Note: In an hour's time, some friends, colleagues, my son and I are about to go on a long-dreamed-of trip to climb a high peak up to its famed summit. To use a tired cliche: All our bags are packed, we're ready to go.
I had wanted to post a new poem before I go. But, lacking time and the primal urge to write something new, I did the next logical (if shameless) thing: recycle an old post. I told you I'm a cheap recycler. If you're interested in the comments generated by this old post, click here.
P.S. The Youtube clip is Beethoven's Symphony No. 6 (Pastoral). See you next week, folks. Enjoy life to the fullest!
1
Most climbers are obsessed with summits.
Impatiently around the base camp they pace
And hurriedly trudge along well-worn ascent routes
To quickly reach the peaks of their euphoria
Where they pause -- to catch their breaths and images
And keep faithful score of their games and gains.
Then they rush back down,
Load their stuff on trucks and cars
Hurry home for dinner with the kids
And sleep with wives on soft silk beds.
Until they gather on the next weekend
For another scheduled conquest climb.
This is why, I have to admit,
I rarely do these summit treks.
It's neither right nor wrong, neither good nor bad.
It is simply too sacred, awesome and rare
To shape my mundane urges.
2
Ahh, yet my heart leaps with joy.
Since my cherished mountain yonder
Has assumed the shape of a lovely dormant maiden.
And I'll climb her today.
I need to climb her today.
And if she enfolds me into her misty embrace,
Then I would love to stay -- 'til I climb down someday
But only if she tires of me, because I'll never tire of her
Who refreshes me everyday with morning dewfall.
Since, you see, I'm a highland boy
And to me, a mountain is an intimate friend and lover
With desires and thoughts I'm drawn to explore.
So today I won't begin another quick conquest
But pursue and sustain a lifetime quest
And add more steps to these endless monologues
Of my restless legs seeking love's ascent.
3
Quietly now I scout her smooth gentle foothills.
My soles tickle her soles in a mutual massage.
Uphill I gaze to seek her easy relaxing trails
Skipping up and down the hollows and soft foliage
Of her shapely limbs that extend to the clouds.
Often I pause and rest and listen to
The songs of birds and cricket chirps
That carry my mountain lover's lilting laughter
Like the warble of a wildwood nymphet.
I push upward, and her ridges open up to better view.
Urging me on to caress her secrets further upstream.
Behold I see now a lovely valley
Hidden folds between virgin slopes
Of rainforest galleries and pine ridges above.
Wind-borne whiffs of conifer and wild lychees,
Limes and sweet sage from citrus groves
Offer me a perfumery of myriad aromas.
Gazing across my maiden's meadows
Her fragrant scent invites me to rest
I swoon in time with her soft rise and fall,
Sweet morning dew mixes with lover's sweat.
The rising sun says she's in vaporous heat
And urges me to quicken my steps
I climb further up and espy her mango groves
That offer ripe and succulent whispers on my tongue.
My taut muscles finally dig into her soft grass soil
My lusty breath blows into the shell of her ears
Lightning bolts urge my feverish climb
The looming rain joins the river thunder
And we drown in its soft swallowing noises.
I watch wood nymphs play among her rivulets,
Dripping waterfalls mix with her surging juices
She happily pours it out with a wanton smile
And I merrily drink with a lecherous grin.
I begin to tire but she pulls me further up.
My breathing's quicker and belabored now
My lungs about to burst, my heartbeats audible
Harsh and pounding against her farthest cliffs, where
Tiny hamlets dance in the primal drums of passion.
4
But mountain goddess smiles to say
I don't need to always seek her peaks and join her there
She can give me all the hours of the harvest moon
To roll and play around her steepest slopes
In a constant state of explosive joy.
We may reach it or not, today or next,
But her arrogant summit is always there
Ever victorious and gleaming in the sun.
We will lie satiated under its shadow til evening comes
We will gaze content at ebony heavens and feather clouds
And watch green foliage turn to peacock swirls before our eyes.
5
And as the endless clouds blanket us in mist and fog
My muscles stiffen again, the wanderlust stronger now
I seek the inner warmth of the mountain's folds
And enter her secret ritual caves
To perform the sloughing of my skin and offerings of flesh.
During this full September moon when the deer paw the earth.
He who comes from me is lusting to taste the freshness of pulsing flesh
Of virgin victim, a mountain nymph on a bed of ferns
His fangs will sink into willing venison, tangy and bittersweet
And this man-wolf will turn himself inside out
With a terrible growl, triumphant again tonight.
7:20 p.m. 25 Sept 2007
Offering for the harvest moon festival
