Best Mesas Poems
While rambling like a vagabond in a seraphic poetic submersion, in a remote region, witnessed the most captivated sight ever,
a sleeping valley rippled in wild blooms, as sparkling in mystical celestial beam, in the mesas of the clouds, the Dzukou Valley,
a remote dale at the border of Nagaland and Manipur,
in the untrodden tableland of India's Northeast!
The picturesque landscape was ringing with the
once in a lifetime scene of emerald shades of hillocks
paving the way for azure mountaintops,
luminous flowers waving in the winds amongst the tall grasses!
The vale was tweeting and twirling amidst the virgin vegetations enriched with the spectacular sights of verdant forests,
exquisite flora and fauna,
serpentine streams, myriads of panoramic pink
and white wild blooms that dot
the vast caldera of the valley and its' verdant meadows,
alongside the meandering rivers of Dzukou and Japfu,
appeared as the absolute paragon of serenity and tranquility!
Surrounded by the whispering platonic hills,
with numerous colorful flying creatures,
the valley seemed as smuggled over
the dewdrops' fragrant feral fruits,
Oak and Rhododendron forests are a feast to the eyes!
Half way up and any signs of tracks disappear,
and one is just left with wheezing enigmatic bamboo thickets!
Botanists' delight, trackers' paradise, seraph's psyche,
rovers' riddle, is reclining placidly ,
the untrodden earth's lulling lullaby,
in the abode of the divine Lily's
anomalous nature's absolute pamphlet,
a rich biodiversity hotspots
of endemic species, the Dzoku Valley;
an uninhabited unsullied phosphorus valley
Note:
The Dzüko Valley is located at the borders of the states of Nagaland and Manipur in Northeast India. The valley is known for its extremely rich biodiversity, seasonal flowers and flora & fauna. It is situated at an altitude of 2452 m above sea level.
© Silpika Kalita
Categories:
mesas, adventure, appreciation, beauty, earth,
Form:
Free verse
Como’ Si’ Yama’, Senor’
Como’ Si Yama’, Por Favor’…
… for Below That Embroidered Sombrero’
Shone Eyes Like El Dorado
He Was A Tall and Handsome Hombre’
Like The Range of Sierra Madre’
…Now, He Sat Center The Cantina
Surrounded by Bonita – Senhoritas
He Smiled, “Buenos-Dias Senora’”
Por Favor, Por Que’ El-Hora’ ?...
If So, Have A Seat, Mi- Amiga’
And Mercedes, Bring Over More Cerveza
He Was… Rodrigo Reyes-Pacheco’
Best - of The West, of Vaqueros’
He Came to Compete in The Rodeos
And Win Fame and Fortune in Pesos’
He Came Thru El Paso De’ Tejas
Thru Dusty Rancheros and Mesas
To Ride on El Toro Rojo
Who Has Never Been Ridden Befo’…
La Viva’… Arriva’ … Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero’
Champion Bull Rider, from Old Mexico
Vaya’… Con Dios’ !... Rodrigo
Now, El Toro Rojo, Was Dangerous
For Killing Men, El Rojo, Was Infamous
His Horns Had Pierced Many A Corazon
Ripped Flesh, Like It Was Piñata’ Hung
I Informed All of This To Rodrigo
The Hombre, Was Bent on Being Macho’…
… He Would Ride Toro Rojo, Manyana’
Said “Gracias”… But My Cares Were Por Nada’ !
La Viva’… Arriva’… Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero’
Champion Bull Rider, from Old Mexico
Vaya’… Con Dios’!... Rodrigo
… Now, He Wasn’t Loco in La Cabeza’
I Just Didn’t Comprehende’ … “Que’ Pasa”
But I Saw Rodrigo Atop… El Rojo
… ! He Rode Like A Latino – Tornado ! …
He Rode El Rojo, To The End…
Then, Turned ‘Round and Rode Him Again…
Rodrigo had Won… Just Like He Planned…
Because El Toro – Rojo … … Was Mexican !
La’ Viva’ … Arriva’ … Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero
Champion Bull Rider from Old Mexico
Vaya’ … Con Dios ! … Rodrigo….
Vaya’ … Con Dios !... Rodrigo o o o o o
for Ruben Ortellao...
I Don't Really Know
What Your Branch of Humanity is...
(Spanish, French or Other)
But I thought You Might Like
This Whimsical Poem...
Oh... And Thank You For Your
Most Generous Comments...
(Cause I Know You Are A Fantastic Poet...
I've Read Several of Yours
and I Love Them Too...)
(P.S. Excuse the Spelling...
I'm Spanish Illiterate (Smile)
MoonBee
Categories:
mesas, adventure, animals, cowboy-western, fantasy,
Form:
Light Verse
The two-lane road stretches
through a shimmering glaze
to the horizon, passing
smokestacks of mesas spewing
clay and maize in vaporous mass.
I hear the sibylline whisper of rain
through emerald brush
and serpentine hiss
of slithering sand.
The acrid smell permeates
evergreen and purple sage,
carries the aroma
with fine dust.
I point my thumb west,
a prayer for a willing traveler
to whisk me away
from the cumulative downpour
when the desert paint
floods umber in the gullies.
Categories:
mesas, color, imagery, rain,
Form:
Ekphrasis
beautiful bangtail
spirit untamed
racing tumbleweeds
thundering
across mesas
stallions wrestle
under night skies...
Categories:
mesas, adventure, animals, cowboy-western, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
IV. Interconnected Web
Teach your children the ethos of
the rampart-
of the earth under their feet.
Is it more than just soil? It's heaven —
The Chosen Hallowed Retreat
Where we connect
For you must see life as fully rich with
the resounding vibrations of our
kindred lives on this sacred earth.
Our temporary home.
For whatever happens to her
happens to our kindred race.
All life is connected. Wouldn't you agree?
For all life is like
blood that unites a family,
by a process of no creation.
For there is no division. One must see
Humanity and other forms of life
are knitted together...
by the fabric of existence.
Which are only a part of
circle of life cycle.
Each time we do, we are getting
our bodies intertwined.
Just like the Hopi who revere sacred mesas,
we must honor our...
Ancestral wisdom -
winding through desert canyons.
A sacred thread is planting -
our stories into the mother land.
Into the wind-carved rocks' etched. In coyotes'...
starry night songs!
We hear earth's eternal rhythms,
guiding us along.
Feel the warmth of the sun-soaked soil
beneath bare feet.
Perhaps, the cool, refreshing
touch of mountain -
stream water.
Let us smell the wild sage carried on
a gentle breeze.
And hear the wind swept leaves of
ancient trees.
In these moments, we connect to
the heartbeat of the earth.
As Katsina spirits teach through
their dances that
We are temporary guests
on this sacred land.
Yes, stewards of its beauty, bounty,
and balance. —
Our legacy layered by our
own deeds' hands.
Through each mindful step and every
gentle touch
We praise and honor
the interconnectedness web of life.
So Must Stop! and ask:
How now can we translate this
intimate and spiritual connection into
a harmonic coexistence and illiminate
the discordant strife?
Categories:
mesas, earth, life, native american,
Form:
Free verse
Dihing, adjoining borderline with Arunachal, on the foothills of mighty Patkai,
In the encircling mesas of terrestrial plains of high altitudes,
lies the Assam Valley's tropical wet evergreen forests,
Named after its thick density of trees and profuse diverse ecology,
the Amazon of the East, the Dehing- Patkai Wildlife Sanctuary.
An abode to the myriad of endangered species, copious floras and faunas, a hotspot, the zone of world's richest biodiversity.
As amazing as Amazon's tropical forests, dark and dense:
The country's lungs like last lowland the evergreen rainforest.
Where the tallest of the tall trees with creepers are competing
for the sunlight forming greenish lavish canopies.
There, the animal kingdom awakens, whoops;
When the light falls, fathoming the density, filters in
The floras with the exotic species: orchids, lianas, epiphytes, are sparse and unique,
The faunas endless, the sole quirky reserve in the country with its' lush evergreen ecological system.
Nestled amidst the most picturesque valleys and hills,
Is reclining the lungs of the congenial climate for survival, of the region
A celestial abode on earth of the rarest IUCN red listed, on the verge of extinct species,
TheDehing Patkai, the richest part of the Sub-Himalayan region, a major carbon sink ecosystem.
.
The Amazon of the East, with its sacred biodiversity hotspot,
is apprehensive of it's extinction
As the relentless injudicious mining and digging,
Has taken away the pulses of the oxygen feeding lush terrain,
Imagine a world devoid of rainforests, where we need to carry oxygen tanks, the most unfortunate substitution!
It's sending signals after signals not to play with its' immensely diverse tropical bio- canopy region;
To save the last remaining unparalleled foliage, affluent lowland from excision!
As no amount of wealth will be enough to save us from the impending outcomes of destruction,
Pivotal to rescue and redeem the Amazon of the East;
the tropical evergreen Dehing -Patkai reserve, the richest rainforest of the region!
Categories:
mesas, earth, education, environment, nature,
Form:
Free verse
2.
Waiting for Wovoka
For some time the old ones gazed that way,
Then came a seer,
A man named Wovoka.
Who told them he had heard their voices calling in the night to him,
That voices spoke to him of better times soon to come,
That might be brought forth by a special way and a special dance
That would bring to birth a stronger magic than that of Progress,
That would dispel the evil changes.
They listened and they took heart
With the pitiful fervor of the desperate.
He taught his new believers his way and his dance,
And for a time, a fragile time in their trembling twilight
They feltl the spirit of a former time lying still upon their hearts,
A thing beyond the shallow grasp of youth.
They sit stonily, unmoved in their fogs, remembering tales.
When no one looks,
They turn their failing eyes back to the red mesas
To recall the Dance of the Ghosts.
Categories:
mesas, history, native american, tribute,
Form:
Free verse
Have seen an utopian lane, amidst the thicket, latent In the abode of the clouds, in the lap of the tranquil wilderness, far far away from the mundane mist!
A wheezing sparsely inhabited hamlet, Khonoma, a centuries- old settlement, so green, so serene!
Its' pristine unsullied views, lush wilderness, verdant bushes, aromatic wild blooms, resplendent orchids, rippling rills, are untouched and sacred!
The Angami tribes, the thorpes' dwellers lead an uncustomary simple life, crammed with ancient, timeless traditions and practices, with nature's absolute accord!
The unique panaromic cultivation practice, terrace farming, sprawling on the slopes makes the very sight elating!
Look, the remote richest biodiversity region is twirling with the endemic scented native flora and fauna, the boscage are cramming with untamed wild colourful fruits!
The revered cultural bird, the grey-billed Tragpon, is intoning from the bushes, making the milieu frolic!
Myriads of colourful birds are migrating to nestle in the sacred bushes of the mystic rills!
The pellucid drops from the misty mesas of nearby cascades are playing with the colourful pebbles!
Far from the pandemic, the cherubic hilly terrain is bustling with cerulean rills, shrouded by tropical rain forests and stepped paddy fields!
How finite are the rustic folks' wants and needs, the primitive shanties to dwell, the crystal cascades to quench, the crops of the golden fields to feed the mouths, the vibrant fiestas with nature's changing seasons to celebrate!
A paragon of men and nature in absolute harmony, is lying placidly, the transcendental picturesque tableland, Khonoma, the wheezing green hamlet, an utopia untrodden to bless the naive natives of the far flung highland!
" Sometimes in quest of no man's Utopia, we may miss the existing unleashed Utopia in proximity, yet untrodden " Quote by poet
November 11th 2021
Contest: " U" contest, New Poems Only
Sponsored by: Constane La France
Categories:
mesas, appreciation, beauty, culture, farm,
Form:
Pastoral
The valley so far and wide below
Linden rocks on to capture the show
Bluebells ring to take a picture
mountain lions roam a permenant fixture
And on we trek up the valley
It kind of looks like Cali
And the birds chirp and sing
But oh, does that hot sun sting
Oh look, there's a beautiful sight
Purple mountains with such height
And the time to look at the flat mesas sublime
Let's sit down at the picnic table and have a diet lime
In the green shade now at noon time
Is it a crime to see such lush beauty on not even a dime?
Categories:
mesas, nature
Form:
Rhyme
i ride to work four days a week
one hour each way.
i don’t like it
but i take the ride.
jerry springer is on the t.v. nightly
i don’t like it
but i watch.
somewhere in between…
of aryan dreams
black power screams
brown men plying in trade
mobile laboratories
moon over the mesas
the valley stretched out below
mountainside condos
trailer park bimbos
babies still die in the ghetto.
Categories:
mesas, culture,
Form:
Free verse
your eyes, black diamonds as dark and potent as your soul
your skin, the color of your sandstone mesas
your hair, a sacred silky, shiny, black mane
stranded with blue lapis, white shell, and red corral
Navajo princess with your big burning heart
full of Native sorrow
generation after generation
of poverty, degradation and shame,
opportunity stolen before your ancestors were born
your reservation a waste of stray dogs, alcoholism and dirty water
you
are the most beautiful woman I know
beauty far deeper than your warm terracotta skin
I fall into the abysmal depth of your eyes
into such strong medicine
that in conquering you, I am conquered like Custer's last stand
and lowered a realm or two
...a holy healing realm
or two
where I see
all that lies before and after
you
you are your beautiful people, you are your wasted land and all its shame
you are
your eyes
when I gaze into the glittering dark realm above
your eyes are all I see
"the brain is wider than the sky" said Emily *
but the windows of your soul
contain the whole multitude of universes
inhabited by every bit of joy and sorrow
dark-souled
Navajo
princess
you are more, more than all of them
so much more than this world
the drums are drumming a sacred beat
and Dancing Bear moves the spirit world
the bells your feet ring
and the feathers your limbs flutter
tell the greatest of the great spirits
about this hell on earth
make the sky listen, make the wind obey
make the way even
there is no time (and never was)
for anyone to escape these words
It falls and rises again
again and again and again
dark-souled
Navajo
princess
knows
Categories:
mesas, angst, beauty, native american,
Form:
Free verse
When I was skinned
I made a little list-
Call it (Something Here) :
It started out,
'I am getting older,
what should I do? '
Like go on the road,
Actually join the Legion or
Take vows for the ashram of Guru SatChitAnanda.
.
Buy acre of land and travel trailer
Raise garden, keep White Leghorns
(like Dad) ,
Foment Graduate School riots,
Teach,
Commit suicide with tea
Commit horoscopes for money
Or go home or
Sell health foods and
Grind my own peanut butter
Drive a Big Rig
Ten days on the road
Eating fries and dogs
Or
Take a job with the state
As employment counselor
Give out food stamps.
Walk across Africa
Without shoes,
Establish base lines for jumping beans
Test kangaroos for tie-downs
Photograph mangoes in flight
Or herd silver-plated ants,
Forest Ranger in Chromium Forest,
Study ancient petroglyphs for Shell
Herd sheep on mesas in Utah
Wander High Desert in search of
New alluvial fans,
Search for aliens in Rachel (NV)
Put all on a number in Vegas,
(List ends here):
Call the President,
I've got a job
In Trust, (some state here) ,
Job Duties:
Replacing Wisdom Teeth
Milking dry rattlers
Finding wild women
Listening for Agave worms,
Raising desert flowers
And sitting quietly with the stars,
'There you go...'
'Thanks! '
Categories:
mesas, career, jobs, satire,
Form:
Free verse
I ride the mesas
Wherever I go
Are Hopi, Zuni,
And tall Navajo
So many people
On dry, barren land
All Trump says is,
"They sure have got sand!"
Categories:
mesas, betrayal, corruption, discrimination, environment,
Form:
Rhyme
The brisk Autumn breeze
crisply smiles and leaves
inviting seasonal ascendance.
Past dark hollowed eaves
her departing breath weaves
a path for Winter's wondrous entrance.
Courtly canyons kowtow
the mighty mesas bow
sparking December's grand revival.
Barren branches applaud
as mountain peaks laud
Jack Frost's ever welcomed arrival.
Carols liltingly sung
whilst wreaths are gently hung
silver enchantment lusters the ground.
The old and the young catch
snowflakes on their tongues
choirs of church bells neatly resound.
Cozied from silent chills
tapered candles sleep on sills
illuming the dusk’s frosted splendor.
A forest brook’s trickles
forge tiny icicles
dripping tears of crystal surrender.
Christmas trees brightly greet
joyous townsfolk on the street
tiny tots, all too well, understand.
Ole Saint Nick and his sleigh
are just a few stars away
from visiting their white wonderland.
Truelove skaters take flight,
under an arctic twilight,
snuggling snowbirds coo and entice.
Deer and bunnies espy,
'neath the moon's watchful eye,
young lovers etching hearts in the ice.
Winter’s sparkle and glow
softly sings in the snow -
her grandeur is timeless and few.
Yet, before her winds shift
she bestows us a gift
and Spring makes her yearly debut.
Categories:
mesas, seasonsautumn,
Form:
Rhyme
TODAY
Black Elk said: "A peoples' dream died there... it was a beautiful dream. The Nation's hoop is broken and scattered. There is no center any longer, and the Sacred Tree is dead."
The People were not taken up,
Nor did they die.
They lingered through time and the march of Progress,
As most fell into step, shedding all they'd been,
To drift along with the tide.
But for the many who held on in the Feverland,
Where change came slowly, if at all,
Their wrinkles grew deeper, eyes clouding
Likes skies heavy with storm,
Visions wavering ephemerally,
Seeing like ghosts,
Becoming ghosts.
Their dream is long dead
But the memory of it lingers smoldering
As unquiet ashes in unsteady hearts.
In the quiet of the blackest nights,
Or in the stillness that precedes the dawn,
If one listens closely, with committed heart
One may hear faint echoes
Like the cries of some bird
Unimaginably distant.
The fire is out, only hope goes on smoking
As ever, the last ember to die.
The old gaze out onto the mesas,
Watching the sun paint them red as it sets,
Listening the while for other sounds from other times,
Dreaming sweet dreams when they doze.
When the rare rains fall,
Settling the choking dust,
Some who went to the White Schools remember
The shortest verse of the White Man's Book:
Jesus wept.
Does He weep now, supplicant before His Father's throne?
Imploring mercy for His adopted Brothers,
Betrayed as He was Himself betrayed?
Are these drops from the sky His tears,
Or only rain?
The old men,
Less learned,
Ponder this verse of their own:
The old men
Say
The Earth only
Endures.
You spoke truly,
You are right.
Categories:
mesas, history, humanity, native american,
Form:
Free verse