1311. Mountain track

The only way that Nathan could see to get onto the mountain track was to slide down a steep bank. He did that. It was a lot easier than he thought. He was now on the mountain path. It seemed to be a clay track that wound in a wiggly line. Not too steep, but not very wide. In fact it was quite thin. Nathan wanted to go down the mountain, not up.

As he turned to face downhill, Nathan saw a giant, ferocious bull blocking the path several hundred yards below. At least he thought it looked ferocious. In fact it was quietly ambling up the path towards him. There was no way that Nathan would try to squeeze past. He turned to go uphill – and fairly fast!

Suddenly the path ended and there was a low bank to jump up to get to another path. Nathan thought perhaps the bull might not be able to jump that far up over the bank. By now, the bull had noticed Nathan and was starting to run towards him. Nathan tried to leap up the bank but didn’t make it. He tried again. His third attempt was equally unsuccessful. The bull was almost upon him.

And that is how Nathan ended up standing on his bedside table in the middle of the night trying to leap up his bedroom wall.

Poem 59: Dormant mountain

(The form chosen for this week is the ghazal)

The mountain lay dormant for years, and then the volcano lets rip.
This lady afraid hides her fears, and then the volcano lets rip.

The dude sits alone in the pub. He gapes at his glass half the night;
his mood is not what appears, and then the volcano lets rip.

At the meeting the chairman sits high in his chair like he owns the place;
the listeners tolerate his airs, and then the volcano lets rip.

My friend Uma stared at his screen month after bloody month;
a little he wrote; next he dares; and then the volcano lets rip.

A man is too scared to say how he feels to the woman he loves.
One night he tells her how he cares, and then the volcano lets rip.

The guys hang around and drink beers; the guys hang around and drink beers;
The guys hang around and drink beers; and then the volcano lets rip.

For sixty-eight years adventures have sat in a corner.
Bruce sears, tears, wears, jeers, glares, cheers, veers. Not once the volcano lets rip.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.