MJ blathers

dark poet who loves to laugh

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golden eagle

tall, dark and so handsome
he merely lifted his chin and
preened a bit
to display tan-feathers
at the back of his head
turning golden in
the shaft of sunlight
filtering through the trees
at my whispered awe
seven pound male
four-foot magnificent wingspan
talons long, strong, sharp
beak curved downward to a point
ready to tear into flesh
but it was the huge gold-yellow
eyes intent upon me
watching, seeing, knowing
to his disquiet
he could not reach me
through the glass
wall of his cage


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flowing around
or wearing down
or crashing through
as a constructed wall
of movement, of power
bent on destruction
fearsome in fury
healing in tranquility
still waters
yet, even then,
gnawing at its banks
unheedful of man
or his illusion
of control

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arizona’s compressed red sandstone
frazzles into sandpaper wind
but welcomes not a gush of rain
does not absorb its needed
cool moisture, but sheds it
into runoff that gathers with
other rejected trickle that stream
running headlong across the desert floor
diving, gouging, carving slot canyons
glorious in their smooth, sinuous
twists and bands of color
deep by twice or thrice the height of men
but narrow enough often for man to reach both sides
with outstretched arms
adventurers, unaware they are gambling,
lower themselves into these
slot canyons, awed into silence or quiet comment
explore under fierce blue sky
not knowing stormclouds a score of miles afar
have contributed to a gushing flood
now racing toward the low point
scoured years before along unyielding path