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palette
russet, olive hues
yellow ochre
bird's egg blue
vastness held
within a bowl
turned over earth
to heal and hold
moisture from
the morning rain
thus the painter's
eye is trained

cadmium white
a fan-like brush
sketch mare's-tail clouds
an artist's touch
far horizon
grayish blue
a woman reclines
in the ****
her form reveals
the breasting hills
her hips the mountains
hushed and still
mid-ground
blurs of olive cacti
the saguaro
rise like hackles
Palo Verde lie in lumps
yellow flowers
bloom in clumps
point of brush
tweaks out the trees
turn of branches
stippled leaves
small are they
to catch the light
but the moisture
loss is slight
ochre foreground
brownish stones
blue-gray shadows
light source shown
grayish purple
prickly pears
ocotillo
here and there
spindly with splash of red
barrel cacti nod their heads
buff highlights
bring out the sand
thus paint creates

this desert land


SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/13/2017
Spring morning after a rain.

In the desert the leaves of the trees are small so that only a slight amount of moisture is released.
Fiery darts fall all around you as arrows fly at you. Slings with stones of innuendo are flung at you, yet you remain calm. Trouble seeks to undermine you at every turn, as land mines of hate explode with each misstep. Through it all you hold your resolve, under the microscope you remain undaunted. A heart of bold intent and a resilient spirit that cannot be shattered, this is courage under fire.
I might get depress and hurt, now here on the earth.
I might feel sad, lonely, and struggle here on the earth.
I might hide, and keep to myself here on the earth.
I might feel like, I will lose Christ as my King forever.
But in reality I  that Christ has saved me and he loves me.
In reality, it which part of me that I keep feeding here.
In reality , if I keep feeding the Spirit within me ,
In reality, but if I keep feeding the flesh within me.
Then I shall continue to struggle here while I am alive.
Food is not my friend
If it were not a necessity of life
I would not mind
Never seeing it again

The only time I truly desire
Is when hunger sets in
Then my deepest craving is Mexican

Still I have excess weight
That does not want to go away
I've given up my childhood desires
For sweetness, yet still the fat wants to stay

Working in a food related atmosphere
Is not my cup of tea
Having my hands upon food
Brings out the nervousness in me

It was not always like this
Chocolate cake was my favorite, used to be
One bite of it and I was fast forwarded
Into a land of ecstasy

I don't know why this change has come about
I would like to think
The Lord has a purpose
For this route

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PROVERBS 15:17
Better is dinner of herbs where love is than a fattened ox and hatred with it.

JOHN 6:27
Do not labor for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For on him God the Father has set his seal"
Professionally I best stick
To keeping track
Of money
I am not sure why people look at me different? I am not sure if this is how it is supposed to be? I only know what I feel, I only know that this is the real me. What I like does not fit a social norm, it is frowned upon, but I do not feel right any other way. So I will keep living what I feel is right and let other people just fade away.
The briny tears have dried
The sounding knells are stilled
The grieving crowd, dispersed
The parting pain, allayed

Benumbed lie the dead
Beneath the marble vaults
Bereft of power and prowess
Benighted and beaten.

The sun shall never cast its glorious rays
The stars shall never their brilliance shed
The breeze never shall bring tidings new
The showers shall no more drench them through

A thoughtful friend sometimes seen around
A fervent prayer at times chanted aloud
A plaited wreath, rarely laid over
A trite rite, randomly carried out

There’s none left to mourn or weep
Nor anyone to sing, sigh or sob
Leaving the dead to rot in the closure of graves
To life’s alluring charms, the dear depart.

Cold as clay the dead lie so still
To be feasted on by maggots and the worms
Life with all its glory – defunct
Its fever and fret too – extinct.

How in vain we run after wealth
The power and position we deem so great
Shall come to naught within Time’s gloomy vault
Yet we run and yet we straggle behind.

In vain ends our travail for might
Inglorious is our quest after fame
Transient turn the riches, we garner
Short lived is their gleam and glitter.

Oh Lord! Lead us not into illusory charms
Deliver us of our avarice to hoard
For all that is born and made
‘Must consign to death and come to dust.’
This is one of my earliest poems...... ! Recently I have been attending a couple of funerals at a stretch.... of those who died rather young. Only one was ripe enough (89) . Two others were pretty young... died of cancer in whom cancer was detected only at the fourth stage ! This close encounter with death made me brood over the transitory nature of worldly existence!
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