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best of cc.com cascade Mt. Poetry

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Let's hear your rhymes for a Cascade Mountain.

Here's one to start it off.


Luna Peak from Ruth Mt.


Luna seems so far away

It glides in the mist,

It sleeps in East,

It silently sits,

In its realm it will stay.


Within the sea of peaks and valleys,

No other can compare.

It’s spine a stairway,

To the faraway air.


Someday I will meet you,

Someday I will hear,

The rivers roar below

From atop your perch from over there.

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Here's another (come on! lets see a few!)


Mt. Larrabee


Every time I touch a rock,

They slip and tumble down,

They go a block, or more

Before they settle ‘round.


If I had a quarter,

For every one knocked loose,

I’d be giving an order,

For a case of good Chartreuse.


Finally when the goal is reached,

I realize why I came,

For cliffs drop far below,

To glaciers doing the same.


Looking down the path I led,

I wonder why I choose to tread,

Mountains made of dirt and choss,

Next time I’ll climb the hills with moss.


It’s now time to go back where,

The cold lakes hide, past the rim.

For when I get to over there,

I will take a chilly, well deserved swim.

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OK, how about Mt. Hood from NE Portland?


Kickin it wit my homies drinkin forties on the curb

Scopin out the ladies and smokin up some herb

Wit the gold around my neck you know it's all good

Wit my crampons and my ice axe fixin to climb Mt. Hood.


See, white boys can hit it gangsta-style too! Don't be hatin', y'all.

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Fall off Mount Slesse

And have time to consider

Your death, how messy

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"Mount Degenhardt"


Dragonheart slayers


We are off to dance with thy lady

Is she all we dreamed of or a Warren Baity?

So glistens her bosom of pompas and glory

and trumphets blare her presence comith to us

and tales are told amid drinks so bold, a ballad to brutes

sitting upon thrones of wormed wood and living in dreams of the highest degree

We are off to our land of oz and upith the yellow brick road we depart

No demons or dragons, angels or ghosts will steer us - because!

There is not a wise man a dozen only a fool each of us at heart

dancing all the way to the land of dragonheart...

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The Tooth


Driving on the Interstate,

Is a ironic twist of fate,

To end up in such a place

Near rocky peaks that we must chase.


We quickly slog right up the vally,

To end up in a bowling alley.

People yelling “on belay”

And much more yelling, so much to say.


Our speedy hike was all in vain,

For we wait for hours in the rain.

We wait for climbers wearing hats,

Some wearing shorts on top of pants.


Finally we set a pace,

Up the southern rocky face.

Then wait like little ants,

For those who wear those shorts on pants.


Deciding to go left or right,

The daylight left is getting tight.

The top is reached, but in our mind

Is leaving this crowded place behind.


As we dash for the set of slings,

Up come men, that clip the rings.

Another hour has passed us by,

Then we make another try.


Quickly throw that rope on down

Before my partners pants turn brown.

Grab the backs and put on boots,

Glissade fast down snowy chutes.


Start the car like were Hell Bent,

To grab some Big Macs back in Kent.

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Mount Shuksan


I called this mountain

Mount Sucksan

Because I couldn’t reach the top

“Where’s my purple soda pop?”


First I tried the shuksan arm

It only gave me harm

With storm and snow

“Where do I go?”


Then comes memorial weekend

Three days, I’m freakin’

Let’s go climb the west face

I’ll keep the pace


We leave early

Boy this is burly

I can’t ski this

It’s craziness


We reach the sulfide

I’m out of my mind

Big pillow clouds

“Kiss my behind!”


So finally I sulk up the easy way

Too good and great I’d say

Standing on the top

Drinking my purple soda pop


I snap on my skis

and do as I please

streakin' down her pyrimid

feelin' good not suckin big

...mount shuksan

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Climb Mt Rexford

And you'll have sex more


So...um where's mount rexford?

I've got a feeling it's in canada

She's probably as flat as a board

And likes nuts and bananas


I'm also sure if dru

has been up there

he wouldn't tell you

about his goat named "Claire"


So if you want sex more

Don’t go to mount Rexford

You may see wildlife sure

But no blond hair and harpsichord

Edited by AllYouCanEat

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We drive into the mountain night. I look into my rearview mirror and see the past. It doesn't resemble where we've been. I look forward and I don't know where I'm going. But we’re getting there, towards a future that's already been.


We arrive, she pulls on her pack. Silent we walk together, stare into the black. Up at all the bright holes in the sky, we walk and we wonder questions like "why?" No answer's forthcoming. We choose at bivy, time to drop off to sleep, content in the knowledge our mountain dreams will be sweet.


Roped up we climb both moving apart towards similar ends. Beauty attracts me, I'm drawn in. Leads are reversed, beginning forever again.


Stuck on a rocky ridge backbone of the earth, we cower at ground zero of a fury-fueled, bitter-pissed mountain thunderstorm. This, and nothing more, is god. We’ve lost our minds. Where did they go? How did they get there? No way to know. Pulses racing in the mind, our synapses spark, flame and fuse. Our lives on loan, not sure of the terms. Please put us out when our souls start to burn.


She asks me, “how's life on the edge of the ledge?” I look over. “Its a long way down.”


We’re observers in our own lives, a third party in two. I have a strange sense of deja-vu, not lucid enough to be helpful. We’ve been here before. But where is here? I wish I could know.


The storm passes and up that rocky fool's road we go. We face it all with open eyes, not afraid to give or die. Climbing smooth, total immersion, no aversion, I have no fear of falling. This is life, it's for living.


At the summit we lie on sun warmed rock, mist melting away, the storm drifted off to the east. Her free hair reaches below strong shoulders, a little womanly extra in the right places. She is named after a tree. She has unwavering blue irises and long feminine functional fingers, smeared with dried blood and aluminum dust. I taste her neck. It is soft and sweet and smooth and salty. Her mouth is wet and warmer than blood. In her eagerness, she presses forward beautifully naked of puritanical emotional clothing.


I slow her down, exploring the soft subtleties of the base of her throat. Black pupils push out the blue her fingers grip moving convulsively betraying the current that runs through her core. I hold her back and we give in and our heads spin off into a lovely void.


Let us live forever in the world of the mortals, die in solitude, surrounded by these mountains we love. This is home a place we've never been before. Let me go so I can remain a part of you.



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You guys should stick to climbing

Rather than internet rhyming

To bad you suck at both!




Those who frown will someday see

That rhyming is so good for thee,

Because thowst dreams of climbing things

Gives thy spirit powers of kings.



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It ain't about the fear of falling.

It's the fear of the desire to leap into space.

Why resist?

Instead, insist on learning to fly.

You can do it.

Give it a try!

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