Blog Archives - High Desert Art

High Desert Art

On A Roll

3/30/2021

Try
This,
If
You
Will;
Our
Major
Supply
Of
Wood
Pulp
Comes
From
Brazil.
Currently,
Among
Other
Brazilian
Blips,
They’ve
Run
Themselves
Out
Of
Container
Ships.
After
Cutting
Down
A
Zillion
Trees,
To
Their
Woe,
The
Pulp
Is
About
To
Overflow.
If
It
Doesn’t
Cross
The
Sea,
We
May
Soon
Run
Of
TP.
Also,
Consider
The
National
Howls
When
There’s
No
More
Paper
Towels.
These
Reusable
Sponges
Will
Handily
Clean
Up
Spills
And
Grunges,
But
I Can’t
See
Using
Two
Or
Three
To
Augment
A
Paperless
Pee.

Dwelling

3/28/2021

*Biao Zheng* Vertical

Every
Day,
I Dodge
Disaster,
Sluggish
Pipes
And
Cracking
Plaster.
The
Water
Heater
Burps
A
Regular
Complaint,
And
Here
And
There
Is
Peeling
Paint.
My
House
Is
As
Old
As
Me,
And
It’s
Becoming
Easy
To
See
We’re
More
Or
Less
The
Same
Entity,
Trying
To
Hold
It
All
Together,
In
Unpredictable
Desert
Weather.

Plumage

3/26/2021

How
Do
You
Do?
I Am
A
Maribou,
A
Most
Ungainly
Stork,
Too
Tall
To
Reach
The
Ground,
Too
Short
To
Eat
The
Trees,
I Mostly
Wade
Around
And
Do
Just
As
I Please.
Humans
Steal
The
Rare
Ruff
I Wear
Around
My
Neck,
But
I Don’t
Care,
And
Never
Speak
A
Word.
It’s
All
The
Same
To
Me,
An
Outsized,
Homely,
Sort
Of
Bird,
But
As
Anyone
Can
See,
I Possess
Great
Tranquility.

Weatherish

3/24/2021

The
Daffodils
Are
Blowing
And
On
This
March
Day,
It’s
Snowing.
Winter
Holds
Us
In
It’s
Claw,
Refusing
Spring
Times
Gentle
Thaw,
But
Daffodils
Know
They
Can
Outlast
A
Futile,
Late
Day,
Snow.

Postcard

3/22/2021

*Blood Oranges*

In
Spain,
I Walked
In
Building’s
Shade,
Every
Blazing
Street
An
Uphill
Grade.
In
Between
Countries,
I Was
Waiting
For
A
Flight.
Champagne
Cost
One
Dollar
A
Chill
Bottle,
And,
Recklessly,
I Drank
My
Fill.
At
Breakfast,
My
Hands
Shook
As
The
Cook
Served
Fried
Egg
Accusations.
Soon,
I Began
To
Fear
My
Brain
Was
Melting
Out
My
Ear,
And
Flew
On
To
England
Just
In
Time
To
Send
You
This
Hung
Over
Rhyme.

XX

Verdure

3/20/2021

I Had
All
The
Arbor
Vitae
Trimmed
Some
Time
Ago,
But
All
That
Did
Was
Encourage
Them
To
Grow.
Now
The
Things
Tower
To
A
Story,
Draping
Over
The
Sidewalk
In
Full
Glory,
An
Apartment
House
For
The
Birds,
Who
Quarrel
And
Chatter
In
Bird
Words.
This
Green
Matter
Must
Be
Seen
To,
Before
They
Take
Over
The
House,
As
I Shout,
Let
Me
Out!

Queue

3/18/2021

Plenty
Of
Folks
Ahead
Of
Me,
And
I Can’t
See
The
End
Of
The
Line.
Or
Maybe,
It’s
A
Beginning
Up
There,
Where
I’ll
Find
A
Portal
To
The
Other
Side,
And
Take
Again
That
Long,
Slow,
Mortal
Thrill
Ride,
Packed
With
Joy
And
Pain
And
Strife,
And
Be
Back
In
Line
In
Another
Life.

Beginning

3/16/2021

*Jessica Tepora* Wishing Well

Tears
That
Never
Fell
Fill
A
Wishing
Well
Of
Hope,
And
With
A
Bucket
On
A
Rope,
We
Dip
In
When
We
Must,
To
Wash
Away
The
Rust
Around
The
Heart,
And
Make
Possible
A
Fresh
Start.

Solitude

3/14/2021

*Breakfast - Lunch - Dinner* Adam Guzzo

Mr.
Pinckney
Dines
Alone
On
Soup
Made
From
A
Marrow
Bone.
One
Bowl,
One
Spoon,
And
He
Fills
Up,
His
Cracked
Cup
A
Symbol
Of
His
Loss,
As
He
Reflects
Upon
The
Thimble
Full
Of
Peace
He
May
One
Day
Release,
But
Soon,
His
Frugal
Meal
Is
Finished,
None
Of
His
Grievances
Diminished,
And
Puts
The
Barren
Bone
Of
His
Contention
Away,
To
Simmer
For
Another
Day.

March 12

3/12/2021

The
Morning
Sky
Is
The
Feathered
Breast
Of
A
Giant
Bird
Headed
West,
Dragging
High
Winds
Over
The
Mountain
Crest,
To
Sweep
Away
Winter
Sleep
And
At
Last,
Bring
A
Longed
For
Spring,
To
Renew
Every
Single
Thing.