"saguaro" poems
---
i
blue grey clouds
of crushed
velvet
sunlight
tears
the
seams
ii
embers of
delicate peach
ignite flames
of fuchsia
the orb of
sun burns colors
away to ashes
blown into floes
of white
mare's
tails
iii
tiny bird
settles restless
on the
highest
branch
flits
away
iv
wind
through
the weathered stones
cries then whispers
luring
the children
who lie within our ribs
to break free
and sing
songs
of
play
v
mamalaria
cactus
wears her
wreath
of
pale
lavender
flowers
sings to
her babes
clustered
below
saguaro
listens
soulsurvivor
(C) 9/13/2015
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
Sometimes
before you arrive
I imagine the drive
the dusty winds
roads blown sand blind
the breath hot desert
red upon your back
the drown of dripping sweat
a mirage, a swimming lake
an oasis, of mind escape
how you travel as saguaro fields fly by.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
Saguaro cactus
why do you ***** me with spikes
It hurts very bad
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
Walking this trail, all is strange
I am still round, remembering the rain
this desert with its saguaro looking people, my friends
snakes and the hissing heat of day, now crawl away
into the melting sea sky of orange, red
into the indigo rising, turning black
no sound of cities, no world out there to cry
only the calling of stars, musical notes
songs twinkling in time with
the hot honey yellow moon.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
===
!!!!!
!!!!!
=== !!!!! ===
!!!! !!!!! !!!!!
!!!! !!!!! !!!!!
!!!!! !!!!! !!!!!
!!!!! !!!!! !!!!!
!!!!!!
!!!!!!
!!!!!!
## # !!!!!! ####
#### ####### ### ## ######################
sentinel, you grow in peace
you who have seen war
you saw the native people
killed off by the score
you continue on your way
the source of tale and lore
you have a heart
that will not cease
for a hundred years or more
this is the great saguaro
he scrapes the sky with arms
flung up to the heavens
though huge you do no harm
you have thorns aplenty
but also have your charms
you will watch forevermore
ever sounding the alarm
soulsurvivor
(c) 6/11/2015
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
My Sunglasses
I’ve got all of Tucson trapped behind my sunglasses
I’ve framed mountain ranges in the frames of my Raybands
I’ve got reflections of saguaro’s stranding still in front of my eyes
I have sunny days taking refuge underneath my shades
I’ve domesticated the giant star that rides blues skies into walking the edge of my brow
I use black plastic as onyx shields
So Tucson, I see you.
There’s an art revolution beating at your horizon
I’ve seen it skirting around these wastelands
They tell us we’re wasting our time
Telling the roadrunner to run back home
When its nest was here since the beginning of time
Tucson.
I’ve seen folklorico and mariachi pay tribute to your origins on the hottest of days
I’ve seen in the shadows in underground art forms
Graffetti. There’s a protest in there somewhere.
I’ve even witnessed it in pen to paper
In lips to mics. In cafés in your desert nights for your desert nighttime audiences.
Tucson, your culture and artistic value shines too bright for others to see.
Your artistic worth shines too bright for others to broadcast
They tend to only record your overdoses and murders
Seems like our televised story tellers prefer to paint us in immoral reds
The only time they pay the south side attention is when the south side is aching
It doesn’t help that schools force you to choose business
Give you chance to study law all the while cut out your art programs
Fine art is required by universities but they don’t always expect you to get that far.
Tucson’s fine art is too fine and infinite to be recognized by those undeserving
Society wants to capture our southern brethren as outlaws not poets
We’re called the misfit of the desert. As if every spray can, paint stroke, choreographed twist,
Slam poem wasn’t something to take pride in.
I’m sorry they only pay your schools attention when ambulances are parked in your driveways
And administrators get caught in doing ***** deeds.
I see your talent wasted. Your talent shown.
To remind myself of your artistic significance, I’ve framed you
On walks home I photograph your murals.
Listen to the poets in the hallways.
Observe the dancers compose and the musicians choreograph
I’ve caught your reflection in my corneas’.
I’ve dilated my pupils thoughts behind my sunglasses.
Framed your mountain ranges in my frames.
Took cover in your shades.
Trained the artistic freedom and right to walk on my brow
Tucson
I see you.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
Mansion
by A.R. Ammons
So it came time
for me to cede myself
and I chose
the wind
to be delivered to
The wind was glad
and said it needed all
the body
it could get
to show its motions with
and wanted to know
willingly as I hoped it would
if it could do
something in return
to show its gratitude
When the tree of my bones
rises from the skin I said
come and whirlwinding
stroll my dust
around the plain
so I can see
how the ocotillo does
and how saguaro-wren is
and when you fall
with evening
fall with me here
where we can watch
the closing up of day
and think how morning breaks
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 3:29 PM UTC
Though life abounds with blossoms bright,
fed and watered, nurtured right;
And trees along the river bank,
strengthened so, display their might,
Saguaro, YOU surprise me most
and give the desert dwellers hope.
Alone, you stand in arid sands
without your roots in greener lands,
yet strong and tall and bright, command
my respect and awe.
Deep inside your prickly skin,
you've stored life's sunshine deep within;
Though scarce the raindrops from the sky,
you've captured each and treasured, "MY!"
If I could be like you, what heights I would achieve.
And revel in acceptance that, like you,
I'm planted right where I should be.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
Our snowmen, they're not made of white,
they're tumbleweeds, rolled up tight.
No top hat upon his head,
a cowboy hat sits there instead.
His face and buttons, tree ornaments,
boots and lariat, his accoutrements.
Saguaro cacti with lights wrapped round,
illuminate the landscaped grounds.
Old horse drawn wagons get the festive touch.
With lighted garlands, packages and such.
Porch rails glow with colored lights,
Christmas trees in windows, warm the nights.
Our little town gets all decked out.
Then we gather along the old parade route.
Folks on horseback with ribbons and bells.
The horses know the parade route well.
Marching school bands play Christmas songs,
trucks and tractors carry carolers along.
Floats abound from businesses and groups.
Braving the cold, the Christmas Cowboy Troops.
We all stand up to clap and cheer,
as Santa, as usual, brings up the rear.
Waving his red cowboy hat, in a horse drawn sleigh,
Welcoming Christmas, the Wickenburg way.
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 11:42 AM UTC
Joshua tree
Across the high California desert you stand with lifted salutation off the beaten path the drift
Of sea moisture mingles with tule fog rising from the desert floor you have briefly entered an alien
World a brooding connection develops with London’s fog shrouded streets or the Arden with its
Identification with It being the one natural barrier to the advancing Roman’s might and Shakespeare’s
Play the woods for him was familiar but a place where change to ones fortune could occur and one
Could find love mist is one of the times that a magic wand was effectively waved it produced a myriad
Of realties notable connections a display that reaches the far borders of wonder pleasantness infringes
On the harder order of the desert’s hotter principles farther east the great desert sentry looms above
All else the saguaro cactus also raises its arms as the Joshua giving thanks for life in a stark and
Burdensome land rock and scrub fills this place it takes time to appreciate such bitter circumstances
But you can sink thoughtful roots that will play a symphony between sun and shadow and all the living
Things that eke out a living there are a breed of people that thrive here also they can teach a lot to
Others live on less you would be amazed how refreshing simple living can be get to much you find
Fun squeezed out of the seams of the so called good life just think in this term when does water taste
Like heavenly nectar when you have been deprived and are at a loss to find it the abundance of anything
Can temper its value death swiftly occurs when the spirit of taking things for granted pervades those
Times that are riveting and create completeness in us are by nature rare and treasured you don’t have
To trek to far off deserts or faraway places a child’s youthful smile that is slipping away When tenderness flows and she makes your heart glow know my friend you are blessed with God’s best for all of earths time a husbands
Gentle laugh his look that stirs you deeply these are but three of rarified finds that are in your life
Enjoy treasure them they are personal gifts you possess today
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
Oh these doves they are cooing crazy
a language full of sunrise colors
with a variance of blues they coo
and soon the quails - laughing
the way they do in their morning mood
smaller birds chirp and shrill
the air is melodic music filled
here amid this cactus garden
halcyon songs to the sun
and too these flowers
explode in petals pale yellow
blooming high in the saguaro towers
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
Perhaps I am a cactus.
Perhaps,
there are needles
protruding
from my skin
to prove how soft
i really am.
A saguaro,
only hollow
by the birds
who make nests
in my chest.
Perhaps,
I will flower
once the rainy season is over.
I will drink deep of this muddy sorrow
and my skin will swell
warm
and green
and well nourished
by the sky.
Perhaps,
it will be
the most beautiful
blossom anyone has
ever seen
and people will travel
miles
just to
admire.
Perhaps,
they will wonder
how my flower
came from such a
spiny
thing
And Perhaps
I will tell them.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
Part 1:::::::::::::::::::::
Desert valley in waiting
austere walls of cloud blow
not up and away but in impending status
hanging flashes over boreal sky
birds' wings suddenly alight started
by the voice of the divine and the
aroma of ozone now
lighting on wet pavement hisses as
man and beast scramble for shelter
Part 2::::::::::::::::::::::::
Rain
in the gutter splatter
invisible matter
all penned walls are white
tears of the Hopi
cactus river
saguaro salvation
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 5:13 PM UTC
Melt with me in dry rivers
against saguaro lined trails
until night slices in slivers;
fractals of sage and coyote tails
howl against saguaros and Hohokam trails
where a fingernailed eclipse
fractures an image of sage brushed tails
in a rhythmic tune stoked on melodious lips.
A fingernail moon splinters an arid eclipse
as stars and clay erode, fading to dust
circles in hummed tunes on July-desert lips.
Pink-purple fingers stretch across dusk
until the parched night crescendos in slivers
and melts away in me, filling beds and dry rivers
with the stars and burnt clay, eroding to dust
as pink-purple fingers strum out a song in the dusk.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 5:37 AM UTC
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
Mar 28, 2022
Mar 28, 2022 at 5:42 AM UTC
Sonoran Song
Melt with me in dry rivers
against saguaro lined trails
until night slices in slivers;
fractals of sage and coyote tails
howl against saguaros and Hohokam trails
where a fingernailed eclipse
fractures an image of sage brushed tails
in a rhythmic tune stoked on melodious lips.
A fingernail moon splinters an arid eclipse
as stars and clay erode, fading to dust
circles in hummed tunes on July-desert lips.
Pink-purple fingers stretch across dusk
until the parched night crescendos in slivers
and melts away in me, filling beds and dry rivers
with the stars and burnt clay, eroding to dust
as pink-purple fingers strum out a song in the dusk.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 2:16 AM UTC
* I am done crying
and death is my state.
To the fate of hollow cacti I can relate.
Surprising is this,
Since I thought the grim reeper
Would ooze out with the dew of my purging
Like mucus during a cold.
My spirit is a barren desert with nowhere to go.
There,
The Saguaro Cactus have
No choice
But to be rooted in the
Dusty dross of the land in the desert.
Laiden with thorns.
If they shed their tears, they die.*
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
Here in this redolent rain droplets saturate the ground
I watch the clouds move on, then once more the sun to come
this sparkling desert is strewn with tiny diamond stones
the air hangs in petrichor, thick with chaparral
birds drink from puddles in the broad agave leaves
rainwater trickles with steam in the sun of the singing trees
songs of doves coo cooing in the desert mesquite
spiny lizards stop for rest and warmth upon the rocks
they are ancient with tiny rounded teeth
for eating flashing bugs and beetles
here beneath the spindly ocotillo
beneath the pale flowered saguaro, that blooms
amid this ocean of sandy seas
of cool nights and hot breathed days
the way the desert breathes.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC
@===#
The arms of the trees
Pluck a banjo for the man
Hid on his knees
His Instrument's fan
Sets the stars a-twinklin'
If you have a chance
Watch the clouds dosey doe
Watch mountains dance
A saguaro he plays on
The spoons and the saw
The wind blows at tune
On harmonica!
Brighter than street lights
Moonbeams cut like a knife
Head like a melon
Larger than Life
Yep... the moon plays a banjo
Orion the fiddle
Owls they play metal string
The cat's in the middle
Playin' the drums
Just as loud as you please
Yep... the moon's playin' banjo
With the arms of the trees!
SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/18/2016
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 11:54 PM UTC
R.I.P. Clinton Eugene Jarvis
~My father ~
The saguaro an altar
A tree stump a pew
He knelt in the garden
His church all that grew.
Cactus and succulent
Tenderly grown
Were all in his choir
For his ears alone.
From aisles of stone walkways
Stained glass in bright clouds
The sun was his mantle
The stars are his shroud
The lakes holy water
As a child he'd haunt
Skipping stones 'cross a pond
Like a Baptismal Font
Sat he 'neath the willows
To hear their prayer's sigh
The saguaro an altar
His Cathedral the sky.
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) 5/31/2018
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 8:11 AM UTC
Two siblings walk, hand in hand,
Shoulder to shoulder,
their footsteps paving grass and stone
in wary gilding.
And when other footfalls trace their steps,
the feet will slip,
And the trail will have gone.
The siblings work in synchronization.
Unique independence,
Contrasting, and Dissimilar
both harmonizing in nature;
They tie knots in eyelashes,
Weave fine chain with obsidian,
and break nails with simple deeds.
I, with hands of hardened base,
and fingertips that stroke Saguaro spines-
Will reach for straw figures
with blank, witless features,
And cold tin men,
with ice coated *******
And a sharp-edged shadow will bark at my heels.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
my spirit wends
the woof and warp
~~~~~
appreciation
~~~~~
the aperture of my eyes
apprehend an amalgamation
of subtle ochre and olive
~~~~~
the shuttle oscillates
into the
oblivion of
a henna hued horizon
~~~~~
cacti in clusters
huddle under
"Mother Trees"
and other larger
spiny denizens of the desert
~~~~~
moisture is maintained
by miniscule leaf
and maximum storage
~~~~~
saguaro still sanguine
with water
~~~~~
what a tenuous
tapestry is knotted
in this temporal
craft
~~~~~
awe inspired by
the wheeling of hawk
even vultures have
elegant eloquence
of place
~~~~~
i floated all above
this macrocosm
higher and higher
til I was only
only a mote
in the eye
of
EAGLES
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC
And so are my eyes
The ash is white, the fire black
Flames offer a silent scream
Hurricane winds radiate light
And a dust of powdered sugar petrifies the desert
Quickly, and mysteriously
Not much to do but a lot to learn
The turkey flies on scattered wings
No offense made but
Much is taken
Phantom letters state their presence
Poplar burns in the sun
Prickly pears sparkle red
and
The moon lets go of her compass, passing
it on to another
Flying above all
Shooting bullets toward purple blue skies
Notebook in one, pen in another
Falling through steam
Crashing to dry, cracked earth
Saguaro stands in a forever wave
Blackened mountains singe the backdrop
Red purple brown rocks form deepest
Canyons of collective consciousness
Feed a bright blood river below.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
The Grand Canyon is like the brain
with deep, unexplored fissures and tributaries,
the main route well known by now.
I am walking, walking inside my mind,
a grand canyon, a planet of canyons, a system
of planets. The exploration may become dangerous
I might lose my job, forgetting to go or losing
sight of its importance. But the job is gathering
pinyon nuts and agave fruits, it is the main
river, deepest cavity, how I find the unexplored
canyons and tributaries of my neighbors
and my enemies. But is it a religion,
a reason for living. It is a marriage, for better
or worse, with all the other living. The concept
of life's brevity, temporary compared
with the time taken to carve the canyon, does
not interest me. Each moment has a weather,
is a mirror of all other moments. The naming
of things goes on. Cliff rose and wavyleaf oak,
new mexican locust and sagebrush among ponderosa
and pinyon pine, juniper. Once I know
who they are inhabiting the canyon, the raven's
flight is meaningful. The raven's rock cave,
search for seed and carrion, my home and job.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC