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
saguaro flowers
I could sit and
paint for hours

there's time to write
but now I pray
look upon these
words today

they paint the desert
you will find
If only in
the poet's mind!


SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage
2017

My eyes begged you,
Forgive me,
I know not with whom I speak,
you are but a mirage to me,
an oasis only existing
in the realm of my twisted mind.

My hands pleaded you,
come and love me,
show me what you have inside
that golden box,
you keep hidden behind
the headboard.

A light faded and
flickered
in the house across the street.
Up on the hill,
branches swayed peacefully
with the wind.
I succumbed
to your darkness.

A path which winds
through desert sands
is no path at all,
but a choice made each moment
with each aching footstep,
the song of a stream
in the distance,
was only a breeze
passing through the air.

The shadow of the man
that had appeared before
was no longer there.

Dunes
fall on
the shore
of skin,
a poet
closes
her eyes,
in a place
beyond
our own,
the sands
felt soft
upon her
hands, her
thoughts
as water,
in wonder
if they
are
here,
or in
dream,
the grains
of time
under
lights
of the
moon
are her
tides
upon the
sand
hills
of the
stars,
the
guides
above
hold the
hidden
songs,
heard only
in silence,
clouds
emerge, the
monsoon
of spirit
chants
the words
of the
writer
painted
in rain
upon
pages,
dew falls
upon the
palms,
the poet
gazes
upon the
skies, her
hymn is
heard,
“are you
near,
or the
breath
of mine?”,
the winds
rise, the
desert
calls,
“are
you I?”

AND if you go -- love goes away?  No, it's understood.
My love stays as freedom is a breakfast food
as if love can live with right or wrong (undestood)
or rolly-pollies are from frightful mountains made---
long enough just for you and me.

As though pain can pay the rent
regardless of genius please the talentgang comes
to collect the fallen minds and hearts upon
the sidewalks of understanding.  Everywhere.

So as it is;  my whole life:  as my coalwood eyes
burn wint-air oh waiting (my love) for spring ?(y)(w)ou(w)
un-air-stan?me
crazy
me like

evry-ting
we can do it for just Me and You.  So bring it (with love)
for a landing -- without misunderstanding -- as there is no
end what we can do together without end.

see shebert lips of babies and their beating exploding Love-hearts
: with a little luck we can help it out.

:: 10.24.2021 ::

Darkness that fills the mind
Filling the eye of the beholder

A dessert path that is deserted by the truth but filled with lies
We're lies only the serpents of untruth and illusions

Leading towards the waters of faith and strength
But possible loss and pain
All dependent on the Storm and the waves

Where land meets sky but the sky is free
Can one truly see
Land is nature but life itself is home
Home is acceptance of life

Sun turning to moon is epicenter of change
To become something new
Altering what once was

To coexist with all that surrounds
To be a part of all
To accept all that is
To deny nothing
To be everything