Original poetry by Chrome Dome Mike Kimbro
Please read along to my Spoken Verse Performance.
There's a place that they call Everest.
As mountains go, it's the highest of all.
Non-climbers all assume that it's the best.
Half in China and half in Nepal.
Reaching that lofty summit is quite rare.
Hillary and Norgay were the first.
They quoted Mallory: "Because it's there."
As excuses go, I'm thinking that's the worst.
Now, if I were to take up scaling peaks.
It would be to improve my perspective.
Climbing without fear of frost bite on my cheeks,
Thanks to moisturizer that is effective.
Sure, there might be times when things look bleak.
Like if there were no cell phone reception.
And, even in death, my look must be unique!
So wearing green boots is out of the question.
At the outfitter, I would be pickin' out,
Neon outer wear which pops against slate.
But, there's a good chance that I'd chicken out,
Well before attempting to elevate.
While their reasons I might not understand,
Climbers would be wrong to think I'm a hater.
In fact, I'd like to give them a helping hand.
So their Everest enjoyment is even greater.
At that level, it's hard to conceive,
Of anything other than a baño.
A place where all the climbers could relieve,
Themselves, while thinking fondly of Old Kimbro.
Parts are brought in from factories afar,
Then assembled by an elite Sherpa team.
Who'd strap it down with cables of kevlar,
So it would survive the blasts of the jet stream.
Once the word gets out, tourism would jump,
And that outhouse would be a true destination.
Climbers would brag of where they took a dump,
While Everest would simply be the location.
But I can imagine the outraged cries,
Voices saying my outhouse is a blemish.
I'd sell them a choice Chrome Dome Baño franchise.
No, you can't accuse me of being selfish.
That port-o-potty could offer folks more,
To do, if they're not in too bad of shape.
Like take selfies, (the cameras in the door),
As climber's lungs fill with fluid from HAPE.
Sometimes the going's slow on Everest.
Lots of folks who don't know when to quit.
They're the ones who accomplish their quest.
Then take a break, and die where they sit.
One needn't possess genius, like Goethe,
To climb. No, but you must have the nerve.
At the top, be sure to tip your Sherpa,
Before you run out of oxygen reserve.
On Everest, you get what you deserve.
This photo of Irishman Derek Mahon on top of Everest is from The Journal.
Copyright © Michael Kimbro 2019. All rights reserved.
Keywords: Poems about mountain climbing, An Ode to the Himalayas, Verses about Sherpas, Mountain peak poetry.