"sonoran" poems
Sonoran desert
sacred, hot breathed
scorch of footsteps, blood red sands
sun bleached bones and skulls
this wash a hallowed holy ghost
an unnerving place of hiss and fire
molten sun to dry the water
a drowning fever of prickly sweat
last night the Yaqui man you met
undulating in a purification ceremony
lashing energy cords cut
he is laughing like coyote, wild eyed
green the velvet desert peyote
awakened you have come to understand
a universe within a fleck of sand.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
Where we live it is no desert for the rains still fall.
Where we live the cacti stand tall,
proud and green Men and Women
defending rocky slopes of heaven.
Where we live the bat flies with the nighthawks,
dog fights at twilight against hordes of insects.
The lizard and snake fear a Greater Roadrunner
who laughs at passing cars, for it shall outlive
The Petrol Race centuries forward.
The Sunrise seems like The Mountains'
live birth to a bright blazed star.
The Sunset bombs a horizon
filmed with faraway layers of dust.
The milk cloud of stars and cosmic debris.
The Moon rising, a pale beacon beyond The Mesquite.
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 4:04 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
On days like this
cool, with little winds
desert birds forage for sticks
they build nests perched in cactus
some build green in palo verde trees
always I think of baby birds in spring
hatchlings, the fledglings that fly
I travel far beyond the noise of towns
watch the movement of cooling clouds
the roundness of rain upon the ground
the grey banked scurrilous skies
of hurried birds, their silhouettes before a storm
daisies that close, cold amid the stones
beneath where snakes and lizards go
slither and crawl in this landscape of saguaros
and I, ever tethered can only dream to fly.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
You are a traveler of the South lands
brown, a leathered skin coyote
desert walker of the Sonoran sands
crafty, black magic witch
a shaman, lucid dreamer
Yaqui Indian spell weaver
of visions, of paintings in the sand
mixing colors, peyote flowers
red, the melting of the aloe bowers
dark blood, the blooming agave towers
thick with snakes, the fire and hiss
that burns black of sacaton grass
the quiver and flash of flying sparks
igniting night, time traveling to the stars.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 11:16 PM 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
Sonoran Desert at 120 mph
Chasing the spirit of Sal Paradise
Mescaline is the water of life
In these ancient bloodied borderlands
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 9:54 AM UTC
I read that The Colorado River
is pinned down like a snake
used to be that
(before the one-armed-man was king)[1]
the feet of the river
would pick up and move
across the Sonoran dessert
they’d trample laundry lines
and capitalist enterprise
now the snake is still
breathes still it is captive
under 15 concrete collars
the next time it sheds its skin
is geologic time. beyond generational
in geological time the flooding
of the Glen Canyon is a frame
skip, but a ski boat’s wake is forever.
a vast inland sea, even
castles in the sky need moats.
impenetrable as the air
the whole shebang un-erodes,
it becomes nothing
squeezed between ghosts
and immaculate parking lots
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 3:25 PM UTC
many girls i know like men that glean
like sky-scrapers, brilliant in their hard lines
that rise up from the ash in a fit of man made glory.
somehow, i bypassed this lust for babel opting for flesh
teeming with genesis like the forest behind my cabin.
its heartbeats of life with in death pound beside me
as i lie in bed with the light off and the blinds open
looking at poplars like they're the pillars of Hercules
crudely inscribed with the letters ne plus ultra.
i thought he was in the spirit of lake of the woods
but his roots do not flourish here, they scour for soil
and water finding only dry sand. so at what point
did i stop ghosting the natural curve of the road
engulfed by the yellow of my favourite blouse
reflecting back in the blacks of his eyes like lighthouses
or twin Brittle Bushes from the Sonoran. he is nothing
but an African desert where children absorb warnings
like liberal skin, oblivious to the natural radiance in desolation
and everything that i will eventually let go
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
I seem to twitch when your around.
I dare not mention your name...
Only because I don't know it.
I catch a glimpse, eyes upon eyes;
shyness engulfs me whole.
To my surprise I glitch.
Extrovert, certainly,
but with you I have found a shell.
A filter.
A more refined me.
percolated.
A sip-
to taste.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
Your scent has left my skin,
for good
My hips have aligned others,
better than you ever were
But that doesn't change,
how much I still need you
when the sun goes down.
You are my desert,
the place I found comfort,
even though you scorched my skin.
I still don't know,
If I will find another place,
I love
as much as I loved your cactus flowered torso,
your red rock skin,
the way you warmed me,
through my icy insecurities.
I have loved you for too many years,
through too many mistakes,
through too many dust storms,
and my heart is chained to your desert sunrise,
but the sun has already set,
for good,
maybe.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
I was a preemie.
Fate tried to **** me
Before I was born.
My poor beleaguered mom
Fell off a chair while pregnant
With me... thus did I come
Into the world.
Beat up from the feet up
And lookin' like a prune...
My childhood was horrific.
I have huge holes in memory.
I can only tell you I was
Starved of love and terribly
Neglected. Mercifully
I don't recall the molestation
And assault I know I endured.
It wasn't my parent's fault.
My father worked 16 hour days
And mom had blinding migraines.
And undiagnosed behavioral
Health problems. She is bi-polar.
But what I remember most vividly
Are the trips to visit my mother's
Sister and her family.
In the Sangre De Cristo
Mountains of New Mexico
Up above Taos.
My mind touched furred mountains
And inhaled the aromas
Of sounds... aspen's disc leaves
Sibilantly soughing
And the Red River flowing
Through resplendent green.
Indian paintbrush and columbine
Sparking on the verges of roads
And nodding their soft blue heads
Respectively.
Once we took a hike to
Horseshoe lake, and
Caught flashing trout,
Their scales making rainbows
To grace their silver sides.
We ate well that night!
On the way home it rained.
A cold, piercing downpour
That soaked our clothes.
All the other kids cried.
But not me.
I was in fairyland.
Coming from the
Sonoran desert I've always
Loved the rain...
The rest of my life I fared
Little better as far as fate
Meted me out a VERY tough
Hand. But I remember
The long hikes on Venice Beach
boardwalk... I walked 8-10 miles
A day. And lost a total of 138 lbs.
I've had to fight like Muhammad Ali
For every square inch of joy.
But I still float like a butterfly...
... and I really try to put a cap
On my stinger. I have one.
But I want to go through this life
As wise as a serpent... gentle as a dove.
Because now I know that
all I've gone through
Had a definite purpose.
I'm a Blues Brother's sister...
... on a mission from God.
*But it's never about ME.
IT'S ABOUT
H I M.*
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
I have three favorite things:
Coffee.
Whiskey.
The southwestern sun beating down on my bare shoulders.
And if one day I leave here
Don't let me forget to take the sun
And wash it in my sink.
So it shines brighter and brand new
On every cactus in the Sonoran Desert.
So it reaches all the way to Washington D.C.
One day while I'm reporting
About monkeys in suits running the playground
I'll feel it.
Take off my blazer and let that southwestern sun burn me red.
Then I'll go home.
Put some whiskey in my coffee.
And I'll be happy.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
"Animals Share with Us the Privilege of Having a Soul"
-Pythagoras-
I've got a sonoran soul,
a wild cat soul,
a soul that lives for sunsets.
That runs with jagged teeth,
Until one corner of the Earth meets the next.
I've got a feirce soul,
A passionate soul,
A soul that howls,
until everyones been fed.
A red, red, red, orange, amber soul that Rips and Bites and loves so fiercly that often it hides away,
Just like Ernest Hemingway said:
" The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed."
But destroyed I am NoT,
I've got a soul that rOcks me, quAkes me, and shaKes me from my sleepy grave.
I've got a soul that doesn't give up,
I've got a strong soul,
a tigress, a sassy ***** a roaring stormin fire sista!!
And I've got a spirit...
A spirit that hums like a soft love bird, a spirit that loves to lie in backs of hippie vans and watch the sweet dangle of ornaments.
A spirit that listens, that wraps my arms around my chest, a spirit that calmly braids my hair,
a spirit that washes me like the oceans tides that roll over vast sands to cleanse the gentle earth.
A spirit that caresses, soothes and nurtures. A spirit that lives for the sunrise, a spirit that coos as the day lifts over mama cedar.
So the soul lives for sunsets, the spirit for sunrise,
and I,
At the stillness of my core,
I live for the darkness
that happens between the two worlds.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
The Sonoran desert.
Bleak and barren.
How could you house
So many musical creatures?
None of them sleep in
For the Friday night.
Grouchy from hangovers.
Plain brown birds
Like dowdy housewives
Chuckle, titter and
Whisper in the trees.
They gossip about us I think.
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
from the sun, I was conceived. for the sun, I labored in patience, but to the sun, I will not be conquered. when we first took a glance into this barbarous land, it was the sun who greeted us,’to the saguaro, seventy-five years of endurance amongst this toiled, arduous earth in order to receive the gifts of me!’ and so the saguaro, spartans of the sonoran desert, endured. oh the stories we hold, the landscapes we’ve seen. After seventy-five years, I watched as the arms of the saguaro began to develop, sprouting and scintillating were flowers sublime and fruits, foreign to the desert eye. all around me, the saguaro cried, ’beseech us with your gifts, our sun, let our labor be glorified!’ this cry was not found within me. instead, I pressed, ’from the sun, I was conceived. for the sun, I labored in patience, but to the sun, I will not be conquered.’ I will not surrender to that of my fears or to that of what I might depend on. I will remain a spear, eyes set on the beyond. I will be steadfast.
be well,
bcb
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 5:53 PM UTC
Some days the trees outside my bedroom window glow a youthful green
And spread pale yellow petals across the dry earth.
Some days the trees are dull and gray.
When a thin red string pulls our bodies close
And our breathing keeps a beat,
I know that I am me
And I know that I am here.
But most of the time it feels as though my story was written in third person.
Just before the sun rises, I want to beat him to it.
I want to clamber over the mountain top and illuminate my beautiful Sonoran,
Stroke the backs of lizards who await my warmth
And kiss the skin of sleepy girls.
Instead my bones crack under the weight of my thoughts, layering on like humiliating harmonies.
Sometimes the trees are gray for weeks.
I wonder if they’ve died,
And I wonder if it hurt.
Every morning I separate the curtains to check if they are yellow again.
I check every morning and I wait for the yellow days to come
Because I think there is also someone who checks on me.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC
Still lingering, clouds meandering
layered upon this lazy blue day
birds fly in and out of view
surrounded by mountains
as if a painting, surreal
the desert drinks us dry
leaves us far behind
there is no separate mind
we sit for days and nights amidst the sands
breathe in sync with this sacred land
chasing butterflies from our heads
losing all the words ever said
day is nearly done, the time has come
soon to sleep and dream
never of this place
again
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
I watched the sunset over Sonoran skies,
It made me glad to be alive,
Though i am in great duress,
And most of the time,
It feels i have nothing left,
No one that waits,
When i get home,
In all things i feel alone,
Its sad to think that everyone I've known,
Now calls the graveyard a home,
Its hard to live when they have died,
And sitting here i wonder why,
When oh when will be my time.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC
watching you behinD the wheel was a view
even The sOnoraN desert couldn't cOmpete with
i remember driving home From Your mOm's
you tUrned to me and said your Mom adored mE
as The girl you couldn't love,
i thinK tHat's the one thing
I'll always have Over the girl yOu did.
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 2:17 AM UTC