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Tag: audio

Joshua Trees

Palm trees line one side of the straight-stretch asphalt road. The smell of the second rain is still heavy, as I drive my 1969 Mustang convertible through the base gate and on my way to the state park. As I approach the monument gate, I notice and smile at the sand flowers that bloom. An empty unmarked patch appears almost immediately; the gear seemingly shifts into neutral by itself as I apply the brake. A chill greets me as I open the door, so I grab my jeans jacket from the passenger seat, tying the arms around my waist. I want to feel the cold of the desert, remembering forever. A short walk and I am then scrambling up the lowest boulder where rock formations are solid, foundational. I see the Joshua trees spread out before me in asymmetrical fashion, growing out of the beautiful brown landscape. The shadows are disappearing, the first stars are peeping through the charcoal-washed sky. I close my eyes, focus my ears and hear the sound of silence. It is lovelier than a songbird tree or an orchestra playing Gershwin. I sit there transfixed until my backside is numb and chill bumps rise on my arms and legs. Stretching my limbs, I stand, untying the jacket arms. I listen for the last time.

wild flowers grow
on concrete monument
wild child speaks still

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Just Drive

Fear draws the reverse gear,
   shifts into first
         of the open road.
Open the throttle
    of my rock aria
        into the red rock cowboy country.
Downshifting
    into the low northern bridge
        of the silver-gold sky.
Ace wings taking flight
    from the snow-toothed
        mountain runway.
J o y
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Gideon

Redacting army steals the language.
Spirit grinds wheat words into form,
distills the boastful syntax
from thousands to hundreds,
eliminating
modifiers
black alters
at night.
Fear.
Dream.
Compact
barley book
excoriates
the inner critic.
Desk lamp and radio
turn adjectives and adverbs
against each other and erase
the opposition of the blank page.

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Be Still

Clotheslines encircle
the perimeter
of the housing jungle,
sidewalks connect
the cookie-cutter houses,
high voltage olive
drab cases
dot the landscape,
where
siblings scrutinize
the world of creeping ants, spiders, worms,
in the autumn grass.
Mom watches,
wishing
for a life growing
from the loam
of winter.

Previously published in the Missouri State Poetry Society’s Grist 2007 Anthology.

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Bible Verses

Reading as literature alights the face value blue book,
digging deeper a step word brightens passage hue book.

Coffee steam curling across airy onion skin pages,
eye wrestles with unoffendable stories nook book.

Your rhema word nails Your beloved to Your plan,
running shoes morph into hips-married glue book.

Printing presses connecting people after Babel’s Tower,
painting translatable words from an artists’ construe book.

Society pages don’t contain my name in their pages;
I hear His siren call reading from His foreknew book.

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