Mountains (James Watkins)
mountains grand and gazing-
pillars standing tall-
piercing passioned histories-
hidden in their walls.
delving downward distances-
caverns large and small-
mutant molten metal streams-
fused before the fall.
decant demon-ed destinies-
cooling chasmed halls-
dinosaurs and diamond doors
in massive mirrored malls.
heavy, heaving voices
in paradisian sprawl-
fiery fumes of purity-
creation’s curtain call.
subatomic saturation,
soiled, synthetic signs.
righteous restoration
of prehistoric crimes.
tumultuous-
tempestuous-
waning, wasted pearl-
forethought, full and fragile-
foundation of the world.
hidden in the language
of nature’s cresting yore-
cracked beneath
the stress and strain-
crumbling at the core.
tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-
wiggling in the storm-
recipes and remedies-
chemically reborn.
thickened soups and swirling haze-
brooding-steaming-scorn-
clashing reams of violent schemes-
valleys ripped and torn.
balance within balances,
scrambled eggs at last-
gushing geysered marbled mud
borne before the blast.
consciences of scientists,
syncopated scuds-
bothered by the missing mass-
baffled by the blood.
leaping lemon lizards-
the barn is nearly full-
the hay is neatly in a stack-
the baby’s come full term!
common commonalities,
full circle’s come at last.
see the story in the hills-
yield before your past.
something’s broken,
something’s missing,
something’s come and gone-
something’s at the doorway-
someone’s on the phone.
someone’s at the table-
someone’s on the floor-
someone’s grass
is full of gas-
classical-and more!
rhyming with the timing,
balancing the board-
signals of a sequenced strike,
calm before the storm.
mysteries are meaningful,
when looking at the past.
the scene is somewhat circular,
when stage is come to last.
weakened, muzzled monkeys,
dance before your lord.
the gift of grace is growing cold
squirming on sword.
commentaried cavemen,
come into the fold.
your ears can hear-
your eyes can see-
so come in from the cold.
and listen with some latitude-
to knowledge held in store.
fashioned in the faceless stone
of ancient ocean floor.
squeezed in myriad molecule,
the battle rages on-
raving reverence in reverse
its relevance reformed.
and bow before the evidence-
the courtroom is restored,
through judgment passed,
the script is cast,
in elementary score.
rain fire, you veined volcanoes-
your statement’s on the floor-
and advertise what you surmise-
from secret silent store.
you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-
and touched your maker’s hand,
in timeless thought-
before the fault-
and listened to the plan.
to bring all things to unity-
from eons vile and vast-
to bless-ed end
the future bends,
with glory
unsurpassed.
James Watkins May 2005
