Take me to the high desert where the Sierras touch the sky.
Beside my tent an ice cold creek hastily rushes by.
Above me a thousand stars mesmerize the eye.
The jagged mountains come alive as the sun rises in my eye,
Casting a reddish glow on the earth below a golden sky.
Out of nowhere a roadrunner comically passes by.
The Alabama Hills beckon from a dusty trail close by.
Two crows call noisily from a tree and look me in the eye.
After a lengthy conversation, they fly off in a cloudless sky.
I marvel at the sunset, below a crimson sky, captured by my camera's photographic eye.
You were meant for a season.
A side of beauty for a reason
But the goodness of your heart.
Was only being apart.
You were only a part of the season.
That great light in the sky burns with abandon.
Its light shines down on us like a gold halo.
Today we will walk in its perfect splendor.
With no shade to foil its faust endevor.
The common birds fly with feathers of fancy.
And wrap them around the young in their high home.
Soon comes the dark counter when night brings their prayers.
But morning spurs them to sing their songs of praise.
As their brilliant god burns away the darkness.
On a recent trip I was gone
but not for long
to Eastern Oregon
where I saw my first chukar
(a partridge-like bird pronounced 'chucker')
which in time
compelled me to analyse
and revise
an old and pleasant pheasant rhyme
give it the feathery touch
and in the end
regale my Oregonian friends
with a resounding recital
of...
'I'm not a chukar plucker
I'm a chukar plucker's son
and I'm only plucking chukars
'til the chukar plucker comes'
Written & Posted, 3rd January 2025
For the International Contest, CHOOSE A 2025 POSTED POEM
Sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 4th January 2025 (Second Place)
Poem of the day - 5th January 2025
I checked my watch and checked my phone,
but everyone’s in a different zone,
Eastern, Central, Mountain, Pacific,
maybe I should be more specific,
the dollar says in god we trust,
but love thy neighbour bit the dust,
I wasn't feeling all too great,
after that late night altered state,
shining my leather mourning shoes,
watching weather and breakfast news,
a gunman shot the truth today,
the eagle had been blown away
so had the snow white turtle dove,
won’t somebody tell me, what time is love?
The Middle Eastern watch
As the Zionist regime tries
To assert its territorial area
Territorial integrity now threatened
They unleash terror on their enemies
Its called the holy land but why now
In the name of all that's sacred and holy
The continuous strife and endless wars
They talk of Abrahamic faiths at loggerheads
Be it though that The Lord is a Man of War
But why is it that us humans can't coexist
Even when our religions preach peace
There are always undertones of war
Call it Jihad or a Holy war.. blood shed
Is still abominable.. when did human life
Cease to have value.. now bombs drop
Then the retaliations are organized daily
Then the entire world watches the fever
Praying the virulent middle Eastern fever
Doesn't spread into the entire region
Praying that 'The end' will not come soon..
Even so the Word asserts come soon Lord
Though Creed takes wide and wind,
Laughs in desire and no hind,
The sun escorts there in simple say,
Grass and grain vivid ever morning May,
Leave the riddle that frown and fray,
I admire the wit that lips spray,
Sweet spell sung in motherly lap,
And pervade to adorable lissom ladies hand,
Charms wither within two spheres,
That rainbow lucid in feelings fairs,
Wings spread gaudy butterfly display,
Without remorse, foil heavenly life in hay,
Either wise either clay,
Render the chime of inner being,
No human where beast bring,
unfolds and usher their immortal blessing,
heave the height with cheer and caring
Nameless knolls that grace our grims
Happy pines adorn eastern winds
the Eastern Bluebird
sits on the porch railing post
spring is coming soon
Heidi Sands
3/28/24
(C)opyright
eastern golden glow
through spring-green leaves....
fireplace
With his long narrow beak he drank
drawing out nectar from a flower
it was an Eastern Red Columbine,
an Aquilegia wild desire ...
Nature was singing a sweet refrain
sending sunshine to my visitor
with wings spread he extracted,
using a tubular beak and tongue;
He was a welcome guest
inside this beautiful garden
From a latticed gazebo I espied
as he took delight, in every sip
Elasticity of time allowed him this
One last visit to the Eastern Gate:
One too many wormholes navigated
Made it one hundred years too late.
The City had been sealed
And peace reigned over all
As the holograph of its history
Played against the City wall.
A half glanced form
A shadowed face
As the image moved
To another place
The people dispersed
To Cities then newly grown
But the details of dispersion
Not recorded or known.
In his eyes he felt
The stinging of tears,
The paradox of warp travel,
The slowing of elapsed years,
Made him so much younger
Than his date of birth
A kind of compensation
For living divorced from Earth.
She was gone for ever
Now probably just bones
And, as in most of his life
He felt so emotionally alone.
The Eastern Gate behind him,
Homage having been made,
Regret reviewed and filed,
And last respects paid.
The holographed history
For him a type of hell,
His starship command waited
So he said his last farewell,
He’d returned on an impulse to the city
Slipped through that Eastern Gateway
Consciously retraced those steps
Of that years earlier leaving day.
Mingled with the market crowds
He felt his eyes slowly range
Across each familiar feature,
Noting every single change.
He watched her from a distance
Three children at her side;
Watched her across a narrow street
Just a million mile wide.
He sent a stream of air kisses
Each to its appointed place
On the coveted beauty
Of that so familiar face.
A new world was calling
At Galaxy’s other side
And tomorrow he started
That adventurous long ride.
One last long loving look
To imprint her in his mind
Now a more mature beauty
On which years had been kind
.
Back at the Eastern Gate,
Mission fulfilled and content,
One last long look at his city
Then into the future he went.
He left by the Eastern Gate
Slipping through the fading light
Before they closed the city
Against fast approaching night.
They first tumbled in the grass
Under a tree still growing there,
Her skirts as disarranged
As the wind disarranged her hair.
He had loved her with a passion
But a love that had to sadly end,
For while he loved her as a lover,
She had just loved him as a friend.
He stood at her wedding
Then before it was too late
Slipped from their city
Through the Eastern Gate.
She missed him for a long time,
But as time slipped surely by
She could recall his name
With regret and maybe a sigh.
Sometimes at the Eastern Gate,
With a casual sort of care,
She lays bouquets of flowers
By a tree still growing there.
I
At about the same space, eastwards
About eight hours after noon
- yes, it was night - miracle for me
I saw a sun rising ... Exactly as at dawn
A peeking, reddening of sky, creeping up
An amazing moonrise. In my 63rd year
I
Delicious evening
Furtive moon, modest stars
2023 but ancient Sky
II
Cooler, Eastern Cape evenings - delicious
Blazing hot days, 40 degrees Celsius
Give way to ancient ways, in the stars
Only a few tonight (why?) And Venus perhaps?
Two of the four stars in a box, outshone the rest
- when Moon escaped the cloudy hedge
A few belts with triune stars consoled me
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