Chile Pepper High

Poetry from David Baker

I received a nice note from Chile Pepper reader David Baker, who writes poetry with a southwestern theme. I asked him if I could share one of his poems here and he said yes! You can see this and other poems on this site, Canyon Lands & Borderlines.

Big River
by David Baker

Aspen leaves floating, each a golden coin, made treasury of the river.
Wet salt grass, leaf mold perfume her banks,
Oxidized shapes undulate in currents, beneath her silvered surface.

Never one to deny her Identity, She flows southward to a sad fate.
Her soul will twist with insults, she must endure.
Poisoned, made fat with waste.

But, here in the mountains of her birth, her fate is unknown.
She carrys a golden cloak on her back.
She is still free.

Mother Moon gazes fondly on her daughter's singing.
She sings to her mother, to ease her passage across the sky.
Full of joyous chants, and soft lullaby's.

I crossed the river called Rio Grande last night.
Her real name kept secret.
With a solitary note, an Owl marked my passage.

Native Flute in Key of G

1      The manual advises
        play in a tiled shower
        to sound like a
        concert flautist.

        Make up songs,
        control your spit,
        cover the holes
        completely.

2      Carlos Nakai
        does not play
        the flute it plays
        through him.

        Long, low, whistling
        winds of sadness,
        call to the departed.

3      Bending the note
        with your breath
        tonguing, trilling.
        Vibrato drills drama.

        Hold top lip solid
        bottom soft to
        manage exhalation
        and smooth control.

4      The earth needs
        to hear songs,
        respond.

        Flute made
        from trees
        connects people
        to their nature.

River Rocks

they’re born as boulders
not puny little rocks
slammed against others
fractured and ground round

they come from mountains
grand, tall, large, in command
crash down bust open wide
stumbling stone tumble weed

thrust up from the earth’s core
each range reveals a story
energy of eons compacted
proud glimpse of the inner heart

river rips, mills, and collides
unrelated rocks slice and smash
boulders to pebbles to sand
edges sanded soft round

sun bleached and crowded
on a ride always losing more
self as water drives pries
away the mountain range

we are all river rocks sloshing
down life’s path smoothed
by time rammed into each
other made round and small

spawn pebbles set off
grains collect and harden
sink into the hot inner core
molten souls waiting to be born

Blue Front Café

The window A/C unit is screeching
nonstop at the dive on route 180,
Glenwood. Best of the three
food dives in this five block town.

Nice lady brings me a vat of iced
tea and I pour in a cup of sugar.
Says she doesn’t want me to go
home thirsty – no chance of that.

Got red chile today they were
out last time and had green instead.
Nice lady asks the three people
eating if they got enough to eat.

Peeling old wallpaper held up with
cheap framed art, one says, beef it’s
what’s for dinner, one has pink hibiscus
that don’t grow in these parts.

Chalkboard lists today’s homemade
pies, coconut crème and carrot cake
which isn’t a pie but it’s on the sign.
Nice lady brings red chile enchiladas.

White cowboy hat man is cutting
hay today. Hoping it doesn't rain
later. Nice lady says winter will
be cold according to the almanac.

Cook chats with white cowboy hat man,
swinging a blue fly swatter up and down.
Nice lady asks if I had enough to eat.
Cowboy hat man has a vat of tea, one dollar.

I feel guilty leaving so much undrunk
tea so I gulp it, which I will regret down
the long twisty road back to the casita.
Nice lady smiles.

Deep

I go deep. Thrust
into lands where
blood and sun paint.

Rays seep, soak, up
in and through leather
indigo guarded skin.

Breathe wet hot
soft sagebrush sweetened
by earth and death.

Red silk fire tastes
burst forth to blanket
wrap happy tongue.

Poetry Learning Explosion!

I am away at college this week (Goddard MFA program) and have been learning a lot about poetry. It's just a drop in the bucket of what I need to learn, but wow, it's interesting.

Anyway, in one class, we were able to bring in poems and get input and ideas from the instructor. Here is a revision of an earlier poem, which was called Orange Poem:

Ah, Sandia

Ah, Sandia - Mountain top drips down
watermelon red
color bursts
forth as the sun takes
its plunge.

Dusk’s cool fire sinks
warm
rages
rusty red
scorched leaves and spent
fields glow a
gold aura.

This land feels
good
orange.

Nature’s fiery dance thumps blood
rushes
vibrant yellow skirts
swirl high heating
hopeful
hearts

New Mexico’s vivid soul
burns and bewitches.

April is National Poetry Month

I can't let April slip away without acknowledging that April is National Poetry Month. I will admit to being a total hack when it comes to writing poetry - but it is fun. To honor National Poetry Month, I have posted a new poem on all three of my blogs.

Here's the Chile Pepper High Poem:

Sun

Apollo your sun is a comfort
Reaching rays that melt cold
Heart veins

Wake spirits from hibernation
And stir life from the desert
Gold and crumbling

Warmed limbs stretch high
Shading shocked eyes
Awake at last

Click here to read the 2 Weeks to a Breakthrough poem
Click here to read the Management Craft poem
Click here to read previous business poems on Management Craft
Click here to read previous Chile Pepper High poems

Star of Taos

This is a poem about a charming artist I met in Taos named Star.

Star of Taos

by Lisa Haneberg

Another Seattleite finds peace in New Mexico
Painter, writer, long lost sister?
Long lost soul sister enchanted by the same path
The same path I long to explore
Explore the poetics of place and heart

She had to come here
A teenager on vacation, Star discovered what home felt like
Home felt like Taos, big sky, kindred spirits
Kindred spirits on individual journeys
Journeys some have sought for a lifetime

Her closet studio feels grand
It’s where she colors her life
Colors her life turning poems into paintings
Paintings into calling cards
Calling Cards that finance her poetic life

Star’s affinity for lively music
Reveals a fiery Latin flair inside her white bread exterior
A white bread exterior hides my reds, yellows, and oranges
Reds, yellows, and oranges that ache for expressions
Expressions of a painter, writer, and long lost sister.

The Southwest Haiku

Heart stopping beauty
Nature reflects everywhere
Southwest’s vivid soul

Orange Poem

My favorite color is orange - all shades and hues, including rich orangey yellow. I love orange. I also like the fact that it is a word that does not rhyme with much. So I decided to challenge myself with a poem dedicate to the color orange.

The Orange Poem:

The world feels good to me when it is orange
Bursts of color as the sun takes its daily plunge
Autumn leaves and harvest glow a golden aura
Mountains mirror the sun, leaves, and orchards

Orange is raging fire is glow is passion is warm
Enlightening everything with no need to conform
Powerful partnership of red and yellow
Making bold music in many hues and tempos

Perhaps my love of orange is one reason why I love the Southwest. It’s a very orange place!

(A lovely painting from the Jack Stuppin Gallery www.jackstuppin.com)