by Mark Preston
Uncharted Courses
©Mark Preston
Copyright 2014 by Mark Preston
Bad Moon Rising
The yellow-gold light came early this day
Piercing the blue-black clouds overhead;
The moonbeams were like lightning gone astray
Descending from a sky colored like molten lead.
Rain had fallen like a curtain of steel
Pelting the earth with the force of wrath;
The storm had a feeling of being very unreal
As if trying to cleanse this world with a bath.
The desert floor, even the canyons seemed unreal
With the rain that fell, most surprising;
It was like everything could actually feel
That later, there would be a bad moon rising.
There was as legend called a bad moon
It is said by those who had seen them before;
When the heavens part, the Great Spirit appears soon
His righteousness spills forth from Heavens door.
The Saguaro Cactus were like the skeletons of man
Greasewood stood like silent sentinels;
Rushing waters left rivulets in the soft desert sand
Like some unstoppable force continual.
There was a bad moon arising
The Great Spirit was displaying his power;
This desert was awaiting a power most surprising
A figure of mystery was revealed this hour.
A bad moon rising, a omen of the desert
When all creation cowers in fear;
When the earth trembles in fear and hurt
As the Great Spirit speaks for all creation to hear.
Beyond the Great Snow Mountains
Beyond the Great Snow Mountains reaching for the sky
Their shoulders shrouded with the mist of time;
The gray granite boulders eroded by elements from on high
Their legends and lore echo from chants and rhyme.
Legends have it of a hidden valley and city below
Where an ancient people once lived and thrived;
Of them very little is known but much we wish to know
Of their history and livelihood and how they survived.
Legends say that they lived there before time
When great creatures roamed this land;
Their civilization to our knowledge, the only one of its kind
Their race unknown to us, seemingly one of an only band.
It is spoken of paved streets flagged with stone
And in the center of the city stood a huge temple;
Chiseled from the finest of stone
Their culture was far from simple.
Birds of a Feather
The migrating V’s lace the October sky
With fleeting wings reflecting the sun;
Their honking call can be heard as they go by
Headed south on their yearly run.
Each in turn take their turn at helm
Leading that group south upon the wind;
They glide seemingly weightless within their realm
A warmer clime is the goal in the end.
A cool crisp breeze engulfs the land
Streaming endlessly from the North;
V after V come and goes, a sight so grand
Little else can equal its worth.
Honk, Honk, listen to them wail
Go to your winter home, may I follow along?
Take me with you, so I too can sail
To a land of peaceful waters, where I can belong.
Sail away, sail away and take the clouds with you
To wherever you came from on that day;
You know that I would go back with you
If only I could go and find a place to stay.
Blue Collar, Blue Mountains
From his office window down town
His eyes sought something beyond the city haze;
Something that always changed his face to a smile from a frown
It was the distant blue mountains of his younger days.
He remembered the smell of Cedar and pine
The relaxed and lazy sight of the smoke from his fire;
The sounds of the wind as it played upon each tine
Something that could never be made by those for hire.
He loosened the tie that always seemed to choke
The very blood that fed the man inside;
So his mind and heart could listen to the voices as they spoke
To the soul within, that this blue collar sought to hide.
His eyes would travel beyond the asphalt to the horizon
And the blue haze of the mountains;
Of their snow clad peaks and trails he once trod upon
And he felt their coolness like the mists of the fountains.
He remembered the rings of stone
He gathered to hold the flames of his fire;
He visualized their cracks and creases and the story they had shown
To him alone and the soul of his desire.
He remembered the star filled midnight skies
And the touch and feminine softness of the pale moon light;
No one can never replace, no matter how hard one tries
The fire that burns inside or the picture from ones memory sight!
He could smell the coffee and bacon in his pan
He could see the edge of the darkness his fire held at bay;
This office was a desert and he, just a grain of sand
That was blown this way and that, every single day.
He walked to the elevator of this 47th floor
With a force he had never known, he pushed down!
This boundless desert would hold him no more
Someway, somehow, he had to get out of town!
Out the front door, unknowingly at a run
He raced for his truck parked down the street;
Reverently and passionately he climbed inside his Z71
With the roar of the engine, his memories, he was off to meet!
His blue collar, left somewhere on the asphalt behind
Was the last thread of the man he used to be;
He was going home, it was somewhere ahead for him to find
He was alive again, in the mountains ahead, he would be free!
Christmas in the Meadow
My mountain meadow now lies buried in snow
My cabin, just a blemish in the background;
The shutters rattle from the north winds that blow
I have my fire and know I am safe and sound.
Hungry flames dance and crackle in the fireplace
Their delicate shadows dance upon the wall;
My block of wood sets close by, in its rightful place
Another sits opposite in case someone comes to call.
In the corner, hang coat, ax and snowshoes
Wood is stacked just outside my door;
My water bucket is on the bench ready for me to use
Coffee pot sits near the flames because I use it more!
This evening I trudged to the valley’s rim
So I could see the lights below;
They sparkled like diamonds, yet very dim
Like a vague memory of a life I used to know.
I always know when it is Christmas time in the valley
Because its lights dance with red, green and blue;
They are always the same every year that I can see
But the message they send is always true.
They say it is time to slow down and remember
All the good things in life that we know;
To push aside the cold days of December
To open our hearts, find our
little light and let it show!
The high peaks now stand cold and alone
Their gray granite boulders now buried under layers of snow;
As under their brow my cabin sits unknown
Except, to the north winds that continue to blow.
Gentle On My Mind
I see you standing in front of the window
You are framed in the light from outside;
Your soft and sensual form sets my heart aglow
Like the many rushing waves at high tide.
Your gentle fingertips rest upon the window pane
Velvet soft lips are parted as if you want to speak;
I silently exhale, wanting to speak, I refrain
Never wanting this heavenly sight to break.
Your tall and slender body from head to toe
Calls me, to be by you side, so much, I want to race;
To hold my woman, more graceful than the willow
And look upon once more this world’s most beautiful face.
You breathe, and the fullness of your breasts
Brings so many heated memories to my mind;
There is no certain one upon which my mind seems to rest
There is ten thousand of this very kind.
As my mind rushes, the blood in my veins is doing the same
Seeing before my eyes all of our hours of passion;
In the shadows of the night as you call my name
You are dressed in nothing, no earthly fashion.
I hold your warm and tender body within my arms
I can feel the full length of your warmth beneath to me;
As we become one, there is nothing else, no alarms
We soar beyond the clouds as once again we are free.
I know our skin is withered and covered with age
And our years together were both rough and kind;
With you standing before that window, adds just one more page
To a lifetime of memories, that is forever, gentle on my mind.
Girl of the Mist
She walks along my memories path so bold
Like an image faded by the foggy mist;
Remembered daily this dream I hold
Before her beauty, I am a humble gist!
As she travels the trails of my peaks
Her smiles and laughter echo from aloft;
The mighty winds are stilled when she speaks
From lips full of promise of feminine soft!
What kind of man would I be, if I held her of low?
And did not set her upon a throne of high;
She is my dream if the world has to know!
I tell her this,