Desert Rats

Desert rats
Take cover in the heat,
They know what to toss
And what to keep -
They skillfully hide under big sombreros
And down lots of water,
They've learned well when to sit, and when to quit,
When to stay, and when to scatter -
The desert calls them
Right to the edge of existence;
But, too wise are they, any foolish games to play,
For in the desert they have found the art of survival is patience -
Listen close my friends for the divine desert to call you...
By all means, come and see,
But, with eyes wide open tread slowly
Following the tracks of wise old desert rats...
Just like me.

(this is for my pal Juan O. A fellow 'desert rat'!)

poem by Smoky Hoss
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Vivaldi

Down the dark wooded trail
Into the deep forest, bit by bit I go;
Stepping into each season
A symphony of vibrant music grows.
Each branch and blade
Glimmers and waves;
While the sun, rain and snow
With irrepressible delight raves.
Every path of life
Is sung to here,
As the music soars...
For the great Conductor of it all is so very near.
Animal and human together enter
Bliss beyond compare,
Dance in the wind, and in life,
So fully aware.
All the seasons
And all being become one,
In this lush garden
Where perfect Music and life play

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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Black Jeans

Going somewhere special
Or just living an ordinary day,
Makes all the difference
Of what I wear along the way -
A wedding, or a funeral
It's all a serious scene,
No room for blue
Just got to wear my best black jeans -
Out on the farm
Or driving my old truck,
I'm sportin' my faded Wranglers
Or even bibs, like good ol' Huck -
But, when comes time
For show and shine,
I go deep in the closet
My pressed black pants to find -
They're the ones
That look best,
With my buckaroo boots
And Western vest -

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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Dimensions No One Knows

The last rays of sunlight stark
Flutter in omniscience,
Both light and dark
What here, at end of day,
Is good....... has been bad?
Only Spirit can truly say
The pines will always bend to the breeze,
Some break, some dance;
God alone, may do just as he does please -
(the rest of us, just take a chance.)

Every day the sun rises it shall fall.
How can humanity be certain
It will ever return, at all?
A slight speck in endless space here we are,
Our life granting sun away,
Out there, somewhere so very far.

Now, the end of day,
And the dark engulfs all even sound

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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Broken Dreams

I crossed the treacherous moat
In my small rowboat
Upon reaching the other side
I stopped and cried
For the great Castle I had sought
Had been brought
Down
To the ground
By all the evil behind
The death of mankind
The fear I had run
From
Simply awaited me
Across the sea
My dreams a scatter
Like trash upon dirty water
So I got back in my boat
But before I reached the other side I awoke...
it was still dark, and late
here where I'd found my fate

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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Found

It's amazing.
The places we look for ourselves
Without finding;
And the places we find ourselves
Without looking.
So far away
From where I began;
And finally beginning
So far from where I am.

How could I have known
I'd be at the end of a poem;
Why would I have even thought to find
Myself, just outside of time.

Out there. At the far end
Of the pen,
In those old words
That never end.

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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Living

-The miracle of living
Is being able to hang around long enough
To not fear,
Not fear dying.
Not fearing is
Miraculous. - The miracle of life.
-The beauty of living
Is being able to find,
Find you are not a quitter,
Finding no matter what
You are going to finish this thing called
Life,
And finish it as well as possible.
Not quitting is
Beautiful. - The beauty of life.
-The thrill of living
Is being able to dream,
Dream great dreams of God-given desire,
And fulfilling those dreams
No matter how long it takes.

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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Sacred Ground

The slow night air
Eases across my body
Laying so simple upon the lonesome praire
Under the western stars-
It brings the smell
And feel
Of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years;
The ancient dirt, made
Of long gone Bison manure,
The dryness of wind blown dust, made
Sacred by the bones of long forgotten Native Americans-
The depth of the dark
Can only be measured here
By the dim light of those
Distant fire balls, and by
The just out of reach Lightning Bugs
(like a spirit in the sky both are untouchable) .
I lay prone, and very still
Barely breathing
Not a sound dare I make,

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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Fishing With Dad

-Sitting around watching it snow -
Listening to the cold wind blow -
It's a dark gray day -
Meant for gazing out a frosty window,
At thoughts so far away.
Sit, and enjoy the sound,
Listening to Greg Brown
Sing about ' Fishing With Bill '.......
And for just a moment of sentiment
The rest of the world is serenly still;
As if this song was meant for me
And my childhood memory,
When it seems all I had
And all I wanted
Was fishing with Bill, my dad.
It was the best blessed time,
His, and mine.
Oh to go back again
And be once more, fishing with him.......
- I thank God

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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Hitchin' The Blues

Pancho (and Lefty) pointed me toward the highway.

By the words that were said;
I listened for those big White Frieghtliners
Travelling endlessly thru my head-
I stood with my thumb hanging
In the whistling Western wind;
I could not recall where I was going
Nor, where I had been-

The highway is tomorrow...
And those big-rigs are today;
I'll catch a ride, to find where I am bound
Just moving along my way-

I'm out there on that freeway
Hitchin' my blues away... far away;
Out there somewhere, ridin' that old road
Pickin' up the pieces as I go-
Out there on the highway

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poem by Smoky Hoss
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