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Climbing Mount Rainier

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Along a log-clogged dry-rot trail
heavy-breath and feet I climb,
Stone-step streams, scramble scree
and faith thrust my legs across

chasms in the cliffs that dizzy
me so, I steady my head with my hand
as an eagle grips the crag with its claws.

Straggling and struggling I jungle
thru the green world toward the blue,
Not climbing to conquer but to lie
dreaming under peak-eating clouds
in a flower-filled rock-rimmed mountain meadow
Catching rare air and the distant view
of rivers and mountains without end,

seeing the forest in the trees.
We all have reasons for climbing.
I climb to see things whole.

Tuning Up Each Morning, by Roger Gilman

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Tuning Up Each Morning

(a cento)

“Awakening lies beyond the search for self. The self ungloved
Is like that slow turning out of sleep toward love.” – A.J. Hovde

The young writer tunes up.
With careful curiosity he bends
over the paper with his pen,
not with a conqueror’s arrogance
to command both sound and sense,
But as a man with loved guitar or woman
might inquire with humble hand
what subtle, vital things she had to say
before they started, he and she, to play.
R. W. Gilman