Best Canyon Poems
I stop to watch the eagle soar.
At dawn his silhouette flies high
Through brilliant tinted scarlet sky.
Below the gorge at valley’s floor,
The creatures rise up one by one;
A quest for food has just begun.
I listen to the fierce winds roar.
Descending from the north they blow
And carry in the first light snow.
They make the river crest the shore
When swirls of vivid hues abound
Dancing before they touch the ground
As autumn breezes in once more.
I marvel at the leaves in flight
And wonder where they will alight.
I stop to watch the eagle soar.
Below the gorge at valley’s floor,
I listen to the fierce winds roar.
They make the river crest the shore
As autumn breezes in once more.
7-29-20
~Poem of the Day July 31, 2020~
Constanza Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Thank you very much Team Poetry Soup and members for this honor.
Some people are voices
On the edge of rocks
With steep slopes and cliffs.
Some people are echoes
At the bottom of walls
Carved by rushing waters.
My journey starts from the point
where your neckline takes a sudden plunge,
a path trodden so many times
yet again becomes unfamiliar..
tip-toeing along those mountaneous curves
I reach the top of it
to conquer the peaks once again.
Call of deep valley from below
accompanied by your soft song
makes me come down there,
our sky is deep blue now
with birds in their pleasure-fly.
I must not stop here as I know
below downwards the Grand Canyon is waiting,
I must take a dip there..
reaching at the edge of it
I listen to the wild beats of drums
festival night is drawing closer..
and as I prepare to take a plunge
I know another earth quake is awaiting...
© 2011 kashinath karmakar
==========================
Dawn sighs a crimson vapor
along a beach of trolls
(pretending to be plastic things)
fond of gleaning the mind
leaving a trail of seaweed and grit behind
that stays with you till the ends
meet time....
The yawl is beached
skin blistered blue till white
listen to wind stories whispering
truth always lies somewhere between
pulp and rind-piper and gull
solitude and scream.
Take a picture of the sunrise
through the foggy lens of
a been there- done that life
but there are new things to see
yes, worthwhile things- aren't there?
Just pan offal from pristine.
and when you've reached
what you've had all along,
hide your disappointment cleverly
wear its flaw on your ringing finger.
I'm heading for unspoiled terrain
{hopefully sooner than later}
rescued from the hearth of a deepening canyon, called uncaring.
A one-way cool air balloon ride
into the lattice of heaven.
And because iniquity shall abound,
the love of many shall wax cold
Matt. 24:12
In the depths of their heart
is a frozen soul
Mean spirited, cruel and hateful
They got a downright nasty attitude,
will cuss you out just because
Don’t need no particular reason why
Their innermost desire towards someone
is wishing they would die
Having no real affection for friend or foe,
they’re incapable of experiencing love
Their hatelust is grand and bold,
they got a rocky heart canyon of cold
In the bottom of their heart
is buried a frozen soul
They dwell among the dead things,
and move in the midst of the living
Stone cold wax that don’t melt,
evil thoughts and feelings feed this arctic flame
They love blaspheming God’s holy name
But the wick on their cold candle is short,
there is no heat emanating from their heart
They just keep heaping hate,
upon hate upon hate
on the passing compassion collection plate
As I pray for them ...
hoping it’s not too late,
too late ... it’s gotten too late
For them to pass through the pearly gate
They’d rather stay in their arctic fortress below:
Letting their frozen heart
gather more ice and snow
in the hell canyon of cold
sun
rays
mermaid
skin
below
glassy
river,
moss~
q f i n d e b
u b
i e
v e r s w
h
‘n t
a
illusku
3/23/26
From the Painted Desert, head west
Past sagebrush, brittle bush, desert scrub
And The Petrified Forest at rest
To the Rocky Mountains above
Go past the Continental Divide
Below Douglas firs and pinyon pines
Head down the sunset side
Where the Colorado River cuts and winds
Many generations ago
Native Americans were inhabiting squatters
There were herds of buffalo
Along with now extinct muskrats and river otters
Beaver, cut cottonwoods and willows
Leopard frogs slept on limestone pillows
Mule deer and bighorn sheep
Climbed up and down walls so steep
Follow me down the foot trail
Like indigenous butterflies with swallowtails
In to the Valley of the Sun
Where Hopi civilization begun
Tassel eared squirrels frolic about
Bald eagles fly over and scout
Stream orchids, honey mesquite and arrow weeds
For pocket mice and other rodent species
Gray fox, weasels, bobcats
Spotted skunks, ring tails, and bats
Call this canyon their home
Where bark scorpions and rattlesnakes roam
While gila monsters and red spotted toads
Search for midges, flies and black widows
It took this river millions of years
To make this home for all who are here
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
When something is:
So big you can't comprehend
So beautiful there are no words to say
So impressive you feel you stand on holy ground
So perfect people journey worldwide just to gaze upon its grandeur
So endless the river will forever change it
So colorful each day with the rising and setting of the sun
So often tried but never conquered
So old it will forever be this way
So we know we are small and without Him really nothing at all
So designed by God, a natural wonder
©Donna Jones
Awesomeness I see
Always looking back at me
God’s own artistry
Written By John Posey
01/06/13
Mighty canyon, you're grand it's true
There is no other quite like you
You, whose awesome beauty takes
Half a state to wander through.
From hither to your river snakes
Whatever course she undertakes
So reddish brown her muddy hue
Freely flowing lake to lake.
Oh mighty canyon is it true
That little river sculptured you
From north to south, and half the west
Simply just from passing through?
And, only through her wet caress
Without a living thought expressed
By chance alone, and not by will
This majesty that you possess?
My canyon friend, the truth revealed
Your river there is just His quill
And He who paints, is painting still....
And He who paints, is painting still.
Timothy I. Brumley
Hear the whispering voices of our tribal ancestors,
Echoing against the rough rock skin of Chacoan Canyon,
Telling the outsider white devils, that this is sacred ground,
Do not dare to tread here, for your own salvation's sake,
Lies at risk.
Can't these intruders hear, the rattling bones of the dead,
Beating against the native drums, calling forth the guardians
Whom protect these revered mountains, and ancient?
Forgotten ruins.
It's a presence of malevolence, given off by shadow stalkers,
Whom elude detection, spiritual chameleons these the unseen
And the unheard.
At dusk's twilight hour, does blood's mountain so flicker
Crimson red, for within dwells the beast, whom feast upon
The forsaken, those who have desecrated the purity
Of this sacred tribal land.
Weeping women of generations plead for mercies
Leniency, but the creature knows only basic instincts
Need for survival, and this is his native hunting grounds
Territory.
Can you not feel its eyes watching you from above?
Does not the hair stand up straight on the back of
Your neck, flee out-lander to a different venues location,
Before it is too late.
No medicine man's enchantment, or incantation's spell,
Can save thee, the sacred right's ritual is older than the
Desert sands that blow against these rock canyon walls.
In this arid arena the fallen are taken prisoner, by a dark
Phantom gladiator, who seemly is made of vaporous mist.
But the chieftain elders praise his existence, for he is a
Guardians sent by the power of the Great Spirit,
To protect and guard this land of native wonder.
Many thrill seekers come here to behold nature
In its raw state of brilliance, and few leave
Unscathed, for they have been touched by
The presence of the supernatural.
In chacoan Canyon, where the Colorado River
Still runs wild and free.
A killer crouches in a stance's freeze, waiting
For his next meal to step forth onto his sacred
Feeding grounds, welcome tourist, unto the ritual
Bloody feast.
The beast does smile, with fiendish delight, come'
Any further my friend, the creature speaks, and
You belong to me for all eternity.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
A canvass, deep, has been composed
between red's blend with purple hues
Cruel paths of glaciers, mighty swords
deeply carved a threshold grand
Each turn of compass, leaves a brand,
forever leaves a breathless word
Green rivers whipped to whitened froth
have nourished pines upon the ridge
It carved a place exempt from time, and
justifies a Godly mind
Keeping watch ore' a western floor
loom monoliths on a timeless shore
Morning suns of shimmering wines
Nightly stars and moonlight shines
Ours to cherish and explore,
Past and future, native lore
Question not the splendid wonder
Rejoice with eyes, behold and conquer
saturate the trails down under
That if one stands within this glory, and
understands the folklore stories,
voices freeze with questions asked,
while sunlight peaks, where ancients gasped!
Xanadu in fact, exclaimed
You came, you saw, a crevice famed
Zenith, is Grand, and a canyon is named
__________________________________________
8/29/14 For Contest Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
^ ^
From an abyss of the darkness, I hear incantation
It slowly ascends, sun awakening canyons,
Windward it heralds those sleeping, to wonder....
with a visual score, that deepens with thunder,
sweeping me under, to lighten the soul
-at first tint of light, my own shadow leans over, to hear a sunrise-
Between the chasms of a dream, comes a lark waking day
as she follows the river, and the splendor unfolds
Sweet sounds to exclaim, this is heaven, displayed!
Grand in the sunrise, all creation, beholds!
Closing my eyes, hearing trills to be awed
Suite bold enchantment, from thunder and drums
I will fly with the eagles, over lands of the Gods
and will breathe in each movement until my tears overcome
________________________________________________________
Inspired by the Contest: Three Stanza Suite
Sponsored by Sheri Fresonke Harper
4/13/14
Stanza 1: Five lines non rhyme
Stanza 2: 1 line
Stanza 3: 8 lines rhymed
(About this poem: Please do watch......it is so worth your moment to listen !!):)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N1l5vgY_3tw )
Grand Canyon Suite:
• I. Sunrise
• II. Painted Desert
• III. On the Trail
• IV. Sunset
• V. Cloudburst
.
*
canyon arms embrace
protecting ravine secrets
from the Venus star
This is an ode to Sally-Jo,
Her silver spurs and the horse she rode,
As their mighty leap slowly unwound
They jumped the Grand Canyon in a single bound,
But it was deemed wind assisted as a hurricane blowed.