Beneath me, the Grand Canyon unfurls
like an ancient manuscript,
one inked in ochre and rose.
Sunlight drifts across it,
the strata revealing
what the earth remembers
Wind rises from the chasm,
carrying the cool scent of juniper
and the far-off murmur of the river.
Light drifts across the strata,
revealing what the earth remembers
long after we have forgotten.
It brushes my skin with a tenderness
I didn’t expect from a place
carved by violence and patience
in equal measure.
The walls descend in vast terraces,
each layer a quiet confession
of oceans vanished, mountains lifted,
worlds undone.
I feel time loosen around me~
not as a threat,
but as an invitation
to stand still enough
to hear the planet breathe.
Far below, the Colorado glints
like a blade softened by use,
cutting and smoothing,
cutting and smoothing,
its persistence a kind of prayer.
I am transfixed
realizing that endurance
can be a form of grace.
Beauty is not always gentle~
sometimes it is the echo
of everything that has broken
and yet remains,
vast, open,
and astonishingly alive.
the creek is quiet, mossy
phantoms surround inlet
safeguarding all who visits
a lonesome eagle overhead watch
me strike a match _____ flame
dies in cold breeze
silent is vast sky
slowly life appears
chameleon on sediment
gecko peeping
fire I try to kindle splutter
gasping for breath ~
orange tongues appear
god’s original juices
consecrated ibis lands as if
sent from Nile where I drank
waters centuries before
sweet solitude filled with
memories of pharaohs
chariots, hieroglyphs
inlet waters fill voids in mind
I’m inconsequentially cosmic
egyptian geese descend
estuaries flow through limbs
nurturing blood …
_______________________
Placed : 5th : Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand : May 26
Silence touches every fiber of my being
AP: 3rd place 2025
Depression is a canyon—deep, wide, and rugged.
It has a top; it has a bottom.
But there is a rocket that plummets to its depths,
With only a slow and arduous build to the top.
The canyon has an oasis,
But it is infested with arsenic.
A bright pink flower glows atop a cactus.
The glowing touch is beautiful,
But its needles are sharp—impaling, lingering.
Pain freezes time long after the touch is gone.
Sometimes, a visitor comes to the canyon
Not realizing the rocket ride they took,
Descending to the bottom.
Other times, a visitor falls
From their lofty perch—
Looking over and judging those inside.
Mirages of lifelines waver in the distance.
A ladder leans along the canyon wall,
But it does not begin to climb out of the hole—
It is only there to offer false hope.
Be careful around the edges.
They are more slippery than the imagination.
The edges shift, rotate,
Taunt and tease.
Be careful around the edges—
Because you never know
Exactly how deep the canyon is
Until you fall inside.
Perhaps time will smooth the rough edges
Memory soften the toughness of his words
But now they must wrap him in moment’s lie
Bathe him in a flow of moistened myths
Will any speak of who he really was
Chuckle at his insensitivity
Mask the folly of his arrogance
Tickle the timber of his humility
Will they dabble in theories of life’s meaning
Standing on the abyss of time’s canyon
Or focus on the meaning of his life
His presence, his laughter, his sharp wittiness
We know he would not care for flowers or bagpipes
Would tolerate quiet sadness
Perhaps an unintentional chuckle
At a whispered one liner
He would not care for too many prayers
Would love those “remember that time” stories
For they let him find a way to say farewell
Knowing that he left you all a piece of his self
I walked in to the four bed rooms, four baths
of my daughter’s house with big living room,
dining room, washing room, back and front yards,
master bedroom with bath and walk-in closets.
Painted with rustic color of gray, in medium tone
outside and light tone inside, the color motif of the
interior design showing on the wall pictures and on
the vases with different synthetic plants and flowers.
Although they do not emanate floral or sweet scent,
the orchid plant utterly exhibits an illusion of blossom.
The backyard landscaping the previous owner had
done is stunning, quite lush with safe walkways.
A modern landscape or timeless landscape with the
feel of stillness and the view of the glorious sunset.
My pondering in silence was abruptly cut off by the
sound of the automatic sprinkler’s swirling water.
You can’t close the door
that opens inside
Or bottle the morrow
today seeks to hide
You can’t erase feelings
like words on a page
Or trap a new lover
— with yesterday’s cage
(Dreamsleep: March, 2024)
moving slow and fast
flows through beautiful landscapes
~reaches destiny~
nature's masterpiece
envolves views beyond the sun
~beauty embraces peace~
red, blue or golden
~the long snake slithering down
along the unknown~
The ooze of earth and water, rivulets of mud,
Moves slowly, then faster, as rain pushes its mass.
Both water and earth mix in this massive great flood,
As it's trapped and rises in a slot canyon's pass.
As it inches up the wall's of Zion's great rocks,
It swirls and heaves like the rage of an ogre.
The tightening 'V''s, so like a corset, which blocks
The rising tide in shades of brown and ocher.
The warnings are clear, and the dangers are present,
With a message to all, "Avoid the desert slot",
Especially when heavy rains are recent.
It is surely not where I'd like to be caught.
Quote: Yesterday's joys are never quite forgotten for they live in our hearts,
same way memories of past loves remain nestled in our souls forever...
Inside my yesterdays I dip immersed in joys and sorrows
I can often relive the moments of my youthful tide
with satisfaction and great pride;
Within the walls of Jericho I was baptized with love,
cherishing each step of the journey with what was and is yet to be.
Innermost treasures I have kept in store,
rare gifts that were given to me. I unraveled each and every one,
sharing breath with those I came to meet along the way...
Inside my yesterdays I dip immersed in joys and sorrows,
remembering those that came before me,
for it is there that lies the grand canyon moments of our
treasured lives.
Grand Canyon had never seen such a cloud.
once-in-a-lifetime kind of whiteness
dollops of whipped cream
topping like no other
before or since
the rain was gentle, like a kiss
I marveled that I was there
To see this rain cloud in person
No photo could have captured it.
Nothing can rival the Grand Canyon
for sheer mystical grandure
beyond realism... filled with magical vistas
peaks and valleys to stir the imagination
when the sun shines on these sights
creating colours of rustic hues
images that are simply beyond description
it is difficult to put into words
these are magical sights to behold
Distant drums voice sacred song
as didgeridoo drone rings
its messages to my awaiting ears;
ancient ceremonies flood
the canyon in tones of
ancestral wisdom.
Every rock or boulder resonates,
crickets sing along and
each cell of my being is elevated;
I feel the energies of
times long passed;
those speakers of the truth,
as shamanic echoes
transport me to past centuries.
I've hear it said that our cells have memory,
that two-thirds of our brains are not used;
but what if we are simply energy?
I resonate with the past
and visions come.
Sometime around the first of October,
the windswept canyons I go to see.
They will be as an ocean
of blazing trees.
Yes, a multitude of trees.
Russet, red, orange and gold,
they will surge to their highest tide -
the tops of the mountains!
These bright trees seem
like a giant gilded wave
rushing on and on and on
in tranquil splendor
against a backdrop of persimmon sky
in which seagulls glide.
Flocks of geese too might be seen
vanishing southward
in the waning light of sun.
On viewing this sea of canyon trees,
I feel my soul engulfed
by autumn nostalgia
as wistfully I gaze
out onto the horizon at eventide.
However, night falls quickly.
I realize I must hasten
back to my valley home.
For Your Favourite Poem from the first half of 2022' Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Know some people with a Grand Canyon mouth
When they yawn, things not nailed down, go south
Fridges and microwaves
Two hundred ton whales
All succumb to this suction, even your spouse
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