DESERTSCAPE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
along the border, Franklin Mountains loom
near sunbaked Chihuahuan Desert
majestic, serene
cacti arms raised
in silent supplication
to sky-bleached bone white.
wind whispers through ocotillo spines,
speaks of resilience,
of life clinging to the edge of forever.
a hawk circles against vast canvas,
observing the stillness,
drawn to the deceptive quiet
serenity blooms, a fragile flower
nourished by solitude,
a reflection of the soul's own thirst.
Lamentations alone cannot stop
the bleeding of the land at the ankles,
nor stop the tears of Deluge
Grief matters little in a prophesied
pogrom, for a general death is
not reckoned with evil —
And prophecies shall remain with rain
forty days and forty nights;
And the empty trenches of Desert
shall be filled, her sands mired
upon the gluey spittle of the rains;
Even oases shall puke their water
upon broken rocks —Desert treasures.
When the sun lies in witness to this
history, with ancestral brown drums
saluting yonder,
lamentations shall be futile.
Desert Poem
Always chasing the wind
Sweet sound soothing violin
Air dry, subdued quiet room
Poetic drift embrace gloom
Paper waits, ideas bend
Wrinkled clouds ascended
Just a small black desk
Embrace silent voices isolated
Mind runneth off the deep end
Desert poem heat index
Quench a poetic journey
Nightly shadows with creative scenery
No validation
Posted stamp flies freely
8/18/25
I write my ‘i’s differently now
—your letters etched themselves into my blood
I eat everything with chili
that burning sting is close enough to your kiss
I abandoned the blade. You’d be proud—
though only because we meet
every night, dream or not
Why do you haunt me, why?
but still, I tail
behind your cherry mirage
Lost
in this desert, I crawl
beneath a sun that brands skin
your smiling eyes lurk in the harsh glare—
ghost-lit nightstand in my tonic gin
billowing gray of exhaled nicotine
cobwebbed corner in that one drawer
only you and I know exist
I wake to the desert, talking to the wind;
its voice is dry and muffled.
Sand cuts my skin as I walk;
nowhere feels like a place I belong to.
The seeming figs glow like a distant fire.
My feet are melting with every step I take.
I lose my balance when I stride;
I am surprised as the light darkens me.
Flames whirl at the edge of my sleep.
Dolores remains there, carrying fragments in her hair.
She murmurs, "Take care of my loved ones".
I turn around, but her stare does not leave me.
Water is only a mirage in my eyesight.
I watch their tiny faces drowning in silence.
I choke my breath as I consume the grime;
I confront myself, saying, "They cannot die".
They illustrate that the truth awaits at the edge.
My fist holds a gun, empty and cold.
Comfort lies in lying down and forgetting:
where living means losing myself in the unknown.
Didn't know I was lost, but I was.
Fourteen hours now, maybe more
since I left to find my way
to the highway.
Water's all gone with the last of the sun,
or was it the day before?
I don't know anymore. What was it she said?
made me laugh..
and forget,
these boots full of lead.
Everywhere I look, reminds me of her.
sand blistering hot
throat parched I need water
ah an oasis
where could it have went
it just upped and disappeared
it was a mirage
I met you in a season,
as I recall, it was cool;
we dated through the warmth,
not the hottest of the 4 --
Falls I can’t recall...cactus
have no leaves; and summer-heat
bakes away all thought --
Yet, deserts, though little water,
have an abundance of romance:
wet kisses between the barbs. I met
you in a season, 2 stray saguaros
locking arms.
Dream
palms sprout,
wetted by sweat.
Like an eternal rainbow
in the sand, Dubai entices
the world. It’s not a mirage over
the dunes, but a stunning truth of
the spectacular opulence. The culture
mixing in the palette of desert with tints and
shades of all continents is sublime. Our forefathers
with hopes flying like falcons voyaged across the vast
risk on the Fat Boat. No land is worthless. Oil transformed
the arid lives. Philanthropic passion abounds in the petrol poetry.
This warm city is pregnant with promises. The expatriates with diverse
dispositions and complexions are cozy in the emirate’s benevolent heart.
First published in The Literary Hatchet.
So you can define a tree
From a forest if its near
But I cannot make you see
And my words you cannot hear
You destroyed a lilac grove
You’re a beast with no remorse
I don’t share your need to rove
You’re the effect with no cause
Now the Earth is yours forever
Make it flat, cut off the trees
Get your desert back, whatever
It may cost - I pay for this
Doc Tarr and Professor Feather
Offer jobs for naughty boys
Others can enjoy the weather
They may take it as their choice.
the desert is mystically alluring at sunset, looking docile and safe
few sights are as gorgeous as her evening skies of oranges and pinks
those who know, do not venture out after dark
for the desert is like a dangerous woman who looks unassuming
but is anything but
in the crooks and crevices of sand dunes and cacti there are dangers
hidden from most.
scorpions, camel spiders, tarantulas.
thorny devils, iguanas, and sidewinder rattlesnakes
the beauty of the desert sometimes obliterates these facts.
it would be rare to encounter a fennec fox, badger or muskrat
but they are there too, and could become violent if startled or crossed.
the desert is a beauty; but a vulture or bald eagle could swoop down
and carry you off and your little dog too.
If a camel is the ship of the desert
then speaking equally
a ship is the camel of the sea
altho' a camel can go without water
for up to seven months
a ship without water on which to float
is neither a barque a barge nor boat
as the camel needs food
to get over the humps
it seems like a dromedary
conundrum to me
but if by chance
I'm struck by luck
and the lottery I should win
would that I could buy a ship
if I may I'd like to say,
"That'll be the day
when my camel comes in."
Bouquet of the West,
It's not easy to pass.
Flower of the desert,
Ruthless rout of the grass.
Painters see the art
In rolling mass of spheres.
Fortress of the desert
Where stout sagebrush appears.
A deer's dainty feet
Will find a way to pass,
To walk through desert sagebrush,
Sole welcomed to trespass
If I ever had a daughter like me,
I’d call her
my little desert rose
so she knows I’ve lived it too—
a brittle-stemmed rose
blooming through sandstorms.
Were I to have a daughter—
someone soft like me...
I’d tell her I’m sorry.
Not for bringing her into a world
where cruelty exists—
but for letting her live in it
when her petals part
before her thorns remember to rise.
If I ever had a daughter
who feels and pains like me…
I wish I don’t.
It’s a gift to feel everything, they say.
But I’ve loved it enough to know—
the world punishes it.
I selfishly wish
she would never be like me…
I want her to stay
an unguarded, unbroken wild daisy.
There are days we live only for others
and happy to share in ours,
words of devotion
even scars.
Though I never presumed to know
or even understand..
only pretend.
But this time's not the same
this unshakable thing,
like a pain,
is not pretending.
A feeling that wakes you from a deep sleep
real, whatever that is..
transcending all moments that came before
you.
Although still hear
so clear, another voice,
one that claims to be sane
'I didn't want this'.
Damn all this weakness.
The other says 'show me..,
do not tell me in a whisper'.
Like a drumbeat in the desert wind..
love is hard of hearing.
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