Yosemite National Park | Victoria C. Slotto, Author

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.

Image via Wikipedia

Flight Off of Half Dome
An etheree

Walk
alone
in autumn
below the blue
canopy of sky.
Leaves crunch beneath your feet.
Where do crickets go on cold
fall days wrapped up in brilliant hues?
Why do the horses romp in sunlit
fields of green with wind whipping through their manes?

Where do crickets go on chilled winter days?
Yosemite-place of the gaping
mouth-belonged to the Miwok
until the white man came.
“Manifest Destiny”
they called it—God’s will.
The valley was
theirs to romp
in sun-
light.

Mi-
wok fled
in autumn
under the black
night sky in silent
flight off Half-Dome or through
wet leaves that could not crunch. Their
tears fell into the dark chasm
drowning the crickets who hid beneath
scarlet shrouds of all that came before death.