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A long gown falling
From ridgeline shoulders,
Brushes branches
Jeweled with ice.
Deer-steps beneath pines
Tremble
At the edge of silence.
Light blooms
On cliffs above,
Not orange,
Not gold,
But offering a new day,
More than the sum
Of its parts.
This poem first appeared in Avocet.
Used here with the author's permission.
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Robert Walton is a retired middle school teacher and a lifelong rock climber with many ascents in the Sierras and Pinnacles National Park. His publishing credits include works of science fiction, fantasy, and poetry. Robert’s historical novel, Dawn Drums, won the Tony Hillerman Prize for best fiction in the 2014 New Mexico Book Awards. Most recently, his book, Joaquin's Gold, was published as a paperback and a Kindle eBook. It offers fictional adventures about the famous California bandit, Joaquin Murrieta. Learn more about Robert at http://chaosgatebook.wordpress.com/.
 
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waldo47:
Thank-you all who commented so positively about my poem. I hope to share here again.
Posted 10/16/2013 10:30 PM
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Ross Kightly:
As a lifelong acrophobe I am still trembling - but I bet the view was worth it. Thanks, Robert, for taking me where otherwise I would never go.
Posted 10/16/2013 12:47 AM
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plgoodman:
Love it, Robert. Exquisite words for a breathtaking scene. Thanks for the uplift.
Posted 10/15/2013 06:06 PM
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Carol Hauer:
This made me take a deep breath. Thanks.
Posted 10/15/2013 04:18 PM
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John:
Spare and translucent, and the first two lines are stunning.
Posted 10/15/2013 09:10 AM
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Donna Pflueger:
Robert, you have captured as only one who has been there can - I experienced each line. Powerful!
Posted 10/15/2013 08:43 AM
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paula:
Wonderful language and so spare!
Posted 10/15/2013 06:34 AM
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