Off the Bedouin Trails: The Sahara, Northeast of Al Jawf

Exhausted, spent in moans, sirocco winds 
expose mauve basalt fists, torn minarets
in rows; each distant bruise a broken tooth,
an island in a storm-wracked copper sea.
Along ghost-rivers hollow torrents swirl
as barren dust-clouds gutter out like flames
and slurs of powdered lions, reshaped dunes,
stir like the blurred wings of a million moths.
As each dun mountain shivers redefined,
anonymous tan desert tides dissolve,
while night exhales its frozen breath and moors
the darkest craft upon this wretched shore.

The sun's rise bleeds a mystery of light,
revealing obscure marks on ribbed inclines;
the cuneiform of insect trails, short works
of foreign text in undulating Braille.
Poised, lapis-tongued, a lizard tilts to hear,
susurrus-soft, red butterflies descend
while scorpions as silent as sea-shells
await mistakes, beneath a cornflower sky.
From spider threads, ripe rosaries of dew 
cascade; a dawn's accumulated wealth 
disbursed as bounty, showered on the meek
alive upon the Great Absence of sand.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

The point of this exercise was to choose a form, Haiku or titled School Haiku (otherwise known as 5/7/5) creating a progressive series of three poems on one topic, spring.  Each series could be titled.

FIRST PLACE

fern shadows
frame brilliant yellow
skunk cabbage

mayfly shadows
lure ancient trout from
lairs under banks

crescent shadows
skim over slow rivers
swifts come home

Tiel Aisha Ansari, Portland, OR, USA

desert sunrise
red sky joins red sandstone
cool morning breeze

dry river bed
has water flowing
from snow melt

soft night rain
mesa covered with
wildflowers

Jim Applegate, Roswell,  NM, USA

Life and Death

swaying 
bougainvillea blossoms 
burst into flame

hummers line
nesting cups
with spider's silk

apple trees 
fruitless 
silent beehives 

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA

Awakening

pine boughs
flicker
fireflies

lake echoes
courting harumps
bullfrogs

breeze scatters
cloying whiffs
hyacinths

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA 

Ocean Beach, April 2007 

pale sky
the thrash of waves
against eroding cliffs

first rain
seagulls gather
on a jutting rock

unseasonable storm
palm fruit scattered
on the sidewalk

Terrie Leigh Relf, San Diego, CA, USA

Orange sky beckons
trees, flowers, birds in waiting
morning turns to night

Night shadows cover,
small birds sharp chirping softens,
the sound of stillness

Linda Balboni, Franklin, MA, USA
============
Music in the Air

Colour blasted fields
Ripples on lake fold sun rays
Snow flakes are water

Sparrow hop on trees
Daffodils gaze upwards as
blossoms caress breeze

Dandelions cheer
Swarm of bees gather nectar
Earthworms dig in-out.

Aparna Belapurkar-Razdan, London, UK
============
red, yellow, orange
tulips spread cross the garden
in imperfect rows

limbs litter the ground
windows broken when they fall
petals blown inside

rhododendron blooms
crowd where forest and road meet
a parade begins 

Gary Blankenship, Bremerton, WA, USA
============
Playing Outside Once Again

muddy sneaker prints
embellish black-tarred driveway 
girls' softball season

soap bubbles and chalk
compete for lone attention
by old striped lawn chair

tiny sour cherries
fall on bubbles, chalk and mud
in late afternoon

RJ Clarken, Hillsborough, NJ, USA
============
shades

white stems stake dark soils
rising true new growth confounds
winter's final winds 

shedding withered bark
yellow dappled limbs transform
peppered by ripe buds

bedded in moist earth
verdant shoots trace day's long arc
drawn to changing light

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA
============
Forsythia greens
On the tip of one branch
Yellow

Promise at dusk
Mild air is rich
After rain

Mother's Day
Dandelion stem
Some seeds still hang on

Mary E. Gray, Newport News, Virginia, USA
============
Woodlawn Scenes

Unencumbered paths
Narrow and contract, barred by 
Prickly overgrowth

Geese preening afloat
Algae-free refractory
Liquid greens and golds

Orange blossom drips
Blanketing both trails and pond
In pearlescent down

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA, USA
============
rain in blossoms
dies away
nightingale's song

river after storm
one end of rainbow
on every bank

weeping willow in buds
between branches smell of
primroses

Marek Kozubek, Zywiec, Silesia, POL 
============
Seasonal Calisthenics and Such

foliage rebirths
new coats on trees slosh their sleeves
grounds inhale sky's drip

rambunctious risings
cumulonimbus pouches
walls of water fall

tarantula taps
sun reflects to rainbow arcs
seas of flowers soon

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
============
Snow Flower

Snow melt on mountain
Streaming down slope into pond
Mirrors daffodils

Magnolia Blossoms
Scattered by leaping frog
Startles drinking deer

Sun sparkled snow flakes
Blown with blossoms fall on grass
Half hiding robin

Frances Schiavina, Ardmore, PA, USA
============
days of rain
yield spawning frogs
budding trees
 

buds afloat
on stream waters
greening leaves
 

bluebonnets
in fields of green and gold
royal blue

Maria Eugenia Stanphill, San Antonio, TX, USA 
============
Houston's March to May

Forties to fifties
birds gathering to fly north
sky turns fresh clear blue

Fifties to sixties
first migrants arrive in parks
north winds and thunder

Sixties to eighties
cypress trees under damp heat
gold warblers build nests

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
 

FIRST PLACE

Off the Bedouin Trails: The Sahara, Northeast of Al Jawf

Exhausted, spent in moans, sirocco winds 
expose mauve basalt fists, torn minarets
in rows; each distant bruise a broken tooth,
an island in a storm-wracked copper sea.
Along ghost-rivers hollow torrents swirl
as barren dust-clouds gutter out like flames
and slurs of powdered lions, reshaped dunes,
stir like the blurred wings of a million moths.
As each dun mountain shivers redefined,
anonymous tan desert tides dissolve,
while night exhales its frozen breath and moors
the darkest craft upon this wretched shore.

The sun's rise bleeds a mystery of light,
revealing obscure marks on ribbed inclines;
the cuneiform of insect trails, short works
of foreign text in undulating Braille.
Poised, lapis-tongued, a lizard tilts to hear,
susurrus-soft, red butterflies descend
while scorpions as silent as sea-shells
await mistakes, beneath a cornflower sky.
From spider threads, ripe rosaries of dew 
cascade; a dawn's accumulated wealth 
disbursed as bounty, showered on the meek
alive upon the Great Absence of sand.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

Great Basin Watercolors

The Great Basin: call it the unpainted
desert. Pronghorns fade into dry grass.
Bitter alkali dust, silver sagebrush

saltbush, savory wild onion and juniper:
grey and pungent landscapes. Spring pours
over the rimrock, filling basins like paint.

Name these colors: primrose, lupine, poppy,
yellow-headed blackbird, blue jay, scarlet
tanager, gold dust, Indian paintbrush.

As if careless angels had kicked over the can
they use to fill in rainbows they have sketched
on the basin of the sky— multi-colored paint
spilled on the desert. Time to stretch, breathe
gather up the travelling easel and palette
shake the dust from your favorite sable brushes.

Waste no time. The bloom doesn't last
and if you linger on the lichen-crusted rimrock
a basin full of watercolors may turn to dry paint
and only dust greet the caress of your brush. 

Tiel Aisha Ansari, Portland, OR, USA 

The Monument Valley Extra 

Ancient Navajos recorded events by cutting pictographs 
On giant sandstone mittens rising from the dessert 
Bison and deer flee from arrows shot by head-dressed hunter 
Hand prints follow rainbows, snakes and zigzag lightening 
Stick figures in masks rain dance for corn crops 
Forests of blooming cacti seek water source 
Mythical figures on Tepees protect families 
The rock art messages will stand
Long after The New York Times has folded 
Long after CNN's voice has faded

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA 

Kalahari Quondam

Parched lips and skin...
She reaches out to me
as if I were her lonely oasis,
amidst scorched sands of another time.
She is desire,
and her arid beauty
sings of the long lost omuramba,
beloved by a dead tribe.
Keir.
That's what they call this place,
a waterless place, a place full of gritty thirst.
Still, I cannot deny 
how exquisite it is,
although I cannot, for the life of me,
explain why
I feel it is so.
I extend my hand
to touch her, to hold her, to hold onto her,
if but only for a moment.
And then, that moment passes by us,
fleeting past sere landscape
like a sirocco,
like a cheetah sprinting
in for the kill.

RJ Clarken, Hillsborough, NJ, USA

Uncommon color pallets tint rain's blush.
Sage purple hues mix cacti's light and dark
where tall tree-yucca trails enchant the walk.
Small Humming birds group-swarm, then dart between 
stiff paint brush stems, sip nectar drops from blooms.
Oasis magic waves sparse raindrops' wand,
creates cave primrose gardens, cascade walls 
while butterflies flit flutter, color space. 

Yet night dons flimsy weaves. Transparent wisps
eat light when vampires shadow giants' play. 
Saguaros flash chic boa's di'mond scales.
Faint silhouettes design pale moon's dry lakes
when canine bands begin the hunters' dance
and impish devils sprinkle star dust bait.
But come dawn's light, the alter ego hides.
Limp shadows yield to sleep mid Joshua trees.

Yvonne Nunn  Hermleigh, TX, USA
Senior Poet Laureate of Texas   2006
==========
Death Valley in Five Acts

ACT I: Denial and Isolation
Hunkered amongst this cavernous vale,
Nothing but solar rays can touch me.
Like a sarcophagus I'm buffeted
From the relentless tug of the Great Divide.

ACT II: Anger
As the serpentine roads that slither
Through this swale's undulating dunes,
I sibilantly defy Thanatos's encroachment:
"Cease this senseless separation"…from you.

ACT III: Bargaining
Why do both human and divine forsake me
To swelter in this arid purgatory?
I'd give my last potable swig for a few
More inestimable instances with you.

ACT IV: Depression
Nary a drop of precipitation descends
But the saline aqueous I shed for you.
As gritty as the sandy underpinning,
They scratch both optic orbs and panorama.

ACT V: Acceptance
Like the spiny Senita cactus
Whose appendages cradle succulent fruit,
I will one day bear silent witness
To your incorporeal perpetuation.

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA, USA

Poet's Note: The Acts of this poem are the five stages of grief as defined by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross.
==========
Sloughs of Sand at Carlsbad's Living Desert 

     The Bison move about purposelessly, grazing on clumps of Muhlenbergia.  The purple seed heads of this New Mexico native grass offers them nourishing meals in the desert's deep drought.  Deer, coyotes, rabbits, and small reptiles  vie also for the miniature cattails of Deergrass.
                   desert animals
                   superiority wins
                   native grass victuals 
     Carlsbad's Living Desert remains the same.  Javelinas are enemies to the habitat.  Their prolonged squeaks and squeals terrorize the thirsty terrains' creatures as they wallow with pleasure in sloughs of sand.
                   floundering wild pigs
                   erupts when hunger pangs strike
                   any movement fair game 
     Columnar cereus cacti bloom at dawn in seas of red, wine, and marigold.  Toads rustle in brier mounds and Berlandiera which sends its morning ritual of chocolate scents savored by humming bees and finches.  Thistles pop underfoot a visitor's walk.  At midnight, wildlife hurry and scurry when coyotes haunt them with their taunting songs.
                   blooms wilt as sun fades 
                   coyotes howl a master's song 
                   wildlife hunts cover 

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
Poet's Note:  This was written in the Haibun form.
==========
Desert Song

The leathered nomad appears from no-man's land
spectre from a coffee table book on the past
a pocketful of authenticity deep in his robes; 
he sits with reverence and self-respect
faces the tourist group he is to entertain—

What must he think of what he sees before him?

He falls into an old encouraging mantra
to camels that are not there, but a truck that is;
ancient fingers on an antiquated instrument thread
old notes into new ears; ethereal campfire shadows 
obscure the dry, stretched desert face;
partially hidden lips mouth out meaningless words—
novelty of an insubstantial life.

His audience listlessly sits, listens.
Then the final phrase, delivered; the final note, plucked—
an enveloping darkness absorbs the message;
empty winds whisper already known secrets 
to always listening sands. Sometime in the night he drifts away 
another lost, drawn out song, into looming, folded dunes.

In the morning, a set of footprints track into desolate scenery—
nobody follows them to see where they have led.

Brady Riddle, Muscat, Sultanate of Oman
==========
Great Basin Campsite

Spring has come to the Great Basin.
Big sagebrush goes on for miles and miles;
sprinkled with yuccas and scant cacti. 
A tiny rain shower will quench the thirst 
of the sassiest bushes and flora. 
Outdoorsy folks on motorcycles enjoy 
the romantic chilly morning as they ride
through the snake trails with bare necessities. 
But the mid-day heat will make 
the fiercest rattlers seek sun-screen shelter
and steer developers into other parts of Nevada.

Eileen Sateriale, Bowie, MD, USA 
==========
Hunter Mouse

Light's needles sewing my eyes
Plucking nerves screeching of tires
I want to go to sleep in the Sonoran
While the inhabitant hunt
Steal their hut
Hidden from rattling reptiles
Coyote hunting Grasshopper
Howling of the hunted hunter mouse
Giants, monsters
The Iguana
The scorpion the Gila
The Saguaro
Opening its night white petals
A lamppost with candelabra of flowers
The lizard on awakening takes a shower
Of sunbeams
While savoring the magic
Orange red yellow
Golden flowers
A sunset that winks
And quickly vanishes
Light needles, screeching tires
Spilled the glass of chamomile
Slumbering on the sandy Sonoran.

Frances Schiavina, Ardmore, PA, USA
==========
Atacama: A Deserted Memory

Andes rainshadow's creation.
Host to ghosts, arid location.
A plateau of salt basins, sand
and lava flows. Pinochet's land.

Ancient mummies, its dry dirt stores.
At Chuqui mine, are copper ores.
Saltpeter boom towns, forgotten.
One, a prison camp so rotten.

There, in dead silence, landmines lost
grim chain of souls, sweet freedom's cost.
Hades of healers, professors
and artists fenced by oppressors.

And while motels, Calama boasts
Atacama touts mostly ghosts.
Its soil, in places, that of Mars:
deserted memory of scars.

Maria Eugenia Stanphill, San Antonio, TX, USA 
============
Stark Beauty

Here in the Big Bend of Texas
Where the rain is a sometime burst
And the rivers are few and scattered
And the world a white badge to thirst,
Where days leave you drained and dusty
And the night is a long dark chill,
Where at first glance all seems lifeless,
Eyes that look can spot beauty still.
The roadrunner trots through pitaya
With a jaunty bob of his tail;
The cactus wren sings to the sunrise
And teases the bobwhite quail.
The night is a spatter of sprinklings
From the silver sphere of the moon,
While out in the ebony blackness
The coyote wails his tune.
There's a certain beauty in bareness
That few landscapes on earth can know;
There's a strange joy in desolation
Where only a few may go;
A plethora of life in the starkness,
Where the whole world seems wild and free:
For such is the way of the desert
For those souls who have eyes to see!

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
 

FIRST PLACE

Peace March in 4/4 Time

Just outside the cemetery
they waved their placards.
Just outside the cemetery
he waved his camera. 

Just outside the cemetery,
not crossing the line,
yelling hate-filled words,
they filled his tableau.

History was his story:
this bigotry was obscenity.
Another GI was buried
just inside the cemetery.

A family made peace 
just inside this cemetery.
What was that peace
just inside the cemetery...

RJ Clarken, Hillsborough, NJ, USA

Progress

There's a vacant lot on the north side of town
where the trees have grown wild for years
where no one lives except woodpeckers
and other birds, and butterflies and wildflowers.

When the lot went up for sale
housing developments were sprouting everywhere
like weeds in a garden
and the neighborhood cried Not in My Backyard.

The city bought the site
--not for public buildings
not for playgrounds and picnic tables
--just to keep it the way everyone loves it.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, Texas, USA

Mt. St. Helens: 2004 - Present

The images are everywhere. The lava dome
framed by snow; the plumes of ash and steam
brilliant in April sun. White glaciers overlook
the city in tranquility, hiding magma heat.

The shadow of this brightness: Nineteen-eighty.
Half a mountain gone in seconds. Pyroclastic flow,
forests leveled, lives swept away, a lake destroyed
towns hundreds of miles distant choked in ash.

The city skyline changed forever. Old-timers
look over their shoulders and mutter in mistrust—
you never know, you never know when she'll
go and blow up again, the mountain next door.

Tiel Aisha Ansari, Portland, OR, USA 

The Bee Puzzle

The mystery of 
Silent bee hives
Is the buzz word 
On every farm.

Workers leave
To fill pollen pockets
And fail to return
What's the harm? 

An Ancient art of navigation 
Lost for profit, engineered for gain
With prefab cones and imported pollen
A grave mystery to solve.

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA

His obituary read:
“Died unexpectedly at home,”
As if his death
Warranted special sympathy.

Not “unexpected” in the sense
Of a fatal fall from the roof
Or an unforeseen circulatory clot
Striking the heart, mind you.

Not “at home” in the 
Peaceful passing in his sleep
Kind of way either.
No, he died “unexpectedly at home”…

From a bullet to his own brain—
Murder with a deadly weapon,
Like the intoxicated vehicle he once wielded
Into the path of their beloved late mother.

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA, USA
==========
There Were a Half-dozen Boniello's

Ten years ago their mom made history,
one-hundred twenty three days,
the longest pregnancy
for sextuplets.

The six active preteens run here and there,
involved in bowling, soccer,
piano and gymnastics.
One knits and one loves to climb trees.

Fourth graders now
and full of good health, they are normal kids.
In a unique way
their birthday celebration

included a personalized cake
and a full-ride scholarship for each one.
It was held where their
Mom made history ten years earlier.

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
==========
From An X-File Log

The morning dawned, lithe cattails rode the breeze.
Five fishermen sat on the bank with poles.
Like eyes before the storms breed quiet calm,
the stillness shred the wind's bedeviled play.

A ripple twisted, toe-tapped bays' wild dance.
A distant side show moved like stiff necked swans
while frothy spume ejected purple hues,
created fog, cast geyser silhouettes. 

Two motor boats raced to the waist-high slough.
The fishermen dropped paddles, swam ashore
while sun's red pent up rays crab-walked the banks.
An eerie silence floated clouds of fear.

A dome shaped craft emerged from depths of bay,
thrust skyward, hurled bay drops like spring's first hail.
It joined the sun, reflected rainbow spans.
The earth and sky forever share a bond.

Yvonne Byrd Nunn, Hermleigh, TX, USA
Senior Poet Laureate of Texas   2006
==========
Ain't Funny

He read in the paper he was dead
Pondering: Am I in Heaven or Hell
The phone rang
He answered. Heard: "Are you dead?"

Tore a piece of bread
Chewed, chewed it again
It felt good
Called Greg.

He made a few calls,
Said he wasn't dead,
A relative had placed the ad
Conspiring to build on our land.

Frances Schiavina, Ardmore, PA  USA
 

FORM:  Serious Verse or Light Verse

Poets were asked to write a titled poem, twenty lines or fewer, in two or three stanzas. about what might be literally or metaphorically discovered next to, above, or below a rock in their garden.  This competition has two winners, one for light verse, one for serious verse. 
============ 
FIRST PLACE - SERIOUS VERSE

Denrut Stegenot's Stone gets Turned

Exposed, the secret heart of little things, 
a hidden world of silent earth, upturned.
Undone; bland swirls of ice-white grass, thin soil, 
a scuttling of shells, slight wings. All eyes 
purblind, senseless.  A web-dark, yet alert
long-limbed black spider-creepy, crawls away.
Scattered, shapes recoil too fast; too light,
for shadow nests where unknown monsters hide.
Now, as the moments pass and beasts make off,
the emptiness of life disturbed descends.

The emptiness of life-disturbed descends 
now, as the moments pass and beasts make off
for shadow nests. Where, unknown, monsters hide
(scattered shapes recoil too fast), two light
long-limbed black spiders creepy-crawl away 
purblind, senseless. A web, dark yet… Alert!
A scuttling of shells! Slight wings all, eyes; 
undone, bland swirls of ice. White grass-thin soil, 
a hidden world of silent earth upturned,
exposed – the secret heart of little things.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

Arthrospore Dancers

abbraca dabbrace
Arthropods, Arthropods
isolate under my 
rocks in garden;

scatter and patter in
isogeothermic
paths when disturbed and then
beg your pardon.

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA