Climbing with stilts, the letters say wear
snow covered mountains as guides -
as wobbly goats hide their daring to do
marvels known to angels -
giants they be, blowing here -
there the mask of clouds,
wisps really as they dip into
cream, melting ground beans.
It's a molten one, moulding the gnats
as true grasshoppers will spring past
snow, grow newly formed, yes spring
dares but harsh trickling matters spell
doom for skiers trapped in shelters
with no hope of grasping the top
ledges, as they fall to sounds
of small waters, breaking twigs,
even as boulders watch Africa.
A mean trick, tis a mount that makes
packs seem so short, small, darkened
skin from Everest shores, bundled about
the scrapers view all tiny microbes -
well-gathered to make Italy quake of
pasta, sliding without skill, a tumble
of tons, a frightful calculation of nature -
to gather about creaking closer to
mountains as they laugh.
You'll know the lingo by then, the deafening
art of speaking nothing, a haiku of still
vertical, green pines as we can tell to our
naked posts, camping about in freshman
outtakes, animal like but hibernating for
Africaans, melding about the countryside
for tiring of conifers and erosion and man.
© 2015 Larry Ingram
Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture.