Springingtiger's Blog


Recent Poems
September 10, 2013, 20:30
Filed under: Scotland, Travel, Writing | Tags: , , , ,

Exposure

I believe Mallory made it
To the highest summit,
To the top of the world
And looked down upon all
The many kingdoms of men.
The truth we will never learn.
He must have known, even then,
There would be no return.
He knew it was the end
When he fell, that no friend
Nor rescuer would find him.
And so he settled down
To sleep, as if in bed
His legs crossed and his head
Pillowed on his folded arm
He relaxed into the cold.
The cold is not so hard,
After the first bitter pain
Euphoria returns again.
On Everest it is a ward
Against terrors untold
And death’s embrace is warm.
What kills on mountainside
May often strike elsewhere,
I too might once have died
From unexpected chills
Upon a summer’s night
Cycling in Yorkshire’s hills.
The bitter cold’s cruel bite
Became an insane bliss.
I hope Mallory too felt this
And as death took him, cried,
“They said it could not be done
But I have proved them wrong”

Glen Lyon

The gods are older than I
And wondrous things have seen
On this Earth, her waters blue
Her forests green,
And mountains high.
But for all this, care not I
For, of all beauty beneath the sky,
And every forest green
To be found on Earth,
There is one I have seen
That surpass all in worth.
If tomorrow I were to die,
I’d die content it’s true,
For Glen Lyon I have seen.
Through emerald forests I have wound
Climbing up to higher ground,
I have breathed her pure air
Where earth meets sky.
Where angels in their play
Look down from on high,
Just as I,
Upon the mirror of Loch Tay,
From where the Sun’s light
Rises to the sky
To rejoin its origin,
Binding earth and sky
In blissful embrace.
I care not what men say;
It was here, in union bound,
That life’s light first was seen,
Here we breathed our first sigh.
That sigh was our first prayer.
Glen Lyon is the Earth’s womb,
Glen Lyon is sorrow’s tomb,
There is no more despair.
There doth hope arise
Between the forest
And the skies.

Late Summer Saturday

Late summer
Saturday night.
City streets
Such short skirts,
Happy eyes.
Got to work,
Such a shame!

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