I'm someone nobody sees.
You can call me Southwest Breeze.
When you smiled and when you frowned,
I've always been around.
It was a soft rain -- yes, I stated soft,
for rain has many texture -- some even
color. Imagine a spectrum-brush dragged
across a well wetted, primed sky, which
muted technical, dully call~ a Rainbow.
It was a long anticipated rain:
Saguaro Sentinels weary, dryly
on guard -- bristled their natural pins and needles
A night, of many, thirsty
dark folds, imbibing deeply:
Desert craving saturation --
Just beyond the dawn tomorrow
if not for some minor residue dew
the blessing will again be entirely gone --
witness the browning green hint of
a brief gully front lawn --
A lean coyote chases a hare through
heat of desert winds. His swift doe
darts past my boots. They've managed
to escape, this time. He'll lead the chase
away another day.
I pause to watch the side-winder as he
considers a kangaroo rat, before moving
on between two century plants to a
rock ledge nearby. The tidy yellow rat
continues eating seeds, gleaning moisture,
never needing to sip drink in this dry
yet vibrant land.
The cactus wren with spotted breast
sits atop a prickly pear. The gilded
flickers' rosy cheeks and banded wings
are a colorful reminder of the beauty
I find out here. Their sturdy tails prop
them upright against a great saguaro,
carving out a hole for nest.
I crunch the tangy bulb of a white
desert lily whose green tendrils curl
on the ground. And here, as evening
cools walking back to my new home,
a silver moon illuminates my path. I
glory in this wondrous desert scene.
Beyond the Batumi city, i am endlessly unclothed
A.m., rose, i ran out of my bed
Hopped into a vile pleasure Naked and unbothered
Being Naked, i started my morning with dancing and singing nursery rhymes.
Moloch departed for battle, signs in my dreams
Burning of written works and poems, Naked by my window
In the ashes, dancing, chilled chicken noodle soup
Singing high-minded incantations, beneath a blood-red morning cloud.
Naked and making breakfast, amid the morning grins
Children playing in the dirt while dancing freely in front of the window
Elvis under shivering lightning clouds is playing ecstatically in my apartment
Temuri plays guitar while skeletons twirl, oh magnificent Georgia.
Naked watching the sparkling plastic sea to sea
Free of fixed identity
Everyone sees the pacific ocean voyage coming to an end
Falling into the after train misses switch.
colors of the southwest parade into my meditation tonight
turquoise clouds lead the parade, floating in Rubenesque puffy ways
I feel beloved, at peace, they have brought hope and revitalization
my breathing has changed, I am on autopilot, unaware of my awareness
relaxing into the turquoise, welcoming sage advice of my spirit guides
they feel as aware of me as I am of them, are they included in the turquoise?
a tiny hole begins to form a line, a slit in the clouds, fiery orange red flames
Another robust color of the southwest; I begin to receive answers to my questions.
I sit in front of my flickering candle, enjoying the love I am being given
By my angels, my spirit guides and my power animals.
They are pleased that I am honoring their Native American heritage.
Including turquoise and orange-red into my meditation today.
Mother moon fills me with awe from my east window.
Father sky’s stars sprinkle me with stardust.
I feel alive, confident and revitalized.
Ready to take on the world now.
From a distance,
the incessant chant of monsoon from south west,
sounds like an old witch practicing her craft,
Turning the sleeping dark cloud to a wandering gale,
On its arrival must the sun lose its seeming joy,
As she roars as a warrior in great toil,
And the blue sky covers it face with dark veil,
To hide from the shame of its impending tears,
The sparkling effect of the raging charges,
Brings a fearful sight of great lightening,
A wonder of the mighty mother nature,
Throwing a tantrum to some of its weak creatures,
As the sky's long-held tears begin to flow,
The earth has no option than to open wide her mouth,
As seedlings prepare their minds to grow,
And plants celebrate the cold shower as they sprout,
The temperature drops in honor of the great monsoon,
The cold air spews through the joists of the poor as it blows,
The sheltered rich rejoice in sleeping comfort,
Yet it means a great mare to the homeless vagabonds,
The incessant chant of monsoon from the South West,
The witchcraft of good and evil to the biosphere,
A sign of hope for the long waited winter,
But painful end to the summer's joy
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if the
wind is
blowing in
the correct
direction and
if you
put your
ear up at the
exact time timed
you
might
hear what
was a scream
well more a yell
of me
at the top
of my voice
now sounding
as if in muffled tones
I LOVE YOU
I LOVE you
I Love you
i love you
ebb and flow oh mighty tide
in the golden lunar light
waves that whisper to the shore
I'm always coming back for more
no wasted hours, I spend with you
my soul at peace when once I view
I hear you call, I hear you call
once again, I am enthralled
free my mind, fill my days
with solitude and warm sun rays
my spirit soars, my mind will rest
your quiet beauty, west by southwest
Baked mountains encrusted
with a kiss of many suns.
Dry air moans on melted
shards of desert rock.
Blistered lips sealed tighter
with the dryness of every
swallow.
Stifling parched steps
yielding this sundered
land of our ancestors
footprints.
Forever silenced whispers
of discoveries not yet
heard through cracked
wisps of branched tumbleweeds.
Blowing, touching, caught
in the arms of an
unforgiving cactus.
Sentenced to look on as
others tumble by, their
destiny unknown to only
themselves...
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.