Photo: desertusa.com
I was so young
when first I walked the desert
alone, of an early morning.
When first I learned
those sands were anything
but barren.
When first I fell in love
with tiny pink blossoms
twinning between prickly vines
that hid beneath a boulder.
Written for National Poetry Month 2014–Day 5
Photo Credit: Earl Leatherberry
Days of stone heart and emptiness
hang over the valley like a pall
until the artisan’s arrow of tranquility
pierces dreamtime, urges seekers
to climb out of the morass they created,
to carve hope from a sacred mountain,
to find time alone, to bathe in tears,
to cleave to unseen sources of joy
that flow beneath desert sand
from the brush of the artist.
Linked to dVerse Poets’ Open Link Night.
Photo: Bureau of Land Management
Tuolumne Meadows (Photo credit: mcbridejc)
i.
In the Central Valley
grape vines stretch
like languorous lovers,
soak sweetness
from California sun,
shrivel,
become raisins–
ii.
while in (October)
wine country to the north
acres of gold
and scarlet leaves
shelter clusters of their counterparts;
juicy fruit waits
for harvest.
Swirl, inhale, taste
flavor-laden Zinfandel.
Light shines through goblets,
backlights Earth’s blood.
iii.
Stretches of desert
undulate,
overwhelm the unwary
who prowl in search of
gold
or God,
find instead
green chrysolite
or Satan.
iv.
Half Dome beckons,
climb me!
Below his façade
Tuolumne Meadows sprawl,
carpets of wildflowers
flaunt their palette,
entertain bears and bucks.
v.
Pacific—not always true
to her name—churns,
swells, caresses, collides
with miles of costal sand
and craggy cliffs
which drown in contented abandon
to her moods.
This poem is just a beginning draft–I hope to expand on the theme. Shawna at Flipside Records offers words for inspiration and I thank her for getting my muse in gear. I’m linking this to dVerse Open Link Night, where many talented poets join to share their words in the wonder of poetry. Stop by, read, enjoy and comment.
Victoria C. Slotto, Author 