Canyon Poems - Poems about Canyon

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...

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I woke to a whirring hum— not the low drone of memory, but the sharp, electric flick of a question with wings. Languorous molten air, a stone canyon furnace, and there!— a hummingbird— head cocked— beady eyes peering at me— beak poised at the gate of my breath— as if to sample my soul— or wake it back to life. It must have thought me a flower on a...

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My knee was a cracked hinge, each step a bargain struck with pain. The canyon walls pressed in, heat still rising from the stone long after sun left it behind. Halfway to the distant rim, I flopped down on the trailside bench— the slats grabbed hold of my full weight as if they meant to keep me. And then I was above it all— a...

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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...

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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...

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The indigenous people have occupied these lands for over 10,000 years in all… Their name for this beautiful place was Mini hrpa… which means Mountain Where The Water Falls So I imagine they were a little perplexed… perhaps a little torn…. when George Stephens the president of the Canadian Pacific Railway named it Banff in honor of the place where he was...

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I want to write dirty and convoluted, connected and wet And in the mess of my words Feel the stain run down Over the nice clean ordered objective, detached From the structure you claim to know about I want to write congested And ingested, Not divested of that Which causes me to feel and to think The outpouring of what will not...

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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) ...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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....

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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...

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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...

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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...

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