THE DESERT IN POETRY
Posted: Apr 03 2002 3:59 pm
'DESERT TEARS'
There out in the corner
of America's great southwest,
some see wasted, barren land,
while others see the best.
A land of open vistas,
sunny skies and starry nights.
The days begin and end
with rainbow colors, awesome sight.
Pastel buttes and mesas
break horizon, what a show.
On sandy soil amd washes
colored plants and cacti grow.
With hiss of snake, coyote call
and wing of hawk in flight,
all things upon this desert
either scratch or sting or bite.
A struggle for survival,
every living thing must face.
To see light of tomorrow
sometimes comes with God's good grace.
A land of rugged beauty,
heat extremes and little rain.
With little room for error,
only wise and strong remain.
But when those desert skies do weep
from darkened clouds so bold.
Those desert tears shed sympathy
for stories gone untold.
For ancient bands of people
come and gone without a trace.
They struggled for existence
then went to their resting place.
And later when replaced
by other tribes of native men,
their struggles...never ending
for survival...fought again.
Then invaders from the east
with gold upon their minds,
they plundered and they pillaged
driven by their greed so blind.
The red man fought against all odds
to save their way of life.
But the ending was forewritten
in this story of their strife.
Those that won the upper hand
against mere mortal men,
were humbled by raw nature
of this fiery desert den.
For nature has the final word
upon the fate of all.
And those who chanced her dangers
often came to their downfall.
So many sad and terrible tales,
untold throughout the years.
They're honored with the 'pitter-pat'
of falling desert tears.
JOHN BUONAURO...Ther Woodcarver
@February 20, 2000
Cowboy Poetry Award Winner 1-13-2001
There out in the corner
of America's great southwest,
some see wasted, barren land,
while others see the best.
A land of open vistas,
sunny skies and starry nights.
The days begin and end
with rainbow colors, awesome sight.
Pastel buttes and mesas
break horizon, what a show.
On sandy soil amd washes
colored plants and cacti grow.
With hiss of snake, coyote call
and wing of hawk in flight,
all things upon this desert
either scratch or sting or bite.
A struggle for survival,
every living thing must face.
To see light of tomorrow
sometimes comes with God's good grace.
A land of rugged beauty,
heat extremes and little rain.
With little room for error,
only wise and strong remain.
But when those desert skies do weep
from darkened clouds so bold.
Those desert tears shed sympathy
for stories gone untold.
For ancient bands of people
come and gone without a trace.
They struggled for existence
then went to their resting place.
And later when replaced
by other tribes of native men,
their struggles...never ending
for survival...fought again.
Then invaders from the east
with gold upon their minds,
they plundered and they pillaged
driven by their greed so blind.
The red man fought against all odds
to save their way of life.
But the ending was forewritten
in this story of their strife.
Those that won the upper hand
against mere mortal men,
were humbled by raw nature
of this fiery desert den.
For nature has the final word
upon the fate of all.
And those who chanced her dangers
often came to their downfall.
So many sad and terrible tales,
untold throughout the years.
They're honored with the 'pitter-pat'
of falling desert tears.
JOHN BUONAURO...Ther Woodcarver
@February 20, 2000
Cowboy Poetry Award Winner 1-13-2001