Poetry by Steve

DEATH VALLEY POETRY

by The Old Trailmaster

* * * * * * *

.

The Traveler

He came upon an arid world

that  few men had ever trod,

A foreboding place, bleakly rimmed

by mountains not formed by God;

The city folk knew better than

to venture onto this ground,

And any man who tread in there

would never again be found.

…

Yet with courage, and bold of heart,

he entered all alone;

Week after week he found his path

throughout that world unknown;

Day by day, he learned anew

from a land that time forgot,

A grand new way to live his life

in a manner, by others not sought.

* * * * * * *

.

Dreamers

There’s a desert where skies are deceiving,

where rain rarely reaches the ground;

There are lost men who keep on believing,

that there’s plenty of gold to be found.

In harsh mountains that give up no treasures,

where quartz veins grant reason for an itch;

The old miners have no time for pleasures,

if they hope to one day strike it rich.

* * * * * * *

.

Wild Child

The adventurous day was wearing on,

so I pitched my tent so tattered;

On the mountainside above the flat,

nothing else in life really mattered;

Out here in nature’s wonderland,

where the birds and brooks do speak,

I inhale life and feel so grand

at the foot of snow covered peaks.

…

Up with the sun, I am at one

with all that surrounds this child;

The more I heed, the greater my need

to follow the call of the wild;

So over the hills I go once again,

to new vistas I have yet to find;

It’s the way I am, and will always be,

a man with a primal mind.

* * * * * * *

.

Land of Yore

There’s a world where I wander

When the wild calls from deep,

Yet few dare venture here but me.

Primal vistas are plentiful

On roads suited for a jeep,

Yet few even know it’s here to see.

It’s a rugged world away

In a mysterious land of yore,

And won’t be found on any map.

So I follow the road not taken

This vast wilderness to explore,

The wild forever calling this old chap!

* * * * * * *

.

Death Valley

Long ago and far before

this primeval land had a name;

Mighty forces ripped and tore

an Earth that was not so tame.

…

Enormous slabs of chiseled stone,

heaved and tipped on the fault;

To incredible heights they had grown,

but never will they come to a halt.

…

Even today the process continues,

‘neath the feet of those who explore;

Rising out of time’s shrouded venues,

questions tempt us to learn more.

…

So we come by foot and motorcar,

to a chasm deep and long;

Away from our world we travel far,

following nature’s song.

…

Normal existence soon is lost,

in the valleys and canyons of dread;

We stifle our fear whatever the cost,

to find peace on this ground we tread.

…

Death was what the writers once sold,

for scores of years on end;

It kept out all but the very bold,

a land’s character they sought to mend.

…

In the end we finally found,

like wild country hither and yon;

This valley called Death is special ground,

that brings meaning with each new dawn.

* * * * * * *

.

Timbisha Shoshone Spirit

From a time long before history,

Their families roamed the land.

Living in the valley and mountains,

A life of constant demand.

…

During fall, winter, and spring,

They remained in red ochre valley.

With the searing heat of summer,

To the Panamints they would rally.

…

They gathered the nut of the Pinyon,

To supply food for winter each year,

It was always the way of the Shoshone,

A life they held sacred and dear.

…

Then in the winter of forty nine,

some wagons happened through.

Followed by thousands seeking wealth,

New rules the white man drew.

…

Holes were dug in the mountains,

Nothing was sacred or revered.

The People who lived in the valley,

Saw this a time to be feared.

…

Through times of trial and treaty,

The new dominion attempted to reign.

Yet after years of resolute perseverance,

Their force was only in vain.

…

For the Timbisha Shoshone are determined,

The elders and youngest so strong.

No power can remove them,

From the land to which they belong.