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Little Mountain

by Leonard M Hawkes

It crouches
Westward:
Black, massy,
Silent, restive;
Silted, washed,
Dark ancient
Stony
Heart.

Summit--
Protruding
Rounded spine,
Ageless range,
Swallowed in
Sand, slime;
Sealed in
Salt.

Occult,
Ghosty,
Old ones
Hover,
Lingering long
Beyond reason,
Singing spiritual
Silence--

As we
Smear garbage
Northeasterly;
Shoot noisily;
Or ravage
Steep sunny
Slopes
Riding toys.

03/06/2004

Author's Note: Another snapshot of the homeland.

Posted on 03/06/2004
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Anne Engelen on 03/09/04 at 06:11 AM

Very descriptive...and what a wake up call in the end.

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