poetry of
dark hills and wild mountains
by john

on occasion after time spent in the dark hills and wild mountains there is an
opening into mystery    mystery that comes not as a gift   not as a need    but
mystery that comes as a relationship and a revelation

john has lived and worked in the sierra foothills    high mountains of sequoia   
yosemite    on palomar mountain    traveled the lush coastal hills    the rockies    
great smokies    blue ridge parkway    olympic mountains    baja's dessert hills    
nicaraguan's volcanic mountains    the low jungle hills of vietnam     migrating
between  mountain and city    complete only in both

79 pages, price $14.00
ISBN 0-9714003-0-X

                              Available through Amazon.com
                              at special prices.
palomar mountain

i reach out   extend my hand across snowy hills
i make undulations with you

oak trees sprout up    snow brushed up in mounds     
we let the moon    that is crescent in the hot blue sky
make shapes    then dance out with our music

our breathing moves leaves and the hairs on my face
your hair ruffles across our body

my lungs cry out    the sharp sweet feel of quick air
goes in across dry lips that drink in the fast mountain

snow falling from the fir tree does so with drama
cracks loudly    enters the ring of quiet
sending long shouts out onto the icy pond drum surface


breaking through crusting snow demands a mind
not drifting but sharp    one step deep into the next
lifted by intention and set again on a firm surface

pulling up   breathing into the fullness of limbs
looking out by a willful act to see the land
that is soft in the distance but demanding

the hardness of attraction    the fascination that pulls me
and takes all my exertion

i can finally die into this   and look up
through deep snow    and see tiny points of light
that hover    in the space    above
crystal presentation
for jack

in the spirit of give away
the crystal
lays amethyst and six sided   inside
the crystal life             union

they have made   out to in

feather of hawk and grey smoke
of sage
are gates of the temple
and temple is hill and desert   sky
and mountain   there and here

playing on flute
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