Crowligraphy

On phone lines crows feel words

flowing beneath their feet.

Walking on mud or new snow,

they translate gossip, joy, anger, grief

into a language of lines,

marks I can't decipher.

From high perches

they speak their raucous words,

laugh at me

when I try to answer...

Crows scratch their calligraphy

in snow or soft earth,

not caring what I say,

not caring what I want,

not caring what I know.

            © Jean Sampson, 2010

Homeland

Of dusty roads,

tumbleweeds,

and horny toads. 

Here my heart 

was given birth,

in an adobe

nestled in cottonwood

on the Rio Grande. 

This river I know

runs swiftly,

and leaves intricate

mud-red designs

in a bed of sand.

To the east, 

purple mountains,

sage, piñon, and pine.

To the west,

boulders in formation,

mesas.

The sky all around.

Here my heart was 

enchanted, 

claimed by this Indian land. 

Cactus and lizard. 

Yucca blooming in the sun. 

Blue tail disappearing under brush. 

Roadrunner and rattlesnake-- 

lightning flash of brown bird,

coiled viper on dry cracked earth.

Summer thundershowers

booming to life 

after a parched, sun-baked day.

Here my heart lives 

and awaits 

the cool evening that comes

after brilliant

orange-red golden glow 

passing of the sun.

I know of the red rock 

clay of the Jemez

and of canyons untraversed. 

Here my heart sings. 

Turquoise and coral 

mingle with silver. 

I smell fried bread 

and the sulphur of 

Soda Dam.

Tall white aspen 

dressed in gold 

stand against 

a background brilliant 

blue 

and clear; cloudless.

New Mexico, 

land of mañana. 

Take it slow, amigo. 

Have a tortilla.

Listen to the 

mariachi band.

Come to the cultures.

Dance and 

celebrate 

God’s fullness!

         © Anne Cressin, 2010

The Soda Dam on Jemez Creek near Jemez Springs, NM. ~ Wikimedia Commons; 
photo by snowpeak

Where True Beauty Lives

This World seems so Big 

As We Live in It,

As We Give Ourselves so Freely to Our Own Pain.

Such a Shame It is,

How Hard to Give Up What We Know So Well,

With No One to Blame 

And Nothing Left to Claim

But Ourselves.

The Truth of What Is and What has Been Done

And What is Still to Come, 

Can Only be Understood in Retrospect.

In Finding the Beauty of Respecting What has Come Before Us, 

And What is Right in Front of Us.

Don’t Try Too Hard to Figure Out Your Life.

Just Live it and Give Your Heart 

To All that You Love and Believe.

Because that is Where Truth Is, 

That is Where True Beauty Lives.

That is Where Divine Light Evolves
And Dissolves any Pain or Anger
That is Still Hiding in the Dark Corners of Your Mind.

© Flora Lark Baily, 2010

Winter evening at the edge of the forest; photo by Tony Russell