Way of the Mountain #185

by Mountain Gazette on January 3, 2012

Thanks to the forbearance of our long-suffering editor, I’ve been given the opportunity to forego the pittance in recompense that passes for reward to our star-studded (and variously tatted) mountain bards — whose work avalanches into these pages with all the ragged energy of an out-of-control skier but with the compact wallop of a lyric two-by-four. Instead of issuing barely enough bar bucks to buy a good night’s drunk, we’ll be entering each poem accepted for MG’s pages into two annual $100 awards — the Way of the Mountain Prize (to be selected by yours truly for the year’s poem best representing Dolores LaChapelle’s “Way of the Mountain”) and a Karen Chamberlain Prize (for the year’s best poem as voted on by our readers). Send your nominations from any poems from 2011’s issues of MG to: poetry@mountaingazette.com

And for those of you who live outside the distributed reach of our tireless bicycle pedalers, we’ll promise to toss you a hard copy of the issue with your piece in it. For official submission guidelines, click here.

— Art Goodtimes
Cloud Acre

Religion

Parched and staggering,
I have swallowed sweet draughts
from trickling desert springs,
prayerfully tasting
the liquid’s own journey
through cloud, stone, and sand.

Water, like smoke, like music,
moves between worlds.

There is no religion
like water in a dry land.

— Eric Walter
Portland

Morning Sun Through Glass

Segmented glasses on the sill,
yellow, red, green, blue,
pouring coloured light to spill
and drip on things beyond my view.

Like this, my heart, be pieced together,
pooling colour where you will
shine through, shine through like this forever
— yellow, red, green, blue.

— Cally Conan-Davies
Australian poet visiting U.S.
Manitou Springs

The Buddha´s Life

He shoved off gently from
the river bank and glided
through the water soundlessly.

The fish would have been
hard-pressed to bear witness
to his passing.

In truth if it were not
for this poem it
never really happened.

— Larry Grieco
Black Hawk

Blunt

Hope you all had a good time.
I was babysitting a genius.
Stupid young people.
Ignorant blessings.

Despite the signal fires of love
& intelligence by you all,
this Age of Endarkenment keeps
lapping at my feet.

Arab Spring, Occupy, are
sweet reactive threads…
But still, G. Benn may have
had it right:

“to live in the dark,
to do in the dark
what we can.”

— Jack Mueller
Creator of Budada
Log Hill Village

Endo

Head upside home fried
Champagne powder, I lip-smack
Fatback and ignore
Scores of dive judges above
Grinning from slack chair front row

— Uche Ogbuji
uche.ogbuji.net
Superior

Why The Man Wore Red Shirts

Fred carried a weasel under his jacket.
His friends thought its heavy
breathing was his heart.
But at meetings it would
gnaw on him, and in bed
it would hang from his left nipple.

— Jared Smith
Author, “Grassroots”
Lafayette



{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }

Sheryl McDaniel January 23, 2012 at 8:18 pm

Uche Ogbuji’s poem is sublime.

Reply

Jenny Butterfass August 3, 2013 at 11:40 pm

Love Eric Walters Poem…especially the lines
“Water, like smoke, like music,
moves between worlds”

Reply

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