Friday, October 13, 2006


Would you like to preside as Chief Poet over the southern deserts?

Then kindly enter your poem(s) here.


  1. Anonymous10:51 AM

    Kiss the Sun

    Kiss the Sun and burn my lips
    Blissful pain, blistering love,
    Blinding light reveals everything,
    No shifting shadows, grotesque exposure.
    Tempted by its golden shimmer,
    Though toxic fumes melt my lungs
    This paradoxical paradise
    Will be my heaven yet.

    I will hold the Sun within my arms
    And melt my body to it.
    First my flesh and then my soul
    That I may become a part
    Of this Golden Globe
    Which lights the World.

    Extinguish me that I may glow.
    Destroy me that I might grow.
    And learn to live…
    Without myself.

  2. Anonymous10:17 AM


    Big mountains!
    Clear and quiet river
    crossing between strong
    Colorado River!
    You are there and see the creation.
    God has touched this site.
    Enormous stones, trees, shrubs.
    In addition, wildflowers near you.
    Buses, trucks and cars were there,
    That day when I visited you.
    They were taking photos of that area.
    Marvelous area of the USA.
    The sky with clouds,
    the rain came in.
    A big bird flying on the sky.
    People were taking the best view,
    the best scene.
    Big mountains!
    Nice view!
    Beautiful site!


  3. Losing My Mother

    Sometimes after I lost my father
    I’d lose my mother.

    Days leaked into summer after they zipped
    his black body bag-
    she slipped away, clipping the enormous yard
    for the first time,
    the lawnmower awkward, like pushing bricks.

    Knuckles white, hands swollen red,
    her soft pink t-shirt clung to her back.
    Tears dripped from her eyes, like sweat.

    Her white Keds stained green,
    she stopped to empty the bag,
    bare arms shining, lungs hungry.
    “Get the garbage bag” she yelled,
    I did and rushed to her.
    Bent down, face dripping,
    she struggled with the pregnant bag,
    broke the silver latch, sliced her hand.

    She sunk the wound between her lips, eyes closed,
    kicked the bloated bag over and over, until
    globs of green peppered my bare feet.

    “I’m-not-supposed-to-be-doing-this!” she yelled to the clouds,
    slumping to the sticky lawn, fists diving into the pile,
    blonde hair fuzzy from heat.

    I stood clenching black plastic, the smell of cut lawn
    thick in my nose, I missed my mother,
    my parents.

    She snatched the balmy plastic, plunged her arm
    deep into the chopped grass, began stuffing.

    I watched her drag the fat body bag to the curb,
    fresh blades of grass stuck to her sweat.
    I lost her in the driveway mirage,
    yelled for her to wait, not to leave,
    not to climb inside.

  4. Anonymous11:42 AM

    lost again
    I’ve found my own way; so I thought
    learned I’ve learned nothing

    searching for meaning
    maybe a soulmate
    seems I’m wrong just when I though

    weren’t you with me holding my hand
    you let it go, it seems not
    quick to find a soulmate

    still now I press on
    through dreaming day’s night
    with me holding my hand

  5. I'm not an American and have never been there but I thought I'd enter anyway for the state that I have the most connection with because my only cousin lives there.
    This poem was written in honour of the work done recently by the University of Arizona into rheumatoid arthritis

    Spice of Life

    Joints begin to seize
    And movement is pain
    But never fear
    Help is at hand

    A natural remedy
    To an age old problem
    Is found in the West
    From a source in the East

    Eat curry
    Yes eat curry
    I don’t know which
    Just make sure it contains the vital ingredient


    © Luke Harrison 2006