Category Archives: Mormon nature visual art

Desert Names by Mark Penny

479px-Desert_Sandwort

I don’t know the names—
No very names.
Oh, chapparal. Oh, sage.
Vague names.
Oh, cactus, tumbleweed.
Oh, scorpion.
Oh, coiled up shaker of a shaman’s bones.
Oh, crook-limbed walker on the knuckled sands.
Oh, day-lived blossom, thirsting in its death.
Oh, winged portent of the flight of breath.
Half-names,
Bright shadows
In a sun
That beats its laundry past the need of clean.
I am the rag-post.
Mummied graves
Croak the long story of my ignorance.

_________________________________________________
Mark Penny has poetry on WIZ and Everyday Mormon Writer and in Sunstone and Dialogue, and fiction on Everyday Mormon Writer and Lowly Seraphim. He was winner of the Wilderness Interface Zone 2012 Spring Poetry Runoff Admin Award, a finalist in the Everyday Mormon Writer Four Centuries of Mormon Stories Contest, and a semi-finalist in the 2014 Mormon Lit Blitz. He hopes the trend will bounce.

Current projects include a poetry collection, a Mormon spec fic collection, a dozen or so novels, a collaboration that will blow your spirit right out of your brain, and a unified theory of narrative.

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Photo: Desert Sandwort via Wikimedia Commons courtesy of BLM Nevada, 2013.

Tonight by Bob Gill

Alpha_Capricorni

The universe is
Cold tonight
A winter of stars
Illuminate the world
Its heaven
Full of danger
And mystery

Just tonight
An asteroid
Three football
Fields in length
Slipped by
Missed us
By 1,500,000 miles
Small margin
Experts say
Enough for us
For now, maybe
Before one hits

We live and die
Hearing the stories
Of our ancestors
Similar tribes before
Us and we wander
Days and nights

Abiding

__________________________
Find more by Bob Gill here.

Photo of Alpha Capricorni via Wikimedia Commons.

Just by Bob Gill

1280px-GeysirEruptionNear

Just a moment
Sipped
Full of happiness
Just an instant
You may have missed
Compared to drought
The water
Of life pours over you
In a torrent
Underground
For centuries
It seems
And may have been
To bubble forth
And thunder
True

________________________
Bob Gill resides in Berkeley, California.

Photo of the Strokkur Geyser in Iceland by Andreas Tille via Wikimedia Commons.

Orange Cup Coral by A.J. Huffman

Cup coral polyp

Phallic shafts shock nocturnal
waters, wave fingers like fireworks,
flags of welcome, of final embrace
to small fish daring to flutter about
these make-shift flowers.
They are their own
entertainment, brilliantly blowing,
blooming in belligerent pantomime
of lighted breath. This crown
ring of kings rejoice in banishment,
openly celebrating their midnight world.

_________________________________________
Photo by Nick Hobgood via Wikimedia Commons, 2005.

Follow the links for Huffman’s bio and more of her work at WIZ.

The Road to Thunder Road by A.J. Huffman

Lightning8_-_NOAA

is a delayed growl standing several
steps behind the starring flash. Backup-
singing, supportive round of applause. Darker
partner waiting in invisible wings. Eruptive
echo marks the distance to point
of contact, countdown after-strike.

_______________________________________________
Photo by the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration via Wikimedia Commons, 2005.

Follow the links for Huffman’s bio and more of her work at WIZ.

Hibiscus Blooming in Rain by A.J. Huffman

hibiscus

The garden sogs under persistent downpour. Green
grows with a sickly gray clinging like shadows,
cloud contamination. In a quiet corner, lone
hibiscus stretches petals toward sky, embraces
drops battering against brilliance. Resilient
as the solar power color emulates, it remains open,
a burst of warming reassurance that the sky cannot fall
forever.

_________________________________________________________
Photo by the poet. Follow the links for Huffman’s bio and more at WIZ.

Autumn Moon by A.J. Huffman

89_Mesa_Fire,_5_6_10_(4586426977)

after “Age of Abundance,” by Osnat Tzadok

Flares of imaginary fire burn across forest’s crown.
Light and leaves come alive, collectively breathe
in mirrored mist, rising like smoke from absent flame.
My eyes begin to water in belief. This is the image
of sulfured Hell. I pray for the salvation of sun-
rise.

______________________________________________________
A. J. Huffman A.J. Huffman has published seven solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses. Her eighth solo chapbook, Drippings from a Painted Mind, won the 2013 Two Wolves Chapbook Contest. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and her poetry, fiction, and haiku have appeared in hundreds of national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, Kritya, and Offerta Speciale, in which her work appeared in both English and Italian translation. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press.

Photo by Albert Herring via Wikimedia Commons: “89 Mesa Fire, 5/6/10.” Tzadok’s landscape can be seen here.

Field Notes #12: Who Has Seen the Wind? (Pt.3) by Patricia Karamesines

Desert storm with rainbow

This is the third part of a three-part entry. To read part one, go here. To read part two, go here.

Glancing at Belle, I can tell she needs water, and soon. I lead her away from the beaver ponds before she’s tempted beyond her ability to resist to drink from its giardia-laced teapots. I hurry her to the shade of a big juniper, another of my stops, and sit down in the dirt beneath a broken branch that hangs across the trail. Obviously, Belle needs more water than I can provide by cupping my hand. I relent and pour her a drink in the canteen lid. She laps four or five lids full then lies down in the shade without my prompting, her shoulder pressing against my knee. She pants rapidly but seems to have gotten enough to drink, refusing another offered lid.

Looking around inside the juniper’s shadow, I notice a single penstemon blossom, looking like a wind sock on a pole, glowing red against the litter. Its color leaps to the eye from a backdrop of live blue-green and dead brown juniper stubble; last year’s curled, tawny oak leaves; green wisps of grass growing in a clump; spider webs clouded with dirt and other debris; and round, purplish-blue juniper berries dropped into grey-toned soil speckled with blacker grains, probably of decayed organic material. From somewhere up-canyon, a canyon wren’s laugh pipes its downward-falling scale. Continue reading Field Notes #12: Who Has Seen the Wind? (Pt.3) by Patricia Karamesines

Deer Skull on Giant Stump by Mark Penny

I’m locked and loaded on a night of curtailed sleep
Curtailed at starting end
The movie was too good to sleep through
What was it called?
About?

That paragraph I wrote for English-with-Foreigner 1-15
Is in my head like the aftershock of a bad-apple head-on with a truck
It gongs and dongs with it
So I’ll tell it here

It was the story of a day
So many days ago I laze to count
Thirty-six years of days, I guess

Remember jamborees?
Great, gaudy gumball gatherings of boys Continue reading Deer Skull on Giant Stump by Mark Penny