Poem: The Roaring Desert

Here's a poem of mine that was published in a weekly in that far, far away country.

I hike up into the sandy dunes  
The desert sands sing sounds
With life that's shifting
As the land it's on.

I sat quiet as a dull ghost
On an ant-hill devoid of tenants;
Releasing my mind
To solitarily wander on.

Mindlessly my eyes follow
A scuttling blue beetle;
Hurriedly furrowing through the sand
Trying a getaway

From a snaky centipede
And failing.

The centipede gorges on the beetle;
But is soon prey to a bird
Black of beak and quick to pick
The centipede with the beetle in it's belly.

I reflect on life and muse awhile,
How even out here in the desert's
presumed quiet
One is forced to think of longevity

Or the lack of it.

Suddenly, a heavy drop on my brow
From the sky above;
Instinct takes my finger tip
To feel, and with horror I perceive
The hot vibrant red blood,

Of the black-beaked bird

Fallen prey to a keen-eyed eagle.

I run the miles to get back                                        
To the calm of the city jungle
Away from the deceptive quiet
of the desert.