Age of Erosion

Age of Erosion

Mountain breezes

Whisper ancient names

Into my ear

Of eras long gone by.

Kingdoms past away

Like shifting sand

Once proud mountains

Warn by wind

And rainy ice.

Kingdoms crumbled

In breezes

Under mountain heights

Forgotten names of

Forgotten realms,

High mountain pass

Leading into the Wind

Bringing ice to

Devour the mountain.

End in shambles

 And brambles

Ocean sand, slipped away.

From One Year in the Mountains

Copyright 2010 

Guest writer Contributes a Poem: Altar

Altar

               Her trinkets and personal possessions scattered the

tattered chest

                Treasures brought back from her spiritual quest…

                Young Buddha heard the late night drums and the Ying Yang symbol draped her neck as she

wandered amidst songs to Hare Krishna

                Hippy Highway heard the gentle jingles from angels ‘round her ankle and the soothing

incense smells cradled her to sleep.

                And here I am enthralled by the story of her scattered altar

                This sister who I may have passed late at night looking for a warm fire and sweet sounds

of a lilting mandolin

                Who knew my heart was still floating freely in the magical bitter roots and an occasional, “We love you!” chorus

                As I vowed to nestle collected wares from my own spiritual adventure

                So sacred and divine as this carefully traded scarf that once adorned my dreaded hair whispers those memories

                Of the peace I longed for chanted in those rhythmic drums

                And soothing yoga over-looking the expansive valley

                As I delicately place the lotus and energetic rocks upon my tapestry of moons

and stars

                a top my own tattered chest that contently becomes the altar I bow to.

                                                                                                                                                                 

Copyright Heather Corbet 2006

On the Edge

I walk on the edge

of humanity

Masking my insanity

as normalcy.

Not giving in to

the whispering fears

Of voices in my head

            calling out "Don’t Fall."

I respond with a smile

and hold tighter to that edge.

I walk on the edge

of icy cliffs

Clinging with pickax

            as to life itself.

Not giving in to

the whispering fears

Of voices in my head

calling out "Don’t Fall."

I respond with a smile

and hold tighter to that edge.

I walk on the edge

of space

Sucking air in a helmet

            as the world spins below.

Not giving in to

the whispering fears

Of voices in my head

            calling out "Don’t Fall."

I respond with a smile

and hold tighter to that edge.

I walk on the edge

of words

Expressing without clarity

as I discover my rhythm.

Not giving in to

the whispering fears

Of voices in my head

calling out "Don’t Fall."

I respond with a smile

and release myself over the edge.


Poem is from "One Year in the Mountains"
Copyright David Corbet

Poetry

It has been some time since I posted here. Life kind of moves fast when you are not paying attention. So it is. But a fast life is not an empty life. I have been painting and writing. Every month on the first Friday I show my art work at Station Square in Old Town Pocatello.

I have also published a short collection of poems. It is currently available through Amazon Kindle. It is called One Year in the Mountains. I am working on a novel as well. It will be available in mid August.

Creating the Tempist of Change

One Word for Freedom
and the self-same Word
for bondage.

The Apple plucked
in free will
deposited in predestination

Bound together for
life; cycling, orbiting
the depths of

The Soul and Mind.
Illusions of the imagination
as words stripped of meaning

Parade as politicians and
religious leaders cry
Peace and compassion

But only confound confusion
with delusion hoping to
set the Spirit free.

This age has no Spirit
but the one chained
by technocratic multiplicity.

Simply speak the Name
of eternal salvation
and bring an end to Time.

This day is not yet done
and yet the sun already
rises on the morrow.