Franklins rise like brittle bones of the earth,
holding the heat in stillness,
while the desert sand drifts.
gold blooms spill down the Franklin slopes,
a sudden sunrise rooted in the earth,
desert wind brushing color into motion.
Aprilcity was the theme a ridiculous jesture
A smile to say it was witty
A jesture to say it was clever
A lighthouse ajurned to a castle
In the middle of the desert
Might the mermaids sing to me
Might the prayers of sea merchants
Sound above the rocks
Might the winds howl in such agreement
The staffs of respected people
To treat visitors as there equal
From all ends of every nation
To marvel in such creation
Menu to menu
Event to event
Might the travelers who seek
A respective Venue
Speak us as such a retreat
To level the muzzling
the blurred eye to the blind
the most physical among us
To the sweet and unkind
Travelers in lodging
To which respects
A doctrine up holds
Might we stand staffed
To be host to visitor
Our needed like there's unopposed
Hospitality
Hospitality
Hospitality
The needs of many people
El Paso, Texas
desert landscape
mountain tops
cactus’s so green
sand storms
dry air
Footprints of a lone coyote
beige sand
rocky mountain ledge
leads the way
to a
sun-filled sky
dry heat
winter in the morn
spring at noon
summer by four
El Paso, Texas
a
small
fragment of
the Lone Star State
Home
03/12/2021
My first attempt at an Ekphrasis poem
Written for All Yours (March 14th) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
COWARDS, NOT HEROESv
Cowards, not heroes, Call them what they are
Not Martyrs, killers of babies, children, people both near and far
Cowards not heroes, not terrorists, Call them what they are
How much courage does it take to mow down children and people in trucks
How much courage does it take to be armed with all kinds of ammunition
like a sniper and shoot down cops like sitting ducks
How much courage does it take to shoot unsuspecting people in a store, a show a school
To kill and brutalize black, brown, white folks going about their day
To fly into buildings, blow up people having fun running in races is beyond cruel
Oh you say, it is for what I believe in, I have courage to risk my own life
Or they deserve it, poor me, I have been hurt, I am angry
They will pay with a gun, bomb, or knife
Cowards not heroes, that is what terrorists are
Even an old woman could drive a truck through a crowd of people, shoot cops
Plant bombs, shoot into crowds and kill people near and far
COWARDS, killers ,not terrorists, not heroes, not Martyrs
COWARDS willing to kill babies, children, mothers and fathers
COWARDS let us call them what they are
COWARDS
El Paso
Once upon a time nestled a little western town,
At the foothills of blue mountains picturesque.
The sun fell behind and twilight colors settled,
Delightful township twinkles patterning.
Horses neighed in their stables allowed;
Even chickens murmured in adobe back yards,
Where a serpentine river’s reflections curl
Into layered canyons bending.
Once upon a time.
Once upon a newer time one by one, I saw
Houses snuggling thick up the side of those blue mountains.
Antennas were strung and swung across flat roofs;
Ribbons of a growing city’s streets snaking through.
Where a serpentine river’s reflections curl
Into layered canyons bending.
And I looked to where the little town used to be,
Flooded with childhood memories of
Once upon a time.
I like El Paso...the heat, the dust, the heat,
I like the cars and the hats the cops wear,
cowboys in a rusty B movie,
but most of all I like the people, the
janitors and doctors and newsreaders,
who don't care if they're American,
Mexican or both...
and the bars are cool, so cool... some
smell of menthol and others like a clean
latrine,
but that's OK..it's alright and I don't judge,
and the girls are single and friendly and they
like you 'cos your'e tall and white, with dollars
and tooled brown boots
but most of all I like the warm wind that blows
in sweet guitar music and shimmering light
from across the big bridge, tussleing the hair
of the janitors and doctors and newsreaders,
who don't know if they're American, Mexican, or both.
Hank loughs with guilt
thought while the smoke
of cigarrattes tingle
in his mouth.
He has neumonia, "for God sakes"!
But he enjoys smoking until
the last drag.
Finally there is a silence, like a chapel
on Sunday mass; little rings bells
at the distance sounds.
Our friendship is tight
he gave me his hand to pull him up.
The silence remains in the chapel
of his home, another puff, onemore puff,
the last puff.
The bells, still ringing
he has chest pain, but latter a releif
by a glass of ice coffe.
We joke between puffs, we know
life is short; let celebrate our dreams.
Time passed by and the silence in the
chapel remains untouched,
one more whisper, one more drag
he falls sleep with a childish face,
all his worries are gone.
Fir-treed mountains extend below me,
wrinkled raisins clustered in clumpy desert oatmeal.
I know that you like oatmeal.
You made it once, on your own,
on the phone with me,
much closer than we are now.
The water boiled quickly; you sister nagged
when it didn’t look perfect,
like when your mother makes it.
I think it’s sweet that she cooks
breakfast for you, still:
oatmeal and blueberry pancakes.
I’m thinking of you right now,
flying over mountains
that remind me of raisins,
remind me of oatmeal,
remind me of you.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.