Homework topic ending 280211
Posted: Mon Feb 28, 2011 7:32 pm
This is a bit of a cheat... 
...this poem wasn't written for the homework topic, BUT, it fits exactly with the 'high country' prompt, AND, by coincidence I had mentioned it recently on another thread.
So, that's my excuse for posting it here. I will understand if it is disqualified under the rools and leave it to the green gods to determine its final resting place.
High-Country Hike © Will Moody 2010
Kosciusko has a mantle of snow,
now that winter is flexing its grip.
As the fresh breeze abates, laboured breathing creates
a frosting of ice on my lip.
Under brilliant blue skies, with familiar surprise,
I drink in the High-country show.
A short moment to rest, one quick glance to the crest,
and onward and upwards I go.
In the cold crystal light, all the colours are bright
on the trunks of the snow-gum tableau;
weirdly shaped by a song, slow and ancient and strong,
only sap, soil and sinew can know.
And it seems I can hear, as the summit draws near,
phantom words of a whispered refrain,
that keep urging me on ’til I'm standing upon
the top of the world once again.
All the hubbub that drowns us in cities and towns;
all confusion and care melts away.
My horizons expand to encompass the land...
and I’m top of the world...for a day.
...this poem wasn't written for the homework topic, BUT, it fits exactly with the 'high country' prompt, AND, by coincidence I had mentioned it recently on another thread.So, that's my excuse for posting it here. I will understand if it is disqualified under the rools and leave it to the green gods to determine its final resting place.
High-Country Hike © Will Moody 2010
Kosciusko has a mantle of snow,
now that winter is flexing its grip.
As the fresh breeze abates, laboured breathing creates
a frosting of ice on my lip.
Under brilliant blue skies, with familiar surprise,
I drink in the High-country show.
A short moment to rest, one quick glance to the crest,
and onward and upwards I go.
In the cold crystal light, all the colours are bright
on the trunks of the snow-gum tableau;
weirdly shaped by a song, slow and ancient and strong,
only sap, soil and sinew can know.
And it seems I can hear, as the summit draws near,
phantom words of a whispered refrain,
that keep urging me on ’til I'm standing upon
the top of the world once again.
All the hubbub that drowns us in cities and towns;
all confusion and care melts away.
My horizons expand to encompass the land...
and I’m top of the world...for a day.