Day: November 14, 2018

The Desert

Written back in 2005 on a poem-writing spree.

The Desert:

The sands of time cover the land,

The dunes are high,

They tower like the ancient mountains that have never been seen,

The sun beats down on the earth,

It burns brightly,

It scorches the earth,

The heat is year long during the day,

There is terrible cold during the night,

The stars shine brightly in the open sky,

The sky and the land show their wildness,

And reflect it in the people.

Wild Horse & Burro Auction 2018

A half-hour from my house, are the Livestock Show Grounds, where every year the wild horses and burros (donkeys) from Nevada–I think that’s where they’re from–come to be sold. (They’re sold at other places on their way down here). It was in February, I think, that they came down, and at 8AM, my mom, neice, and I went to see the horses and burros since it started at about 8:30AM. The weather was wonderfully chilly, and with jeans, my cowboy boots, a long-sleeved shirt, and hoodie on it felt great out. At the show grounds, we parked and went straight to where the auction was taking place. There were a couple dozen wild horses, which were all beautifully shaggy, and two adorable (also shaggy) burros. The colors of the horses ranged from light brown to dark brown to black, with different markings, mostly markings on the face, such as a blaze, or legs of black or dark brown. Very few of them were one solid color. My favorite one there–the one I would have bought–was a light brown filly with a white patch in the center of her forehead, the size of my little finger’s nail. (She’s pictured in a close-up and distance one of her with her nose to the ground nibbling at the hay there and a close up of her face). I also got to feed her and the black filly with the dark brown-tinted forelock. The light brown filly also let me pet her a little. She was the most friendly one of them all. As you can see from the pictures, I went around and took a lot of pictures of the horses. I “oohed and awwed” at all the horses. My mom and I noted which ones we liked the most, the two of us commenting on the horse’s confirmations, markings, and colorings, while my niece tried to feed them. We watched as the guys there separated the horse(s) out from the others that were already bought and sent them down a chute to their new owner’s trailer. My little filly got separated out too, and was sent down the chute to a guy’s trailer. And in she went. Awhile later, we left for home.

I Am Fire:

This was written several years ago, when I went on a spree of writing poetry. Who knows how I came up with it.

I Am Fire:

Fire roar,

Fire crackle,

Fire show me your amber light,

Fire  hold me—warm me,

Fire love me,

I am fire.

The Children of Mother Nature

Another nature poem written back around 2005.

The Children of Mother Nature:

The mountains stand as giants,

The rivers and streams sing,

The wind whistles,

The trees whip back and forth,

The rain thunders down,

The thunder booms,

The lightning gives a wild light show,

The hills roll here and there,

And Mother Nature speaks to those who will listen through her children.

 

Stormy Seas

This was written around 2005 and is one of my favorite nature poems.

Stormy Seas:

Stormy seas you roil so,

You toss and turn,

You heave and throw,

You’re rough,

You’re brutal,

You’re tough,

You are mighty and majestic,

You command respect,

You show us all,

That the stormy seas are to be respected and admired.

The Sense of Me

This was written back in 2005, on another poetry-writing spree. A really strange poem.

The Senses of Me:

I see you,

Formless shape that you are,

I hear you,

Static and unclear sound that you are,

I feel you,

The roughness that you are,

I sense you,

Your presence is near me and yet so far from me—your distance from me is indeterminate,

I touch you,

A fire burns within you—yet an iciness coats your outside—you are hot, yet cold to the touch,

I smell you,

You are the smell of burning wood, and yet not that smell—you have your own type of smell—that of fire,

You are a rough formless shape that contains fire inside you,

Yet you coat yourself in ice,

Your presence is undetermined,

You smell of fire,

And you make a staticky and unclear sound to me,

Who are you?

I know you not,

But my senses know you.

Watching Over Me- To Gram

This is a poem I wrote back in 2006, after my grandmother, “Gram”, died. I read it at her memorial service. She broke her hip one afternoon, and while in the hospital, it got infected, and she passed away.

Watching Over Me: To Gram:

You’re watching over me from up in heaven,

Which I hear they call God’s kingdom,

I’m always wondering what it’s like up there,

Now more than ever—they say it’s beautiful…..

This heaven I’d like to know what you think, Gram,

I hope you’re happy with your new job of watching over me—it’s a big task,

It’s not for the faint at heart,

But then you never were faint at heart,

You were feisty,

And we always knew you were hanging on,

If you could ask questions of the doctor,

I still expect you to come toddling over to our house with the mail or something,

Stay happy, watch over me, and I love you, Gram.