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High Desert Art

Pressed

10/26/2021

My
Kitchen
Is
A
Treasure
Trove
Of
Dust.
I Really
Must
Clean
The
Stove,
A
Drove
Of
Spills
Decorate
The
Inner
Works
Where
Oils
Lurk,
But
What
A
Drag
To
Toil
With
My
Pail
And
Rag.
I’ve
Got
Better
Things
To
Do,
I Require
A
Cleaning
Crew,
That’s
All
I Ask,
To
Spare
Me
From
This
Tiresome
Task.
But
There’s
Always
More.
After
That,
I Ought
To
Mop
The
Floor.

October Array

10/24/2021

In
The
High
Desert
Park,
A
Spangle
Of
Stars
In
A
Tangle
Of
Gaseous
Galaxies
Pass
In
Review,
Spinning
Through
My
View
Ancient
And
Ever
New,
To
Make
Bright
The
Cobalt
Night.

Tunnel

10/22/2021

That
Night,
Because
Of
The
Rain,
I Was
Late
For
The
Train,
And
Watched
Its
Light
Fade
From
Sight.
I Waited
In
The
Ozone
And
Rust,
The
Oily
Dust
On
The
Track
Grimy
Black,
Caught
The
9:10,
And
Never
Went
Back
There
Again.

Autumn

10/20/2021

In
Late
October
The
Garden
Still
Blooms
And
Sunshine
Fills
The
Morning
Rooms,
But
Old
Man
Winter
Distantly
Looms,
To
Steal
Away
These
Summery
Days.
The
Constant
Sun
Keeps
The
Southwest
Warm,
A
Welcome
Charm
Against
The
Cold
As
This
Troubled
Year
Grows
Old.

Sugarhigh

10/18/2021

I’m
Making
The
Scene
This
Halloween.
No
Kids
Come
To
Our
Door
Anymore,
But
That’s
Okay,
There’s
Candy
Galore
At
The
Grocery
Store,
And
As
Proof
I Care,
I’m
Eating
My
Share.
Two
Bags
Of
Butterfingers
And
A
Rather
Forlorn
Sack
Of
Candy
Corn
Have
Been
Consumed
Until
I Almost
Have
No
More
Room.
What
Can
I Say?
The
Holiday
Is
Still
Two
Weeks
Away.

On Writing

10/16/2021

*Vintage Postcard*

What
Can
Poetry
Mean
But
A
Feeling
Seen?
What
Is
Prose,
But
Feelings
Both
Seen
And
Heard,
Then
Captured
In
A
Precious
Word?
What
Are
We
But
Our
Cherished
Expression,
That
Written
Confession
Of
How
In
Life
We
Would,
If
We
Only
Could?

Hubris

10/14/2021

*Conflict* Assemblage 5 1/4" H Cocobolo Base

Couple
Of
Hot
Blood
Rich
Studs
Are
Invading
Space.
Gee,
What
A
Gift
To
The
Human
Race,
Giant
Egos
Pointed
Toward
Venus
In
A
Chubby
Ship
Shaped
Like
A
Penis,
And
Maybe
On
To
Mars,
To
Rape
The
Very
Stars.
Thank
God
The
Fools
Don’t
Get
That
Far
At
All,
And
Back
They
Fall
To
The
Earth
They’ve
Created,
Deathly
Sick
And
Torn
With
Conflict.

Tumult

10/12/2021

*Landscape* 20" H X 24" W Oil On Linen

The
Wind
Rushes
In
With
A
Shout,
To
Bend
Tree
Branches
And
Turn
The
Leaves
Inside
Out.
To
The
South,
An
Approaching
Hurricane
Will
Flood
Mexico
With
Rain.
To
The
North,
Heavy
Snow
Will
Blow
Down
The
Rocky
Mountain
Chain.
I Stand
Between
On
My
Patch
Of
Sand,
As
Winter
Weather
Grips
The
Land
With
A
Pitiless
Hand.

Concerto

10/10/2021

*Noelle Rollins*

The
Cello
Is
An
Instrument
Seemingly
Honed
From
A
Massive
Cuttlebone,
That
When
Bowed
Emits
A
Most
Pleasant
Groan.
Tucked
Between
The
Knees,
Neat
As
You
Please,
When
Expertly
Played
It
Can
Sway
A
Multitude
Or
Two
Like
Nothing
Else
Can
Do,
And
Musically
Say
A
Thousand
Secret
Messages
To
Sweep
The
Heart
Away.

Pilgrims

10/8/2021

*Winter* 20" H X 32" W Oil On Linen

The
Mountain
Stands,
Ridged
As
The
Landscape
Of
A
Hand,
Gnarled
Knuckles
Grasping
The
Quartz
And
Sand.
Strangers
Come
To
Stand
Atop
The
Crest
And
Reverently
Gaze
To
The
West,
As
Though
To
Be
Ten
Thousand
Feet
Above
The
Air
Misted
Rest
Somehow
Makes
Them
Feel
Blessed.