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Caroline Feb 27
There is a place
High above the Valley of the Gods,
Where red rock mesas unfurl
To the crimson horizon;
Finally, falling to the banks of the San Juan.

This is an enchanted spot,
Where ancestral Puebloan voices whisper within the rocks,
And beneath the desert stars,
The presence of something ancient hangs heavy,
Like a fog.

Is this where we were born?
The poets, the drifters, the lost;
Those of us who cannot tame the windswept wilds of our hearts?
Were we birthed among these canyons
And do they echo with our songs?
Swells Jul 2018
feverish in desert-dry tides

the mountain hungers in crescendo
for the sky that crucifies her;
her staccato tops of green
and earthly graves
are titanic gods in all-
seeing tremolo.
these congeries of grandeur
do her not rise but sink the
valley of mawkish men
trembling poignant and bare
sprouting liturgies from their
beaks, bespeaking the apex
pregnant in exploits

where the sun resurrects daily.
trf Feb 2018
warmer winds breathing human heat,
echoing nostalgia, bending curriculum.

***** pack's  students wade in,
just as nomadic as their predecessors
past the tour of tilted rocks
towards the swelter shelter.

yellow busses spit diesel clouds,
particulates and their masters matriculating
in an ever ending search for fudge.

fossils forgotten for facebook,
a dismal display of disrespect.

nomads nonetheless.
Katherine Brooks Sep 2016
silent, still
deep yet shallow
what secrets
what desires
sit off your shore
Zoie Marie Sep 2017
You don't wanna talk to me?
Fine I don't want to talk to you
I'm probably moving
And I don't know the next time I'll see you
I figured a final goodbye
Before I cross state lines
But only if you'll give my that decency
Tell me before November
Or I'll start seeing street signs
Antonio Juarez Sep 2017

The rolling hills
Crest and
Dive and
Move like
Covered in armies of trees.

Like thousands upon
Thousands of warriors
Made of leaves and
Dirt and
The souls of prehistoric
Insects that may have
Planted them.

The trees carpeting
The thunderous hills
Have a sort of marching
Energy to them.
Like they
Were frozen
In place.

I am reminded of the
Army of terra cotta
Unstuck in time,
Stunned in space,
They silently guard their own hill,
Crumbling slowly,
Like cheese.

And the terra cotta arms
And the terra cotta legs
Of the terra cotta trees
Are attempting to drag
Their iron roots
Through the hills,
Sinking like lead
Through the earth,
As if it was meant to be the
Ocean it resembled so much.

Armies of troops once trudged
And fought through swamps
As vast
And troubled
As seas.
And a terra cotta war,
Unconqured by
Shattering warriors,
Is left like
Smoldering porcelin,
Still being fought
On the hills
Of Utah.

You can still
See the remains
Of their clash;
You can analyze
Their placement
And movements
Like battlefeild strategy.

You can wonder what
Terra cotta general
Put them there.
Did the trees respect him
As a father?

His tactics
Funneled down to
Swarming like ants
Or dripping like oil.
There is the occasional
Angled towards the
Power lines,
The coursing blue veins,
And the sky,
Filled with the
Bright and
Rippling trails
Of their valiant enemy.

The terra cotta trees
Give way
To the stone,
And steel,
Of an upright man,
Overwhelming white
Overwhelming green
Overwhelming yellow
Overwhelming blue
Overwhelming black.
The people live unaware,
(With meerkat eyes
And posture)
Of the armies surrounding them,
Signaling the dusk of their time.

The trees will outlive us all
By millennia.
Their war will continue.
Our bodies will become
A wave in the hills
That they march through,
A crater in the commander moon,
A foot soldier in their
A leaf,
A branch,
A bird,
Food for a plant
That is food for a squirrel,
Soaked in through
The churning,
Breathing roots
Of the terra cotta trees,
In the living,
Tumbling hills.
This was written in a car in motion, which should be tried by everyone. It is an experience unlike any other.
Th3rd Apr 2017
Salt in my veins
Revolution in my heart
Letting loose the reins
Finally getting a start

Twenty four years later
After my birth
Grabbing the Mercator
******* in my girth

No longer ignoring
The calls of the shores
Set forth exploring
Opening the doors

One to a lake
Largest in the West
My option to take
And call it my best

The other a sea
Foreign as mars
Alien life to me
Whole new set of stars

This is my option
Can't be made haphazardly
Not sold at an auction
No time for jackassery

Interviews lined up
Will tell the tale
One for a backup
Should I likely fail
Rhyming is something I do, one day I may leave it behind for the artistic imagery of poetry. But til then rhyme away I will.
Keeley Aug 2016
Lines trace themselves into my palms
Cracks deepen as the sandy dirt dries
Hair flutters and flickers in wind
Green grasses dance in whispers

Grated teeth withhold heavy meaning
The salt of brine sets water still
Kind natured words flee from flora lips
In the valley green, mountains rise
jane taylor Jun 2016
how i have ached to walk amongst the evergreens
encased by dazzling quaking aspen
in my rocky mountain home

i yearn to fall again while skiing
and catch a wisp of icy sky blue
snow powder crystals
on my tongue
******* feelings
rise and fall
as they melt
and disappear

i long to breathe in your scent
sitting on the peak of wooded ridges
amidst slate colored boulders
sea salt combined with cinnamon
laced with wildflowers
crisply filling my lungs

i hunger to once again
behold again your red rock formations
creating tender hollows
through which timid coral sunsets peer

i crave hiking at dusk
into your jagged emerald forests
and sit wistfully mid the columbine
while darkened sunflowers juxtapose
against the jet black emptiness
enticing the stars
to etch enchanting paintings
on inky cobalt skies

hankering to be at the sundance film festival
coyly peeking into restaurants
covertly spying on the movie stars
on old park city main

itching to experience waiting patiently
for a moose to cross the street
its majesty splashing gingerly
sending chills throughout the galaxy
magnificence abounds

i pine to have memories gently cradle me
like worn out patchwork quilts
warmed by incandescent fires
wrapping me in soft colored canvas
the past craving transformation
by an echo that’s now dim

faintly crying out for
an old familiar artist’s brush
that still lingers
to snag times gone by
and paint the future in

amalgamating the antiquated
with the present
luring in
my destiny

i dream to don my fringed leather jacket
and hear my cowboy boots
fiercely clicking
against charcoal shadowed midnight sidewalks
while i watch the harvest moon

i’m parched too see your autumn chestnut leaves
against the bloodshot auburn sky
as cardinal hues give way to glistening winter
melding into tender spring

your summertime birthing
tingles down my spine
as chartreus aspen leaves
morph to golden bisque
enticing ute country
to blow in
copper colored indian summers
with cherry fragrant wind

yutaahih you were called
by the apaches
their historic essence
somehow ingrained within
my every cell
thirsty to lie enveloped
like a long lost lover
in your rugged western terrain

once having left your presence
i return to you now
my heart flutters
with wild anticipation
to see your precious face again

after a 5 year absence, we are returning to utah at the end of this month
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