In the Mohave, Once More

In 2005, i found a book of poetry with a poem in it entitled "In the Mohave". it was published in 1917. the name of the poet was Patrick Orr. i searched for information on this poet and all i could find were two poems. no birthdate, no bio, no nothing. as an interesting and entertaining project, i decided to write something within a similar vein to the previously mentioned Patrick Orr. below is my poem "In the Mohave, Once More" written in 2015, followed by the original "In the Mohave" published in 1917. scroll down and read the original first and then back to mine and let me know what you think. enjoy.

In the Mohave, Once More

As I clamored yet again through this rocky terrain,
     I prayed the pilgrim shadow's hand would stay.
Do not fill this gulch with a flash of rain
     Washing my desires with the rocks away.

And as I rode, i saw a form serene,
     A former inhabitant who had lingered too long,
Whose bones had been blanched and carcass picked clean,
     Whose death I once felt had been cruel and wrong.

But i defy the cruelty I see!
     Hamakhaave cannot have me serene.
I follow the compass cactus through the Joshua tree
     to my love who waits beyond San Bernadine.

It has been a long journey but I am keeping pace,
     O'er the mountains, under the sun above
And I shall defeat this desert with the burns on my face
     To be united once more with my true love.


....and now, the original from 1917....

In the Mohave

AS I rode down the arroyo through yuccas belled with bloom
I saw a last year’s stalk lift dried hands to the light,
Like age at prayer for death within a careless room,
Like one by day o’ertaken, whose sick desire is night.
And as I rode I saw a lean coyote lying	5
All perfect as in life upon a silver dune,
Save that his feet no more could flee the harsh light’s spying,
Save that no more his shadow would cleave the sinking moon.
O cruel land, where form endures, the spirit fled!
You chill the sun for me with your gray sphinx’s smile,	10
Brooding in the bright silence above your captive dead,
Where beat the heart of life so brief, so brief a while!

Grandma

You don't watch too much television.
Wash your hands before you eat.
You don't get a glass of milk until you finish that sandwich.
Take off your shoes or wipe your feet.
     These were life lessons from Grandma.
     Memories that we hold dear.
     And although we know you're still among loved ones,
we damn sure wish that you were here.

A staple in her kitchen was biscuits and gravy.
-I bet a lot of people are going to miss that taste.
For me, she made the best carrot cake
and I never let any of it go to waste.

...but while I was writing this, it dawned on me:
     None of us would be here without her and Grandpap.
She held a special place in each of our hearts
     and no one can fill that gap.
Those gathered here today would not have gathered:
Friends and family, grandchildren and greater, husband and sons.
All here to pay tribute to this woman.
-I hope she's smiling, seeing what she's done.

And all of our memories that involve her
are precious and held so dear.
God, we know she's in a better place
but we kinda wish that she were here.
Grandma, look down,
We love you
and will always hold you near.

A Letter from Anna Louise

                    Dear Billy, Mom, and Dad,

     Thank you for all the fun we've had.
The time we had together, the bonds we made
   are memories I cherish that will never fade.
I know you are sad and I miss you so much, too
   but you wouldn't believe all the things I can do.
It's wonderful here. The view can't be beat
   ...and I'm supposed to say hi from Diane and Grandma Birchstreet.
I still gesture with my hands but i use my words, too
   and I want to use them to say:
          I love you, Mommy.
          I love you, Daddy.
          I love you, brother Billy too.
I have the greatest family, like no other
   and I was loved by more than just my mom and dad and the bestest brother.
I know you are sad. I miss you. Please don't cry.
I took my first steps, Mommy,
   and now I can fly.

                                                        Love, Anna Ingle