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Over untallied millennia,
    roiling Gunnison waters
sliced through southern Colorado
    schist and gneiss like a sabre -
carving tower walls of black rock
    ribboned with tableaus of
pegmatite and mica flakes
    flickering in the mid-day sun.

2,000 feet below, meandering
    through its stark canyon walls
like some legendary serpent,
    the Gunnison murmurs softly -
resting on its laurels.

Robert Charles Howard
September 2019
Jenny Gordon Apr 6
Hopefully if you're unfamiliar with that song google will comply and locate it for you.


Blue skies out West look deeper in a sense
Than Illinois e'er knows, clouds in betrayl
'Non floating laz'ly in such vast seas they'll
Assure ye rare pools know, til I from thence
Half ache to be in those dear prairies hence
As childhood fondly knew, swept to avail
Clean of these houses clustered sans aught bail,
And where the Thunderbirds roar through fr'intents.
I said I'd join the Air Force, but Dad fer
All that said: No.  And that is better too.
Yet oh! the Rocky Mountains!  O those pure,
Unfathomed bluest skies!  What is't that'd woo
Me from their depths?  I feel it 'non bestir
My soul, just watching from afar.  And you?

Or mebbe I'll record myself singing it one of these days...only the chorus, though--"Colorado, THAT's King Sooper's Way, That's King Sooper's Way...." Is it called Aldi's in the armpit?
In mountains high,
Promise renewing
In a healing sky.
How often we seek
In Forest deep;
We feel akin
To a world
That cannot help
But weep
Shea Nov 2018
Took the road to El Dorado
From Okeechobee to Colorado

Took the road away from riches at home
Children you have to help grow

Took the road to El Dorado
From Okeechobee to Colorado
Left your children at home
And they've grown without you
Jason Drury Oct 2018
Find your reflection,
in a lake in the west.

I will be here.

Bring music to the deaf,
let it fill your soul.

I will be silent.

Be the light for those in dark,
shine brightly its a gift.

I will be still in darkness.

Ground yourself in towering peaks,
stand firm and strong.

I am ****** in time.

Find love among Aspens,
lay in the leaves.

I will wait,
and lay with regret.
Alek Mielnikow Sep 2018
There’s a horse on a field,
grazing upon grass as the wind plays its favorite tune,
a mountain song,
trickling down upon the eastern flat plains of Colorado.
Her head hung low in soft serenity,
this black mare stares upwards towards a blue purple red sky.
She asks not why or what,
but is simply aware of the natural.
Enjoying her meal,
this black mare alone on her favorite field,
concealed by a white fence,
one more day coming to an end,
turns to her stable,
ready to return.
The sky turns a dark blue.
A September shiver rattles her old craggy bones,
but the stable shelters her from further pain.
Time to rest,
and tomorrow all the same.
A nice, little observation
Jo Barber Jul 2018
Stars in sky,
Plane flys above.
Lightning thunders below,
Flashing and dancing
From cloud to cloud.
Silence and darkness,
Then an explosion
Of light and expression.
A Colorado summer night.
DP Younginger Jun 2018
Stone walls like office buildings on a starry night,

Standing at attention, they salute to the masters of the world,

Tiny faces embedded in the grooves of each sector,

Playing stiff, as the wind pushes roughly through the evergreen seaway,

Wheels spinning continuously as you pass through communities; never ending hamlets of pine,

A silent coastline of towering majesty,

Like a segmented train, stretching miles long and dancing like a caterpillar,

Every bushel peaking over the other, knowing their role,

Waiting patiently like the caged animal, welcoming adventure with the twist of a ****,

The largest hammock of an ecosystem crying out for you to bare witness,

Whispering softly in the breeze,

Come play.
I love Colorado. 2018.6.14.
He is cultivating faith in
the blaze of green grass
blasts upon our retinas.

I am (making due)
moving a bit too fast
for my chapel of caution.

There are castle rocks of
solitary confinement I chase
to slow the highway of my heart,
and evergreen ladders
reaching up to the sky
of my imagination.

The mind may make a
craggy mess of speed, and
yet there is a leaflet
of patience somewhere in
the glovebox of my essence.

Sara Fielder © May 2018
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