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rebecca Jul 2018
Neighborhood streets in Arizona,
dead of fall. Everything looks dead.
Hardly colorful, pretty, exciting.
Just dead.
The nights never were too cold, though,
so we still wandered the roads.
Messy hair. Bare feet. Dead of night. Dead of fall.
Nowhere really, to go.
Knowing not to expect snow,
rather things… still dead?
still sleeping. Lying in wait, for a change.
The bi-monthly occurrence of rain,
bringing that smell, so much stronger there,
than anywhere else I’ve been.
And my best friend and I,
with our bare feet, messy hair and grins,
would go out and dance in the rain.
People called us crazy, weird,
hypothermia in the making.
But we danced.
Life was hard, so we turned to rain,
she was losing a sister to a terrible man.
I was visiting home, back
from an unwelcoming land.
It was difficult. So we turned to rain.
In the dead of dead fall,
and we danced.
elle jaxsun Jul 2018
flat land to the horizon
cacti lined streets
sun blinding
mountain peaks like
dragon's teeth
eating cotton candy skies
02132018
Curtis Sweet Feb 2018
People accumulate items of the past
Jewelry, books, antiquities all that clutter
They give it up for little to nothing
“Why is it of no value to them?”

The purveyors of
Pawn shops, book stores, consignment shops
Are puzzled
“What are these items, and why are they given up”
Although it is their job to figure out where the volumes are from and what they are about.

These volumes lay on shelves sometimes sold
Sometimes collecting dust for years at a time
The customers past by without a glance at these relics
When one wanders into a place without a purchase in mind they are greeted by those who are there to assist
“What is it you have for first editions? Got any signed copies?

The keep of the till is taken off by these questions
Although he slowly becomes

invested in conversation
“Oh have you heard of this one we just received”

After developing a repertoire of with the young bearded man I ask him
“What is your favorite or uh oldest piece”

As the conversation moved onward a frail book was handed to me
“How old do you think this is?”

I turned the spine to read 1543
Thumbing through the pages I wondered what it is about, and where has it been
The keeper nor I knew nothing of this Ancient tome
This is the sad truth of many tales
They get lost along the way.
jack of spades Jan 2018
--and the grand canyon is
getting smaller behind you
while your heart is getting
bigger, ready to burst,
craving a return to the journey:
when red dust reflected on
your sunglasses instead of
your side mirrors, the rearview,
when the car mileage hadn't hit
halfway. something
about the southwest settles
under your skin like an itch.
it's almost like-- it feels like--
you're finally finding out that
this must be what it is to be
homesick.
rozlyn's christmas poem
MARK RIORDAN Aug 2017
WOW TRUMPS SPEECH IN ARIZONA
IS QUITE DISJOINTED AND MAD
NOT VERY PRESIDENTIAL AT ALL
QUITE UNREFINED AND SAD



ITS VERY VOCAL AND INCOHERENT
JUST FULL OF A LOT OF HIPE
ATTACKING THE FALSE NEWS AND MEDIA
ALL TRUMP WANTS TO DO IS SWIPE



THERE IS NO ETIQUETTE OR PRESIDENTIAL  STYLE
TO GO ALONG WITH HIS OFFICE
IT REALLY LOOKS LIKE TO ME
PRESIDENT TRUMP IS JUST A NOVICE
WOW WHAT A SPEECH A RANT AND RAVE NOT PRESIDENTIAL AT ALL.
Kasey Jul 2017
There are two half-full cups of coffee on my desk
(and one in my car).
But you'd make me more in the morning
If I asked.
Like how you would drive my car in the rain,
Because I can't see the road
(even though I never told you I couldn't)
And then make me watch bad movies.
You're better than the rain,
You're the whole monsoon season,
Shaking the whole world up with yourself,
And making it better every time.
PaperclipPoems May 2017
It was a seductive day in Phoenix
The only one I'd ever seen
Rain fell from the heavens so harshly
This wasteland turned into an evergreen

Just as overbearing as the heat of day
This desert showed no mercy
The barriers were broken and the flood was released
Blessing this land with novelty

Thunder like drums through the midnight skies
Lightning to lead our way
For twenty-four hours, this place was pure ecstasy
Never was there a more enchanting day.
Hannah Hagemann Mar 2017
Sandstone Medicine
Teach me your lessons of resilience
Towering hundreds of feet above me
Iron Red-Orange
Made of Earth's blood
You've stood patient
as rivers lashed through you
trying to erode your body
as tectonic force roared upward
looking for something to give
But here you stand
Wearing your scars proudly
Now they adorn you
Like beautiful pieces of jewlrey
Telling stories of a time long before now
Sandstone Medicine
Singing to me songs of resilience
ConnectHook Feb 2017
Southwestern Dis-United States of Memory*

Piñon smoke and sagebrush, voice of New Mexico night driving into an Arizona dawn rising over dreaming pueblos, low-ridden plazas, kivas and ruined cities’ rubble traced and highlighted by sunlight, Anglo angling into Aztec toward Zuni over arid zones… A to Z to El Dorado; a voice covers the high hills with a dusting of snow—every word hangs in the notes of the song: music to fall apart to, breakdown to, hurling the soul  into the bottomless well of psychotic nostalgia: *música de cavanga
, falling into the depths. Melody pushing to the threshold of a bar and leaving you there with cash in your pocket and no ride home. The warmth inside beckons—you step across as the song fills, swells, intoxicates, then excavates the wall of the dam until it collapses. The fatal mistake: you read too much into the lyrics of shallow love songs. The deathwish beast of despair arises, the flooded plains dazzle your eyes, the Indian girl smiles on the rim of the grand canyon, the tattooed cholo pulls a knife in the trailer park, the dark waters under the bridge murmur and surge with regret; el río de Las Animas, Durango CO, Aztec calligraphy on the wall: Las Cruces, NM; Clifton, Morenci, Globe, AZ: stepped pyramids of copper tailings, gang-warred walls in fallen barrios covered in Chicano hieroglyphics, the ruined huts of shepherds and cowboys, pit-house dwellings’ flaked arrowheads and pottery fragments scattered forever in the coyote laugh of desert dusk. Crepuscular colors on the names of mountain ranges: Santa Catalina, Sangre de Cristo, Sandia, each one a separate sunset delirium—then you ride through the night to the city of palm trees and the orange-lined boulevards of Heaven.

The singer herself grew old but her YouTubes live forever.
Voice of Linda Ronstadt, especially her early stuff:
♥ Evergreen (pt. 1)
♥ December Dream
♥ One for One
        etc.

           I ♥ THE STONE PONYS !

https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2014/04/11/lindisima-voice-of-linda/
Tried to visit Petrified Forest but my stomach said no
Didn't really mind it cause it didn't have much to show
We drove on route 40 and a hot guy kept following us
When he had waved 20 times we were like "Okay, enough!"
In Flagstaff I got to check in at my very first motel
It was way cooler than the Dallas hotel!
We wanted to get wasted so we went out to find a bar
Some Germans were playing pool, they couldn't speak English at all
Shots! Shots! Shots!
Two of them were actually quite hot.
After some drinks we lost each other in the dark
Thankfully both remembered were the car was parked
Hungover as **** we left for Grand Canyon
I was so excited to see it with my favorite companion
The size of it was greater than I had imagined it to be
and squirrels were practically climbing up my knee
An idiot lady had her dogs locked in the car
***** was lucky that I didn't have a crowbar
Still missed our turkey but deers were walking free
When the heat almost killed us it was time to leave
It was one of the most amazing things I've ever experienced
But for Vegas we left to see something completely different!
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