Short Tumbleweeds Poems

a gentle wind blows ~~~
the tumbleweeds are rolling
a lifeless ghost town ~~~...

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beautiful bangtail
spirit untamed
racing tumbleweeds
thundering
across mesas

stallions wrestle
under night skies......

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Drifting empty cups
Scattered socks form tumbleweeds
Delirium in stuff

Plow past the chaos
Green fields wait patiently
Simplify til sanity...

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in the symmetry of mountain ranges
the poetry of a cloudless sky
the lyric of the nightingale
the song of the sage
the dance of drifting tumbleweeds 
I see God's grace
I am at peace...

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Tornadoes revolving
spinning in circles
helter skelter


Flying through the air
forceful gale
trapeze artist

Whirlwind whips
rotating spiral
tumbleweeds roll

Scattered debris
broken pieces
nature's images...

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The
homeless,
like
scattered
tumbleweeds,
drifting
from
safety
to exile;
an endless search
for a place
to land
if
only
for awhile;
until 
North
wind blows…
cold


March 14, 2023
Contest: Waltz Wave Poetry
Host: Emile Pinet...

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The Wind Shepherd and Shepherdess

The winds,
 Like a shepherd and shepherdess,
Herd blackness,
 In swirling ghosts -
Mysteries rising
 From wastelands of wildness
Casting veils of gloom,
 Haunted by thunder,
Trying to stampede -
 Corralling tumbleweeds....

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from the highest peak
to the low, cool valley below
stretched out as far as I can see
I ride the range of your love

tumbleweeds blow in the desert wind
monsoons come with lightning and thunder
but consistency and a gentleness
fence in the boundaries of my heart...

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Dusty streets lined with trees 
and dry water channels
petrified veins in the scorching sun

The large stately homes
hinting at a more favourable era
Shells of buildings filled with 
memories of farmers’ markets 
and ghosts of Jewish pedlars

Monuments of rubble and decay
to drunken street kids 
and tumbleweeds....

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Trailers sprout from desert floor    
Tombstones marking the graves of my aspirations.
Tumbleweeds snag remnants of dreams
And blow across macadam prairie.

A highway carries hope far past this place
Of broken dreams and suffocating despair,
But me the mountains trap; they surround me,
And I'll not see home again....

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No sand or tumbleweeds fill the street,
neither rotten boards nor busted concrete.
Cats won’t roam and children don’t play
amongst the structures now in decay.
It’s silent here; there’s no new poems,
no photographs sparkle, no music roams,
and like those ghosts towns in the West,
someone else’s blog has gone to its rest....

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Generations from the past, sailed over seven seas.
   Leaving ancient roots behind, to thrive on foreign fields.
   Spreading wide their branches, formed worldwide family trees.
   Once welcomed mass migration, increasing harvests yields.
   Today like rootless tumbleweeds, war's made them refugees.

   1/ 4/ 2017.

    NA the day away  Poetry Contest....

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POETS

Seems we be a restless,
often rootless, band
we poets.
Annuals
bursting forth
in fullness
only to fade,
blown away
on fickle winds.
Stringless kites
anchored
in the ethereal.
Voices adrift
on the mind’s
muse.
Tumbleweeds
in torment
pursued
by the winds
of our future.


©2/18/2018

submitted to – CONTEST NO 400
sponsor – Brian Strand...

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Enclosure of the Moon 
capturing cosmic glass;
The stars swirl around it;
An abysmal swallow;
Dreams drawn like a magnet;

Enclosure of the Moon, 
transmissible panache;
Tumbleweeds on the wind
so the dark sky shimmers;
Taking everything in; 

Enclosure of the Moon 
reveries wrap around
with a fiery whimper;
Hoping a wish will catch 
celestial tinder....

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It’s an exquisite,
excruciating, brilliant

Hell in which he lives

An agony, a
torture,
the finest steel badger’s trap

Deep inside

the arid zone

It’s a blasted, 
blighted,
bloated desert drought
filling his head
behind his eyes,

Alive only with
swirling-dervish dust-devils
and skeletal,
giant tumbleweeds

Attended only by
the incessant, bereft
and tortuous screams
of a burning, banshee wind...

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A sight that no one really needs 
Is piles and piles of tumbleweeds
But that is what I do believe
Was seen out west on New Year's Eve.

Along a stretch of highway there
Were tumbleweeds beyond compare.
The road was closed for 20 miles, 
The drivers stuck not sporting smiles.

It took the crews 10 hours or more
To make the highway like before.
Though New York City has its faults,
Our weeds do not do somersaults!...

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Don’t know 
that I ever looked
forward to sunrise—
days just seem to come 
and go, like desert flowers 
and dust-devils, tumbleweeds 
ripped from their arid rest:

safe in my shared crevice
with other baked eyes
I watch the spiraling tails
trying to escape the heat 
(a monolithic trance)

snakes, scorpions 
and myself
we keep an armistice
not to hunt one another
till walking, slithering, 
crawling, back into 
the night…....

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Pale blue and pink hooded tumbleweeds
Roll down the concrete corridor
Orange sodium vapor half lights
Half lit yellow tagged parking lot
Illuminated fake plastic trees all in a row
While acetylene fires stroke an ultramarine sky
Under stars
Corner homeless stumps and slumps and dumps
Warmed by desolation desert asphalt steam pumps
Electronic red laser reader
Smiling chain link razor wire jerk off greeter
“How are you today, Mr. Jones?”...

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my dreams all lay in an open field
mixed with prairie grass and tumbleweed
the heat of the sun beating on them by day
the mountain winds that spread the seeds
where they mushroom into fantasies
fuel for the desert fires to feed

monsoons will come and wash them away
extinguish the fires, cool the heat
one by one they will grow again
nourished anew with the spring rain
to blow and drift like the tumbleweeds
the cycle of dreams start over again...

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There is a small piece of the world
The color of mother of pearl
As soft as the smooth inner shell
Where the humblest hermits dwell

And the sound of the blood’s rush and the roar
Is the calm, sleepy shush of the shore
And the faint scent of sagebrush in bloom
Spans both cool beach and hot desert dunes

And the tumbleweeds, driftwood and gloam
On the eventide, they always come home
And the stars in the sky and the stars in the sea
On the eventide, they come home to me....

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