Her logs lapped,
Notched and pinned
With pegs together. She
Shielded all from rain and snow.
Hands, leathery brown, clutched
Mallet speaking pegs clasping
Like firm handshake,
Intimate.
Marriage of timber, virgin
Wood to wood
Telling stories of children
Borne in lean time.
Scratching existence,
Milk cow, corn patch,
Moaning wind,
Barn squatting firm;
Her ribs weather gray,
Head glitters silver,
Hands clawing stable
Stance.
Her logs notched, lapped
And pinned like family
Bond.
Meadows brown all round.
By Walt Barger
September 12, 2000
Poetry etched in leaves
of mountain moments;
peaks licking azure
sky like fingers sampling
cream from clouds drifting
low, a blanket covering
lovers secret; shushing
breeze steals deafening
silence that courts senses,
and sidles up to join
another chorus.
Near ridge boldly approaches
distant mountain heights,
arms full of nature's lush
and scandents up poking
head above timber,hands
waving back at staring
neighbors.
Pewter pockets of wet
slides across face of blue;
banister barring passage
to another time.
by Walt Barger
September 11, 2000
Smoky clouds hover
and embrace the sky.
This view clothes mind
and soul, one peak
stretches into infinity
beyond the eye…breathless.
Top of oak and pine
and a million others mingle
like close-nit mountain
clan.
These mountains have adopted,
folded and neatly tucked
me into their majesty
spilling midday dreams,
gentle rain of imagination
streaking down through
valleys deep, stroking forest
green, occasional cabin sulking
defiantly claiming
ownership.
Perched like an eagle in treetops,
Mountain Paradise sighs, smiles
and spreads open arms
to embrace nature's vastness.
by Walt Barger
September 11, 2000