Desert Poetry |
If you wanted to get in my truck you had to pound the door just below the handle. Taking corners, the dash lights would flicker like a broken marquee. Its red color was pale in so many places where various chemicals had poured out of the bed. The turn signals were crossed, so I was taught to think backwards. Stepping on the gas, one had to anticipate a three second delay. Stepping on the brakes, one just had to anticipate. The temperature gauge always hovered near red so it was a challenge not to overheat by planning a precise route. And when orange rusty water started seeping from the engine, I sold it for fifty dollars. But, while cleaning it out for the first time ever I found the rolling noise that had charmed me for four years: a can of beer under the passengers seat. The can was silver, all the color rubbed clean off from hundreds of trips across the state to see you, but still it was unopened. And although, the beer was horrible and warm (you knew I had to drink it) I could of sworn our porch light was shining brighter than ever. Scott Poole/ Cheny, WA |
The Old Professor |
A poem by an American Indian in origin, handed down by word of mouth until someone finally set the translation in writing: |
"Do not stand by my grave and weep. I am not here. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken to the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circling flight. I am the soft star that shines at night. Do not stand by my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die." |
High Mountain Plain |
One can see for miles in all directions And years Stretching lonely out ahead And behind The rugged majesty the peaks the pines the moving clouds Are only marred By a cow's skull some left debris An ancient pile of dirt Weathered brush grown The mute remains of an early miner's dream Silence reigns Except for birds the whispering pines A voice within That somehow here alone can see A chance A control of one's own special destiny The sun comes up alive and new Fiery peaks give hope sunrise blooms There is time and space to fulfill ancient dreams Daily slowly surely Sunset comes too Just as fiery Purple shadows moving on the land The empty mine a hopeless dream Abandoned things a shaded skull Daylight dims There is nothing left at all Don Meyer, Ventura Ca. |
Abandoned Tin Shack |
I used to give people support Out of the weather Frail and patched up But nevertheless held together With constant care A nail here And a piece of wire there What a welcome sight I was To those struggling home Weary and dust driven A haven A place of comfort safety warmth My door has long been gone Ripped off by a merciless storm That howls incessantly And slowly tears me down A piece was just pried loose the other day It won't be long Before the storm will carry it away And I'll follow too I wish someone would hurry back Prop me up give me support Rebuild the strength that once was mine But I'm all alone Left to the fury of the wind Sagging neglected Just waiting for the end Don Meyer, Ventura, Ca. |
Desert Gas Station |
The past and the future are mixed together here Gas and beer To get you down the road And arrowheads and rocks To show what came before No hurry no water no matter A feller was through here just awhile back The sleeping dog yawns and stretches Comtemplates your existence for an unblinking moment Then drowsily relaxes Into his private world again How alike What's that rock There's still gold you say Where did this arrowhead come from And then zoom Don Meyer Ventura, Ca. |
Prospector |
Sometimes I don't know which way to go Down a dusty road Looking for a mine For the rich outcroppings of ore The marks of early man One way seems right Beckons Urges me to follow her along Sometimes I do And sometimes find The followed path is wrong But I keep looking Starting off in new directions Retracing weary steps on an old familiar trail Searching seeking Still looking for the way My way To the hidden riches waiting there for me I get discouraged Always seem to fail Wonder if I should continue on Sometimes I don't know which way to go Or how far How long Turning down uncertain roads Hopeful helpless Alone Don Meyer, Ventura, Ca |
Mountain Climb |
I stand back and look at the peak Majestic In all of its afternoon glory The late sun shining on it Purple and gold The shadow creeping up its side As I did once Slowly The ridges and valleys standing out in sharp relief Against the darkened back the shelf Which huddled me Gave me rest Jutting out in arrogance Into the thin disappearing air I stopped there For awhile Continued on Hand over weary hand Until the day was nearly done And then turned back Reluctantly Knowingly Darkness brings danger And one seeks safer heights With the slowly sinking sun But now the wonder If I had continued on Straddled the furthest point Follow the moving sun Would things be changed somehow Would the peak look the same And would I Now Be a different man Don Meyer, Ventura, Ca. |
Desert Questions |
What's the difference between a Jeffrey and a Ponderosa Pine And why are some growing here And some there And nothing in between Who dug that mine And when What were his expectations His achievements Will it ever bring forth ore again Why is that lovely bloom A shaded purple Delicate Growing there alone How do birds survive How hot is it Will it rain How long have I been standing here And how much have I seen Where was I Where am I now And where am I going |
