Quiet Desolation
Mark A. Fisher
desert
heat
beating down
out of a blue sky
cloudless and unrelenting
waiting for the monsoon rains
to pour down upon
the sun seared
sand
rolling through
another train comes rolling through
Joshua Trees and creosote
through the great empty Mojave
towards one coast or the other
horn blaring loud past the crossings
another train comes rolling through
slowing and grinding to a stop
cutting one side from another
studying the cars’ graffiti
telling tales of distant places
another train comes rolling through
traveling on to somewhere else
past the sands of diamond deserts
with no ears to hear the music
echoing off the rocks until
another train comes rolling through
petition
“nothing grows here” said the geologist standing atop ten species of flowers
while the student smiles knowingly since despite the lecture she sees the flowers
all the magic comes wrapped up in bright colors that we will never hope to see
it takes no miracle from god to know the beauty found by bees in flowers
a child in a meadow chases butterflies in some kind of wild abandon
trailing behind, his wake, footprints in the grass and broken pieces of flowers
a neanderthal skeleton was found buried seemingly with compassion
mourned by the people that loved them and so covered them it seems with flowers
I watch daily feeling so helpless as the world’s temperature keeps going up
while humanity still continues ignoring the entreaties of flowers
bloom
brightly the sun shining down
upon Mojave sand warmly
creosote spotted lazy lizard
bears witness waiting
these empty months patiently
before the rains and a return
to the tenacity of life
in the desert bursting
past adversity filling itself
with wildflowers
rock art
epic paintings hide in sacred spaces
each one holds the shadow of a story
washed away by time into mere traces
acutely dimmed from their former glory
what words would have slide along the stone walls
as paint traced out images onto stone
of dreams or memories that must be scrawled
to try to make sense of the world unknown
becoming meaning as they become myth
changing with each new teller of the tales
and new paintings cover those underneath
until none can still recall what was veiled
we can only see the art upon rock
yet if there was a way for it to talk
Kelso
I have stood on silent drum sands
where lizards swim like fish
and the sex lives of blister beetles
roll on like endless waves
where lizards swim like fish
through these sandy dune seas
roll on like endless waves
touched by unknown tides
through these sandy dune seas
deserted and still forgotten
touched by unknown tides
in distant human affairs
deserted and still forgotten
with the ghosts of many years
in distant human affairs
remote and nameless
with the ghosts of many years
and the sex lives of blister beetles
remote and nameless
I have stood on silent drum sands
Mojave
empty miles of sand and stone
and hidden wildflower seeds
where twisted Joshua Trees
cast their shadows onto
the dry and dusty memories
of the seas they used to be
as ravens imagine they’re seagulls
calling to the mirage’s waves
washing across desert varnished basalt
covered in petrogylphs
whispering stories in forgotten languages
from before the awareness of gold
drew the tsunami
and the flotsam of the storm
leaving holes and metal cans
across the desert bed
now crossed with off-road scars
in torn up creosote
and still years are piling up
as the faults slowly move
while the desert dreams
it’s a sea
once again
grain
I will be the unsilent sand
the end of hard stone
no longer strong
worn down by wind and rain
over these long ages
ground down through washes and arroyos
to be lifted above the creosote
with hiss and howl
on dust devil winds
where I will wander the desert
here and there
then back again
in that slow tide of dune seas
I will find new voice
in the scratching grains
against foot and belly
that mark trails
across dunes risen far above
and there in our unison
we will sing out
in booming voice
I am the unsilent sand
This Death Valley
oh coyote please, tell me what you know
living with mesquite, and with salt, and sand
and remembering where waters still flow
what can you see, in this not empty land
so much is hidden away from the sun
living with mesquite, and with salt, and sand
shaded and sleeping bright daylight to shun
waiting, and waiting, until comes the night
so much is hidden away from the sun
oh coyote, stealthy through the campsite
seldom noticed, and seldom ever seen
waiting, and waiting, until comes the night
tiny belly flowers growing and green
back away from the roads, still living wild
seldom noticed, and seldom ever seen
so deep in this desert nearly exiled
oh coyote please, tell me what you know
back away from the roads, still living wild
and remembering where waters still flow
desert bloom
now comes another spring
pretty wildflowers
smeared across the hillsides,
impermanent
impressionist paintings,
before scoured
away by summer sun,
a canvas dreamt
enough
it was small
a belly
flower bloom
growing in
desert sand
unnoticed
except by
perhaps a
single bee
the end of Zzyzx Road
A herd of desert bighorn
come out of the rocks
looking for a drink.
Tui chub eke out their lives
in the springs
where the Mojave River ends.
at the end of Zzyzx Road
Darkling beetles stroll
the sands between the stands
of rocks, oblivious.
While the nightly hunts
of scorpions and snakes
are lost in the darkness.
Till the sun comes up over
the distant brown hills
beyond the lake bed.
at the end of Zzyzx Road
There is no simple answer
to the mystery of the sign
they see.
Still cars in their thousands
drive on by and think
that next time they will stop
at the end of Zzyzx Road
odyssey
quest
across
all the earth
looking for home
~~~~~
never finding it
until I stumbled hither
where desert sun will wither
all the dreams I had
~~~~~
like in a kiln
firing clay
into
bricks
upon
which I will
produce new dreams
~~~~~
like great pyramids
standing high in the desert
unmoving firm and inert
yet remain fragile
~~~~~
impermanent
like the stars
trekking
‘cross
the sky
that still thwarts
all my longing
~~~~~
for eternity
for a place that will hold me
comfortable and be key
like what home I want
~~~~~
where everything
remembers
who I
was
Previously Published poems:
“desert” – Four Feathers Press June 2023
“rolling through” – Four Feathers Press July 2023
“petition” – Four Feathers Press August 2023
“bloom” – Last Leaves 2022
“rock art” – Eternal Haunted Summer June 2023
“Kelso” – Scenes of Southern California September 2022
“Mojave” – Altadena Poetry Review 2020
“grain” – Magee Park Poets 2017
“This Death Valley” – Gyroscope Review 2021
“desert bloom” – Spectrum Feb 2023
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