 

She is a merry little stream;
She gurgles happily,
And chatters as she moves along
To-ward the mother sea. 

She is a slender little tyke
Who’ll grow as she moves on.
And may her pleasant cheerfulness
Stay for the marathon.

——————————————-

photo by Bill Davenport at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mg1U2zC/Cascade

——————————————-

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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Havasu Falls near Supai, Arizona. The water is...

Image via Wikipedia

 

 

 

 

 

 

His Majesty

Royal sight,
Roaring river lion –
Waterfall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Touchy Situation

Porcupines
Their sticky love known –
Prickly heat.

————————————

Presence Felt

Thunderstorm
Distant; casts shadow
Here, not rain.

————————————

Photo of Havasu Falls near Supai, Arizona, by Moondigger.

———————————–

* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5
See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/

———————————–

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

 

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(by Abraham Lincoln at age 37)

My childhood’s home I see again,
And sadden with the view;
And still, as memory crowds my brain,
There’s pleasure in it, too.

O memory! thou midway world
‘ Twixt earth and paradise,
Where things decayed and loved ones lost
In dreamy shadows rise,

And, freed from all that’s earthly, vile,
Seem hallowed, pure and bright,
Like scenes in some enchanted isle
All bathed in liquid light.

As dusky mountains please the eye
When twilight chases day;
As bugle notes that, passing by,
In distance die away;

As, leaving some grand waterfall,
We, lingering, list its roar –
So memory will hallow all
We’ve known but know no more.

Near twenty years have passed away
Since here I bid farewell
To woods and fields, and scenes of play,
And playmates loved so well.

Where many were, but few remain
Of old familiar things,
But seeing them to mind again
The lost and absent brings.

The friends I left that parting day,
How changed, as time has sped!
Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray;
And half of us are dead.

I hear the loved survivors tell
How nought from death could save,
Till every sound appears a knell
And every spot a grave.

I range the fields with pensive tread,
And pace the hollow rooms,
And feel (compassion of the dead)
I’m living in the tombs.

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