Arches Moonrise Portrait Fantasy
Best Large-An updated look at this old skull-headed butte rock in Arches National Park at night. It looks like one of the reptile creatures from some old movie. This has been de-saturated and cleaned up for a better presentation.
The Desert Has a Voice (James Watkins)
The desert has a voice that calls
In dry, dirt dreams-
Warm, wind-washed wonders
In wingless, soulless flight.
Cold, moonlit masquerades
Through long level years,
Crying out with countless cares on deafened ears-
Drowned in measured, motor-muffled madness,
And child-chattered, purposeless flight.
Quietly, calmly calling-
Darkened, deepening desert-
Star-filled with stumbling stalkers
And wounded warriors in fevered nights.
Dreams-peaceful, persistent, dreams-
As wheeled sky turns
Eternal turning, evening eyes-
And thoughts of morning colored light.
Millennial seas-
Doomed and dusty years-
Row upon heaping row of years-
Tears-
Caked, covered
And desolate.
The desert has a voice-
That calls and halts
And peers with perfect perspective-
Stopping us in our way.
“I have seen blood-stained battles!
I have seen despot desires!
I have seen prophets come and go,
And ages pass with shallow…glancing blows!
I have seen civilizations crumble…
Tumbling, heavy-handed
Into pagan pasts!”
The desert has a voice-
And every grain of sand has a name-
Every wind-blown grain of sand.
And someone-somewhere-knows the names.
They have perfect place and purpose-
Rocks cry out! Rocks….sing!
Some soaring angelic scribe somewhere
Records the history of rocks, and sands, and deserts.
Drab, dull, drifting desert distances and plans.
Ragged, jagged, craggy-edged
Mountain spine explosions and
Dry, desert sand.
The desert has voice and future-
With lifted hill-high green valley-
And clear bright stream winding
To cool, crystalline sea.
They wait….silently…
Almost… forever waiting-
But I know the secret of deserts-
And –
Dreams.
James Watkins-April 2006
Arches Moonrise Portrait Fantasy
Best Large-An updated look at this old skull-headed butte rock in Arches National Park at night. It looks like one of the reptile creatures from some old movie. This has been de-saturated and cleaned up for a better presentation.
The Desert Has a Voice (James Watkins)
The desert has a voice that calls
In dry, dirt dreams-
Warm, wind-washed wonders
In wingless, soulless flight.
Cold, moonlit masquerades
Through long level years,
Crying out with countless cares on deafened ears-
Drowned in measured, motor-muffled madness,
And child-chattered, purposeless flight.
Quietly, calmly calling-
Darkened, deepening desert-
Star-filled with stumbling stalkers
And wounded warriors in fevered nights.
Dreams-peaceful, persistent, dreams-
As wheeled sky turns
Eternal turning, evening eyes-
And thoughts of morning colored light.
Millennial seas-
Doomed and dusty years-
Row upon heaping row of years-
Tears-
Caked, covered
And desolate.
The desert has a voice-
That calls and halts
And peers with perfect perspective-
Stopping us in our way.
“I have seen blood-stained battles!
I have seen despot desires!
I have seen prophets come and go,
And ages pass with shallow…glancing blows!
I have seen civilizations crumble…
Tumbling, heavy-handed
Into pagan pasts!”
The desert has a voice-
And every grain of sand has a name-
Every wind-blown grain of sand.
And someone-somewhere-knows the names.
They have perfect place and purpose-
Rocks cry out! Rocks….sing!
Some soaring angelic scribe somewhere
Records the history of rocks, and sands, and deserts.
Drab, dull, drifting desert distances and plans.
Ragged, jagged, craggy-edged
Mountain spine explosions and
Dry, desert sand.
The desert has voice and future-
With lifted hill-high green valley-
And clear bright stream winding
To cool, crystalline sea.
They wait….silently…
Almost… forever waiting-
But I know the secret of deserts-
And –
Dreams.
James Watkins-April 2006