Blog Archives - High Desert Art

High Desert Art

Scribe

9/30/2021

Year
After
Year,
Writers
Search
For
Readers
To
Hear
What
Tales
They
Bring,
Laboring
To
Make
Words
Sing
And
Reach
The
Ear
Of
Those
Who
Understand
The
Secret
Longings
They
Propose
In
Work
From
The
Hand
Of
Poets
And
Players
Who
Expose
Dreams
In
Metered
Prose.
Read
On,
Before
The
Chance
To
Know
Them
Is
Gone.

Chilly

9/28/2021

*Smith Apple* 10" H X 8" W Acrylic On Canvas

Autumn
Creeps
In
On
Little
Flat
Feet
As
The
Apples
Grow
Sweet,
And
The
Leaves
Fade
To
A
Muted
Shade.
My
Summer
Clothes
Are
Too
Thin
To
Bear
The
Cooling
Wind,
And
I Open
The
Trunk
Of
Winter
Junk,
Sorry
To
Lose
Warmth’s
Easy
Grace,
To
Face
The
Cold
With
Only
My
Old
Coat
And
Hat,
And
Once
Again,
Make
Do
With
That.

Night Magic

9/26/2021

With
A
Supple
Wand
Of
Willow,
I Change
My
Memories
Into
A
Pillow,
And
Regard
The
Myriad
Stars,
Each
One
Bright
In
The
Reflection
Of
Another
Sun,
To
Show
Me
How
Recollection
Alters
Time,
And
Erases
Long
Past
Days
Into
A
Tidy
Phrase,
Yes,
I Was
There,
And
With
Pleasure,
Took
My
Share.

Gone

9/24/2021

Thinking
Of
Gabby
Petito
And
Folks
Should
Know,
In
The
USA
People
Go
Missing
Every
Day,
No
Matter
Their
Sex,
Color,
Or
Age.
This
Minor
Celebrity,
Pretty
And
White,
Stepped
Into
The
Dark
Night
And
Turned
That
Last
Page,
But
Where
Is
The
Outrage
For
The
Half
Million
Others,
Little
Kids,
Fathers
And
Mothers,
Who
Simply,
Irrevocably,
Disappear
Every
Year?

Strategy

9/22/2021

*Duy Huynh* Never Mind The Clouds

By
And
By,
When
The
World
Runs
Dry,
If
The
Sea
Invades
The
Land,
Take
My
Hand
When
There’s
Nothing
Left
To
Do,
Then
We
Will
Go,
Me
And
You,
Rise
To
Where
The
Eagle
Flies
And
On
The
Mountain
High,
Prepare
To
Catch
The
Wind
And
With
An
Echoing
Sigh,
Die
And
Dissolve
Into
The
Solace
Of
The
Sky.

Concerto In F

9/20/2021

None
Of
Your
Oh,
Say
Can
You
See,
For
The
Music
Of
America,
It’s
Gershwin
For
Me.
He
Captures
The
Heady
Raptures
Of
A
Bustling
Nation
Building
And
Shifting,
Old
Ways
Drifting,
Great
Height
And
Speed
Just
What
We
Need,
Straining,
Growing,
Gaining,
Not
Yet
Knowing
What
Another
War
Would
Do
To
Knock
It
All
Askew
In
A
Loss
Of
Order,
And
Leave
Us
With
The
Urbane,
Weary
Wit
Of
Cole
Porter.

Anthony

9/18/2021

*David Makin* Cornwall

Twenty
No
More,
I Took
A
Lover
On
Tintagel’s
Shore.
I Journeyed
There
To
Take
A
Stand
At
The
End
Of
Land,
And
In
The
Broken
House
Of
An
Ancient
King,
Took
A
Mad
Fling,
And
Then,
Never
Saw
Him
Again.
The
Weathered
Rocks
Remain
In
That
Storied
Place,
And
Often,
I Yearn
To
Return
And
Gaze
Into
His
Beguiling
Face,
Knowing
He
Is
Not
There,
But
Every
Where.

Thursday

9/16/2021

*Nude 2* Oil On Paper

The
Sun
Comes
Up
Right
On
Time
To
Wash
The
House
In
Light.
With
Orange
Juice
And
Black
Tea
I Build
Today’s
Edition
Of
Me,
Fighting
Against
Ennui,
To
Keep
On
Writing
What
I See
In
My
Head
And
Heart
And
Make
A
New
Start.
Eventually,
I’ll
Finish
This
Tea,
Take
Up
My
Electric
Pen
And
Begin
Again.

Aves

9/14/2021

Lately,
I’ve
Heard
The
Noisiest
Bird,
Which
High
Off
The
Ground,
Orders
The
Other
Birds
Around,
But
They
Don’t
Care.
It
Flies
High
Everywhere
With
Scolds
And
Sharp
Cries,
And
I Search
For
It
Above
The
Place,
But
Up
In
Leafy
Space,
It’s
Hard
To
See
What
It
Might
Be,
A
Winged
Dragon
Or
A
Mighty
Hawk
With
A
Giant
Squawk?
I Can’t
Say,
But
One
Day
It
Will
Get
Bored
And
Go
Away.

Defiled

9/12/2021

Unclean
Hands,
Unclean
Hands
In
Guilty
Foreign
Lands,
Unclean
Hands
In
Savage
Politics
And
Sly
Industrial
Tricks,
But
Nothing
Sticks.
All
Washed
In
Oily
Soap,
They
Grope
For
Power
Every
Tainted
Hour
With
Unclean
Hands,
And
Who
Will
Take
A
Moral
Stand,
Lend
A
Clean
And
Righteous
Hand,
And
Make
It
End?