Forged in the fire of a burning hell.
Touched by the tongue of a lava swell
Trapped in a crows forlorn caw.
Pictured in the craggy teeth of a rocky draw.
Bourne by the winds drying touch.
Enhanced by the smell of live sagebrush.
A roof painted in colors of orange hue.
Stark in contrast to the sky blue.
Distances that the eye longs to see.
The ear is pleased by a meadowlark's glee.
A hovering hawk above the skyline.
Patiently waiting, biding its time.
The grassy green of a early spring.
Carpets the horizon, seldom seen.
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Written December 19th, 2003
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LOL, now I see I already commented on this.
. I guess my memory is getting really bad. 
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This is beautiful. I wish the rest of the people on this site that wrote rhyme could write it half as well as you do.
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This is gorgeous, CJ. You may enter it if you want to. The last time I held a contest that accepted rhyme, I was disappointed because of the quality of the poems entered. They were things about the moon in June with a spoon, and the light it gives off at night is so bright. If everyone could write rhyme as well as you do, I would be no problem holding contests that allow rhyme.
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You didn't need the picture, your words gave us the picture. There is so much magic on earth, all we need to do is open our eyes.
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When I remember all the years I trained pilots in Desert Survival, and all the trips into the vast Nevada wastelands. I remember the solitary nights looking into the stars and watching those frozen rocks fall...and be burned to nothing on the way down. I remember so many times the lonely call of the coyote and and smell of sage. The remarkable images the Sagarro would bring to mind and the distances that the eye ... can never comprehend. I have seen the sky from atop a remote desert mountain and with Night Vision Goggles I have seen the might of God's creation in Sagan's Billions and Billions of stars.
Now, after retirement, the lure of the desert is still in me. I wonder who traveled that still visible trail and if they made it to the promised land. Where did they camp. Can we still visit their fire. How did they die? Who was born on that trip only to succumb to the ravages of heat, thirst, and distance.
Thank you for your kind words. I write not for them, but just to remember the solitary trips so far from the paved roads.
Your friend,
Chuck -
hmmm....mmmm...a beautiful portrait you have painted of a desert...which bring to mind something someone I love very much asked in the first few days after meeting..."What is interesting in desert flatland?" my reply was similar to this poem...if you open your eyes and look, you can be thouroughly amazed at what oyu shall see, from the skies to what lies beneath the earth and everything in between...a beautiful poem...best of wishes to you...~genielassie~
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