Best Idaho Poems
Slate sky
streaked with a painter's acid dream
caresses the mountains, bleeding on their peaks.
Cloud curtains
lower, then rise, on an ever-changing
psychedelic happening,
but
fracturing fingers
of darkness pierce the canvas,
draining the colors,
drawing the curtains closed.
07/2015
My faithful friend from Boise, Idaho
Another so true, where to find one, I dunno
He talks a strange lingo
I think hard and then bingo
The “words” he creates make sense, well sorto
Not Iowa---Idaho
Not Ohio---I-DA-HO
That's a very old joke, you know,
and it's still not funny.
No, I hate skiing
And mountain biking
No, not corn. Potatoes
And Mormons
Yes, it really IS a state. Look it up.
What's there?
Endless desert
What's there?
Nothing
Nothing but me.
Yellow pines swaying at base camp,
early October morn greets the avid hunters
with its autumnal briskness, waking any
sleepyheads who are stirring under covers,
generators humming away at varying speeds,
smell of frying bacon and sizzling eggs,
add to the aroma of the great outdoors.
Pickup trucks filled with camo-clothed hunters
traveling along the bumpy, dirt roads climbing
higher and higher until the clouds meet the hunting
grounds full of meadows creating a thick mist,
shrouding all in sight including the hunter and
the hunted creating specters among the
remnants of forest fires from years past.
In the ghostly distance, shots echo throughout the air;
did someone shoot a lone elk left behind by its herd?
On target----a proud first-time young hunter and his dad
walk through the brush to discover their next larder,
the meat is prepared, tagged and transported home for
future meals and discussions of the first successful hunt
which remains with the youngest son for his entire life.
Stellar Jays flying overhead at base camp observe the
hunters who returned empty-handed but not disppointed,
in the evening a campfire glows warming the circle of hunters,
sharing stories of expeditions as old as their grandfathers and
as young as their grandsons till late at night until the fire
is doused with water and the air smells of wet smoke,
a reminder of crawling into a sleeping bag and dreaming of elk.
Wild tree...long dry rope
Glassy Ice Creek streaming fast
Friends across it laugh~
Folded mountains settle into the Snake River plains.
Where golden fields flow with rows of tall grains.
His rising peaks sprout juniper, cedar, aspen, and pine.
Whose wild beauty will not be confined.
Sunflowers shriek in the thin mountain air.
Alongside roaming wolves and foraging bears.
Cattle graze grasses on peaks and on plains.
The elk and the moose migrate through valleys untamed.
Spring’s late snow covers the young tulips reaching for light.
The thawing soil gives tender roots streams of delight.
The buds of the trees grow with each hour.
It can’t be much longer before lilacs form their fragrance on flower.
The endless daylight of summer gives pleasure to all.
As cornstalks and chokecherries grow upright and tall.
If you haven’t swam in a cool mountain lake,
You’ll never be happy, you don’t have what it takes.
The fruit of the vines must be shielded from the frosts of the fall.
The raspberries ripen and to birds and small children dutifully call.
The leaves of the trees must return to the dust before long.
As the birds head for the south, after singing sweet songs.
His people fish for trout and hunt for big game,
And can alter their phrases from pious to profane.
Fear of outsiders runs deep to the bone.
From the powers that be, they long to be left free and alone.
Idaho’s women are not shy or refined.
They are comfortable in fishing boats and muddy duck blinds.
Some wrangle cattle from atop mighty steeds.
Most devote themselves to families and take care of their needs.
I was not born in this rugged, good looking land.
It was love at first sight as I clapped my still hands.
If my death is recorded is some foreign state,
I request that someone return my ashes to one of his lakes.
videllia onions
and idaho potato's
makes a good beef stew
A crowded bookstore cafe,
during a breezy October afternoon,
you inspired a thousand journeys.
A voice apart, an intimate tune.
Skin as fair as a wandering snowflake,
crystalline eyes of brilliant blue,
hands, warm like embers,
your thundering heart I knew beat true.
Turbulent trials overcome with strength
proudly bearing misery without shame.
Gracefully, you stand against the gale,
a vigilant signpost on a lonely plain.
A deep, abiding assurance of destiny
came with the comfort of caring hands.
Shelter against the jagged thorns, born
in the grain of societies coarse sands.
A firm rock of stability in the turbulent
white water of a detoured life.
You altered the destination of my path,
offering communion over strife.
Granite cliffs of ancient ranges will not outlast
the uneroded passions of my stubborn heart.
My love will outlive the fralties of my body,
powerless to smother what I did not start.
The verdant growth of my hidden soul
shall be the private delight of a loyal mate.
Like the intense aroma of the rarest flowers,
grown in the sunshine of this purest state.
Together, while drifting in calamity,
or striding in euphoria's sweetest tune.
I dwell in the blessed fields of love's rewards,
praying she passes not too soon.
Pine filtered air roams down hillsides.
Space in the western Rockies stretches comprehension.
Farms and towns in the valleys have room to spare.
Polite Mormons and crude drunks harmonize.
Rewards wait for the adventurer.
Cutthroat trout sip insects from stream tops.
Wandering moose snack on willows.
I have found a permanent paradise.
Let the lowlanders inhale the smog,
frantically rush into knotted traffic.
I was once part of this senseless game.
The caffeine fuelled dash to nowhere.
Keep your artificial palm trees.
Ogle those silicone breasts.
You'll look fashionable in your decadent urban scene.
Drowning your sorrows in expensive wine.
Allow me to laugh at your folly,
as I peacefully shine my shotgun.
The frigid breeze will soon turn to warmth.
I have found my mountain home.
Alone I sit in my granite palace.
Deserted by the coin chasing masses.
Distained by a woman who once loved me.
Tranquility infusing the crisp alpine air.
Wayne M Hill September 30, 2011
There was a man from Idaho
Ate half a cow in one go
His tummy was loaded
He nearly exploded
Now he is Santa hohoho
There she is Home sweet Home
A place with a look of beauty of Rome
I lustrous gardens and basking light
Town houses shimmer even at night
No rough strangers here at all
Any array of leaves when it is fall
The children play in snow sometimes
Because they live in nursery rhymes
Man and wife never fight here
For every venue is honest and clear
Guarding mountains and great farmland
Stretches of Lava rock and sands
Lakes and streams sparkle forever
Forrest of birds and beast living together
Hero’s and athletes compete in games
With high spirits corsing through veins
The magic is here in all forms of life
Even the pan would entertain his fife
“IDAHO”
Coeur d'Alene, Heart of the Awl,
gem of the north,
you tamed my hatred of this desert state
and gave me sunlight sparkling on
blue lakes under scented pines.
If you ask just about anyone in the know,
they will tell you the best potatoes come from Idaho.
That is a state located in the Pacific Northwest.
Their underground tubers are undoubtedly the best.
Whether you bake them, boil them, or fry,
they have that special flavor nobody can deny.
The state has potatoes that nobody else can grow.
Whether you go to Boise, Meridian, Twin Falls, or Pocatello,
you will find the best potatoes grow in Idaho.
A crowded bookstore cafe,
during a breezy October afternoon,
you inspired a thousand journeys.
A voice apart, an intimate tune.
Skin as fair as a wandering snowflake,
crystalline eyes of brilliant blue,
hands, warm like embers,
Your thundering heart I knew beat true.
Turbulent trials overcome with strength
proudly bearing misery without shame.
Gracefully, you stand against the gale,
a vigilant signpost on a lonely plain.
A deep, abiding assurance of destiny
came with the comfort of caring hands.
Shelter against the jagged thorns, born
in the grain of societies coarse sands.
A firm rock of stability in the turbulent
white water of a detoured life.
You altered the destination of my path,
offering communion over strife.
Granite cliffs of ancient ranges will not outlast
the uneroded passions of my stubborn heart.
My love will outlive the frailties of my body,
powerless to smother what I did not start.
The verdant growth of my hidden soul
shall be the private delight of a loyal mate.
Like the intense aroma of the rarest flowers,
grown in the sunshine of this purest state.
Together, while drifting in calamity,
or striding in euphoria's sweetest tune.
I dwell in the blessed fields of love's rewards,
praying she passes not too soon.
sweet deer feeding
black bears thieving
blue sky stooping
to bless the forest
canyons yawning
salmon spawning
pine trees reaching
to caress the clouds
wolf packs singing
eagles winging
Clasping talons
in mating dance
Wheat fields stretching
snowy hills
cold mountain streams
spawning fishermen
serpentine Snake
proves its name
winding, turning
through deepest gorges
Always ancient
Always new
Timeless beauty,
view upon view
Heal my heart
I give it now
and I'll sing your beauty,
this I vow