Two New Poems by Dave Benson


Desert Ship

Heaved up from the bowels of Mother Earth,

her crowded decks upon the massive hull set,

carved and molded by eons of wind and rain,

painted by the hand of the Great Spirit,

the majestic liner plows the desert waves

with her crew of lizards, falcons and bats,

jackrabbits, coyotes and snakes;

she sails far without embarking,

and forever returns to port




Valley of the Kings

From the heights of the great red cliffs,

the craggy, rust-skinned, rain-etched,

wind-swept faces of the ancient kings

stare out over us in stoic disdain,

for our blasphemy of their valley of many moons,

while their petrified people stand in the foothills,

frozen in time, awaiting the return of the reign;

and an arrowhead of condors soars afore them in reverie,

then turning in pristine harmony they fade into the past,

to where the wind goes after it howls and blows


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