She peeks beyond the hill at me,
And doesn’t think that I can see.
I’ve passed her by while pondering peaks
To find the treasure that I seek.

She peers over the hill at me,
Like lass that yearns to be set free.
I’ve seen her close and seen her far
To comprehend just where we are.

She scans upon the hill at me
With gaze to last eternally.
I look up at her in a trance,
And dream that we could share this dance.

She calls around the hill to me,
Hikes satin dress above her knee.
And, as I turn away to go,
She tries to not let scorn half-show.

She peeks beyond the hill at me,
And doesn’t think that I can see.
That peak stands tall, which I have climbed,
And tries her best to undermine

My fickle fortune with her will,
To lure me up and then to kill.
Here she shall taunt me in her chill;
And, though I turn, I love her still.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2016



Stone walls were meant for summer’s clime,
To demarcate a subtle line
Between the place we’re meant to be
And where we are for all to see.

Stone walls aren’t meant for winter’s woe,
When snow pulls heels in undertow.
They are not meant when things are chilled,
Not even when our mug is filled.

Stone walls aren’t meant when things are gray,
When fades in full the sun and day.
They are not meant when world is white,
Not even when our fire is high.

Stone walls aren’t meant for when we yearn
To love another and to burn.
They are not meant when youth grows old,
Not even when our story’s told.

Stone walls aren’t meant for you or me,
Who live our lives with passion, free.
They are not meant when times are hard,
Not even if we’re deeply scarred.

Stone walls were meant for summer’s clime,
To demarcate a subtle line
Between the place we’re meant to be
And where we are for all to see.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2016



Break free from reef and toil and tide,
Discover isles, heart’s churnings ride,
To chart own course where dreams abide,
That Place we call our own.

Horizons holy sift and seek,
Yes, strengthen inner soul made weak,
And courage find to tame what’s meek;
Grasp Life beyond what’s lone.

Eric M. Vogt, Copyright 2019

snow bows


snow bows the branches
drifts to earth and lifts the soul
measure birch can bear

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2016



When chill descended on our world,
I walked on winter’s way.
The pines held snow as drops of pearls,
Ten days from Christmas Day.

My mind was sharp as mist in air,
My hope was just as high
As canvas painted with a care,
As sound of lullaby.

The snow hung loose in gentle curls
From tips and tops of pines,
As weave of hair of little girls
At play with joyful cries.

I voiced a word which held her still,
As still as gray in skies,
The start of northern winds and chill,
And fade of gleam in eyes.

The day dipped into pin-prick cold;
I walked on winter’s way
When I felt all my life unfold
Ten days from Christmas Day.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2016



Mountain stood, last chance of season,
As though men need mere ounce of reason
To chase adventure in the sky,
So we set off, just Jack and I.

It took the greater part of morn
To reach the tree line, rock adorned.
We hadn’t kept in time with plan
Quick-hatched in mind by dog and man.

At King’s Ravine we stopped in awe
And gazed upon its gaping maw.
The path leaned close to death’s sharp edge.
We stared down from its fearsome ledge.

It’s there we were passed by a youth
On way to top of Adams, proof
Within his run, of both our age
And how close we would come to page

That marked the ending of our Books.
He gave us just two glancing looks
And he was gone. Jack said “Follow!”
I said “Not!” and took a swallow

Of warm water; stiffening, I
Stood, young man swiftly gone from eye.
We made peak late (two hours) to find
A couple hiking, of like mind,

In scramble up the other side
Of Adams, where the shadows hide,
To be bathed, as we, by the sun.
Their dog and mine seemed just begun.

But we took time to ponder view
That canines did not share, nor knew.
When photos and brief speech were done,
We said goodbyes, lone trails still long.

I gazed, concerned, on sun’s quick arc
Which threatened us from end with dark.
We took the gentler-angled way
Down Madison and lost the day.

We grazed off trail barely re-found,
And there I laid upon the ground
Littered by boulders, for I knew
We could not make it in blind hue.

Poncho beneath, blanket above
Became our camp, shared with a love
Held between corgi apt-named Jack,
And master, enveloped by black.

He slept; I didn’t, ache from rocks
And climb up Adams, tripped by pocks
That littered both the peak and path,
And–I suspect–of God’s own wrath.

When daylight came I lifted pack
And I and corgi then went back
To place we started, it not same—
Not quite the place from which we came.

We stood a little taller, death
Evaded by the merest breadth.
We conquered Adams by a thread;
Just one week’s chill, and we’d be dead.

Jack London wrote much better story,
Could tell it with a greater glory,
But I shall hold mine till I die,
The day we climbed, just Jack and I.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2016



My shelter sits beyond the trees
Between a poem and make-believe,
Encircled by a past I grieve,
And hanging on by grit.

My shelter lays below the hills
Where in the winter all is still,
Less lived than loved, and held by will,
Thin wire and sheer wit.

My shelter stays when I am gone,
It guarded by a gentle fawn
That feeds in peace with wholesome yawn,
And sleeps when it seems fit.

My shelter in the snow I see,
Its path laid to Eternity,
The place where men shall be set free,
In darkness always lit.

When life is sad, I stand right here,
Despite my trembling in my fear,
And long for place where pain and tear
Are wiped, as faith befits.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2016