Bring mountain – a group epic in several parts

bring mountain 1 copy

Bring mountain to the fleet of foot and mind
I am of another essence, I speak of Africa tamed

Old, wise. High
I offer knowledge of my nature and yours.

Through the mist, in the sun, in the rain
my spaces and places pull at souls

Imposing massif, I interrupt the rain-laden clouds
My elephant head nods sleepily over the village

the majesty of my  unfolding peaks
shimmering in fresh autumn light

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I am mother of memories and myths, ancient earth
my lichen-covered crags soft as skin

My voices sing songs of so many meanings
I catch the birds and set the water free

Spirits long dead hold hands to make the sacred tent
I allow them to crawl all over me

Giant monoliths stand like sentries guarding my passes
Secret tunnels –  this side, that side. What side are you from?

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And what about my secret lives?
I am are there in trees and streams

in the mountain house the colour of a ripe pumpkin
in the smells of honey from a bright green bush

the haphazard wildflowers on the forest floor
and green aloes spiking orange flames

Life grows here; life burns here
surprising the landscape every time

Some friends enter the sanctuary of my cousinhood
a flow of life that keeps me enchanted

the build-up, the breakdown and the magic inbetween
imprints of the wild departed, locked in memory

Mountain monasteries. Saffron monks. Singing bowls
Free falling water cuts loose the bare foot hippies

Plum horses sleek as spray in luscious curves
anchored to my core, this rock

Squeezed between cold, old rock fissured and cracked
in the  space of my stillness, you are never, ever alone

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Let heaven impress my breathing as with the great Eastern sun
I rise, rise, rise

I am presence, ancient stone mother
in Stillness of granite, of water, of self.

staring at the moon to breathe its beauty.
breathing wind through silvered leaves of unknown trees

Smelling the wet cold rising
I reach out to touch the clouds

and words of joyous experience jump at me
sleek, shiny and pretty coloured.

bring mountain tiny copy

Before I die I become obsessed with the meaning of words
Nightmares under the black sky are real.

Hunger hunts and ravages the plains
Beneath flood waters, sabre-tooth tigers prowl

Around the holy mountains, behind the Buddhist nuns,
caverns and crevasses, chimneys, gulleys and potholes

and above the ozone
a cyclops weeps

Treasure erodes and wafts away on wind and tide
My throat dries with cries of fear

Dry timbers spark to fire up my mountain soul
so many fires

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Still I remain and green after the rain
I hear water. Feels like life. Like hope.

I am alive, decomposing in dank, dark soil
I treasure survivors living in deep basements

Waterfall eagerly cools and refreshes me
Life’s ashes nourish my slopes

From broad base, pillar legs, synagogue chest
an inner mountain grows

Inside my chest I hear the symphony
and somewhere there is a beautiful purple sky

bring mountain tiny copy

Bring mountain to the fleet of foot and mind
I am of another essence, I speak of Africa

Climbing me requires courage and perseverance
Step one.  Start walking.  Step two.  Keep walking.

Go slowly through spiderwebs of mystery
mist rising like lace carpets round your feet

Moving steadily, leaving all the blue life lines behind
you will know when and where to stop

There are lessons to be learned from mountains,
and I, mountain, am the ultimate teacher

Teaching so generously, through my living rocks.
No matter how you un-write me, there I stand, irrefutable, solid


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