The Blue Mountain

By Henry Lawson

Above the ashes straight and tall,
Through ferns with moisture dripping,
I climb beneath the sandstone wall,
My feet on mosses slipping.

Like ramparts round the valley's edge
The tinted cliffs are standing.
With many a broken wall and ledge,
And many a rocky landing.

And round about their rugged feet
Deep ferny dells are hidden
In shadowed depths, whence dust and heat
Are banished and forbidden.

The stream that, crooning to itself,
Comes down a tireless rover,
Flows calmly to the rocky shelf,
And there leaps bravely over.

Now pouring down, now lost in spray
When mountain breezes sally,
The water strikes the rock midway,
And leaps into the valley.

Now in the west the colours change,
The blue with crimson blending;
Behind the far Dividing Range,
The sun is fast descending.

And mellowed day comes o'er the place,
And softens ragged edges;
The rising moon's great placid face
Looks gravely o'er the ledges.

Comment : This article in the Mint today included the last two paragraphs of ‘Blue Mountain’ by Henry Lawson. I read them and was hooked. When I tracked down the poem, I liked the description of the stream even more.
- Zen
Follow this link and this one to read some bleak and cynical poems by Henry Lawson about the difficult life in Australia a hundred years ago.

Come to the Edge

By Guillame Apollinaire

Come to the Edge.
We can't.
We're afraid.

Come to the edge.
We can't.
We will fall !

Come to the edge.
And they came.
And he pushed them.
And they flew.


Comments : Brief, straightforward and beautiful ! When was the last time you flew ? :-) Zen.