Sunday, March 22, 2009

Sharmagne Leland-St. John


Sunrise lights the craggy peaks
Coyote lifts his head and speaks
To the rosy dawn
Snowflakes flutter off and on
And water fills the swirling creeks

As shadows fall across the range
The colours of the mountains change
Much later still with shadows gone
They're speckled like an autumn fawn
Nature seeks to rearrange

Her palette in the desert sky
Slowly Buzzard begins to fly
In circles high above the ground
His eye on something he has found
A creature left to die

Buzzard thinks he'll take a bite
The creature far too weak to fight
Just as Buzzard folds his weary wings
Coyote lifts his head and sings
To the starry night

Feathers scatter across the sand
Owl takes his watchful stand
Coyote lifts his head to croon
Silhouetted by the winter moon
As darkness falls upon this ancient land
Jeffry Jensen


I've always imagined myself to
be a flint boy with coyote
smarts and buffalo heart.
As such, I've found a way to
live in the cut of a sunbaked
canyon that runs from a full
moon to a century of rabbit
holes with my big black bear feet
protruding all the way to the stars.
Jerry Garcia


On rocky hillside,
I trudge toward a vantage,
trip over other travelers,
cans, wrappers and butts,
such unconvincing guides.

Tangled vines make faces
in setting sun shadows.
Disapproving branches bow
and shutter remaining light.

“The North Star will lead a man home,”
so I am told by mariner friends.
But here where the roads cross
under trees edged by clouded glow,
my neck strains to find that fabled light.