Thursday, May 21, 2015

New Mexico

shade ‘f th’white sands courtyard,
th’lass tells ‘f th’oryx, by th’mountains,
who has no en’mies

pinon coffee lass -
so sweet ‘n’ friendly at th’white sands,
even on th’longest day

th’white sands skink darts t’ward
th’slight shade ‘f th’pepperweed – th’hiker
seeks th’smile ‘f th’pinon lass

day, white sands tourists,
sleds ‘n’ wax, and sunscreen – at night,
the moon, and th’wildlife


sun-baked adobe –
filmmakers’ve found th’set, ‘n’ now, it’s
back t’albuquerque

off las alturas,
road crosses a baked-out wash,
lizard hides in shade

dry years th’bears come down,
picking through th’cloudcroft dumpsters –
th’woods just aren’t enough

pelenque ‘n’ th’temples –
he trades th’stories for fresh fruit
at th’deming crossroads

get out of this sun,
some water on roadside tongue -
'n alamogordo

five floors b’neath th’desert,
th’holloman kid stays out ‘f th’sun
‘n’ bombs afghanistan

likes t’take th’kids t’bluff springs
high in th’mountains, out of th’heat,
‘n’ you can drink th’water

roswell's alien
culture - tourists, reflection,
midsummernight's glass

up from santa fe,
th’artists, th’tourists, th’pueblo folks –
soft sun ‘n th’northbound road

shade of ancient tree,
westbound view of mesquite sign -
through texas at last

zia flag ‘n’ pastel –
sun’ll hit th’adobe post branch,
th’outsiders won’t stay

sangre de cristo
communes, one more carload ‘f kids –
th’summer they said no

coyote’s story –
took th’smugglers out t’t or c,
they killed’m in th’hot sun

high ‘n th’sacramentos,
summer lightning ‘n th’dry canyon –
could be fire next time

town 'f organ's ruins -
whatever else happened, they
watched th'valley sizzle

hiker 'n pickup bed
tells why th'onate statue
is missing one foot

up th’canyon from th’town,
past th’fresnal caves, springs, in th’shade
‘f th’big fat cottonwood

family ‘f six skunks –
even in th’tourist season,
plenty ‘f room ‘n cloudcroft

six times, one summer
through oilfields down t'artesia,
fin'ly finds th'pecos

midnight in lordsburg
in sultry silence, th’police
might be waiting

high in th’mogollons,
had t’make th’fire t’keep from freezing,
even in august 

a fine drizzle mist,
steam rises in mesilla -
they call it "monsoon"

jumped any boxcar
said santa fe; buried him
in raton weeds though

from san augustin,
th’blooming desert, now, ‘t th’white sands,
migra’s got th’dogs out

cranes in the bosque -
elegant dance, joyful splash,
desert heat's lifted


t’ward cruces ‘n’ points south,
stops ‘t th’bosque t’watch th’sandhill cranes
they, too, have fled th’north

stops t'watch th'abuela,
th'baby hands her pecans - hobbs
train whistle beckons

pecans ‘n’ th’abuela –
th’child plays an important role
in th’hobbs econ’my

back from montana -
sandhill crane's seen the west,
likes his rio grande

mesilla pecans
in th’shadows, th’rest ‘f th’family
waits t’spend th’proceeds ‘f th’sale

orange glow, th’desert
sun, tularosa-bound train –
hunter’s moon, ‘n th’mountains

roadrunner parkway,
or’nge trees ‘gainst th’jagged organs –
t’her, th’place has an edge

onate statue
crimes ‘n’ th’souls’ day hist’ry lesson –
paid for’m with his leg

she takes his poppy -
deming mom who's lost her son,
she's no more to give

in deming, th’poppies,
‘n’ th’grandmother takes one – ‘n her eyes,
an infinite grief

black friday shoppers
turn collars - mountain wind hits
santa fe plaza

toward the jornada -
even with a bit of frost,
it's dry as a bone

ornaments ‘n th’cactus –
white sands highway reflection,
even now, just th’sun

bare feet up th'mountain,
as promised to la virgen
de guadalupe

turned west ‘n las cruces,
shocked that th’migra’d scanned their tags –
thought they were out’f th’cold

th’cold el nino rain –
th’old sage on el paseo
knows not to miss it


out old sixty-six,
th’neon – th’icy rain ‘n central,
tells of simpler times

dineh coder's tale -
sun hits frost on lead and coal,
war-hardened spirit

light snow on lead ‘n’ coal
his uncles were th’code talkers,
th’code was navajo

maljamar rest stop –
too cold even f’r th’rattlesnake,
million stars ‘n th’oilfields

visions of fuji –
from th’white sands, th’moon hits th’snow
on sierra blanca

gallup’s frozen fields –
how cold, th’amount they drank, tend

place called bugscuffle
if you have t’call th’snowplow guys,
don’t say where you’re from

wild horses in th’snow
belong to th’mescalero
diff’rent kind ‘f “belong”

chaco canyon sun –
in th’wet laundry, finds th’haiku,
new year, east village

hunts th’ibex, new year,
way up ‘n th’florida mountains –
has horns ‘bout yay big

down th’hill t’alamo,
spiny cactus on th’bare rock
made it t’nother year

high 'n th'sacramentos,
snow covers th'old trestle ruins,
but not very well

my dear jackrabbit –
same color as th’frozen grass,
rest well, on th’hope road

hummingbirds hover,
fight at kitchen feeder - march
sun sets on organs

white sands tumbleweeds
can’t expect them t’stop blowing
with nothing t’stop them

promise forgotten,
eyes drawn to cruces' valley -
prickly pear flowers

deming fam'lies' pain,
sore feet sunk in timeless sand -
old bataan stories

rio ruidoso
th’lively mountain streams, y’wonder
if you can drink ‘em

pale purple cactus
at my feet blooming - beyond,
organs and blue sky

migra near white sands -
shrewd judge of spring tumbleweeds
calmly steps aside

spring ‘n silver city
th’town with th’vicious miner’s strike
has kids named ‘peace’ ‘n’ ‘love'

hope desert rabbit –
back ‘n april, couldn’t see you,
now, ‘n may, you’re th’whole road

plains northwest ‘f roswell
chinook winds keep ‘m bare, ‘n’ secrets
tend t’make th’headlines

wild mountain thistle,
declared ‘n outlaw ‘n ruidoso
‘n’ prettier for it

hope road cent’ry plant
alone and ornamental,
it rules th’horizon

old vet, shaggy beard
tells how hot th’white sands road gets
during th’bataan march

th’pines get th’fresh green shoots,
says th’trestle trail flute player,
even in th’dry years

chinook winds, endless
plain - down in roswell, alien
guards th'car dealership

points out th’wild iris
near th’path, th’high sacramentos
tougher, ‘n’ less showy

apache summit
th’gambler, looking for th’signs, sees
th’stand ‘f red hot pokers

show'rs make cacti bloom
soft desert colors catch sun,
gracing jornada

woods near ruidoso
th’old guy knows ‘bout all th’back trails,
likes t’pick up antlers

weed rancher’s cougar –
tell th’game boys he wanted th’lambs,
they’ll look th’other way

sky's pinks and yellows
frame jagged organs - steal eyes
from apache plumes

june sun, mesquite sign –
eight hundred miles of texas
finally behind him

on high cruces ramp,
distracted by wide valley -
few spring raindrops


stand ‘f red hot pokers
lass at apache summit
on th’horse, turns away

maljamar rest stop –
she sees th’desert wildflowers
once th’shade soothes her eyes


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