They are grumpy

They are grumpy

Clunky and craggy

With creases,

Ravines and gullies

Dug deep

From top to bottom

Cold as ice

I have heard that

They are ready to crumble

It is hinted at

In that low rumble

They use

From time to time

Just before throwing jagged pieces

Out Into the world

Making a display

Of themselves

Which is very unneighbourly

Perhaps they are

Envious of the view at eye level

Where the grass grows

On the plain

The gentle ripple of it

The nature of its invite.

Mountains

Intimidate

And will keep grumbling

Even when the valley

Wants what they have,

A view,

The myth of dominion.

Viscous peaks argue with clouds

Who struggle to get up and over

Losing a few pounds in runoff

Giving the screed a lashing

Scouring the sides

Loosening a few rocks

But the mountains keep rolling.

Heedlessly

Do they grouch

To the trees

In passing

Warn them off

The higher ground

Do they feign indignation

Standing tall

Firmly planted

Morally superior

A looming presence

As the sun goes down

Taking the heat away

The drama is always there

Waiting to be found

In the shadows

In the nooks and crannies

The folds of age

Pooled in perspiration

From the exertion

Of standing tall

Losing sleep,

Like the rest of us,

They hold up the sky

From fear

Of collapse

And suffocation