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14
FINAL CHOICE
By MABEI.LE B. MCGUIRI:
Ventura, California
I stop hy the ocean
For 1 love the sea.
But when the fog drips
I wish I could be
On the desert.
1 go to the mountains
To enjoy 1he air.
But when a storm breaks,
1 wish I were there
On the desert.
I move to the city,
Deciding to stay,
But there's noise and
confusion so,
1 flee far away
To the desert.
So there I'll remain
To work and to rest.
I've made up my mind
That T can live best
On the desert.
By TANYA SOUTH
Each time I look upon a face,
I see myself. In every trace
And phase of life I can descry
My conscious or unconscious try
For Light and Love. Yes, I am one
With all the world. All are my kin.
All souls that dwell beneath the sun
Reflect me deep within.
Photo bx Willard Luce
'Detent
By NAOMI TREGO JAMES
Pittsfield, Massachusetts
Gold rimmed and purple shadowed
The canyons waiting, lie,
For the sun to cease his painting
On the canvas of the sky.
Above the red gold mesas' rim,
An eagle wheels and wings.
Sage hens are promenading.
Almost—the silence sings.
Night dons her mantle swiftly,
And scatters shadows deep.
Against the velvet of her breast,
She lulls day life to sleep.
NAKED HILLS
By MIRANDA SNOW WALTON
Evanston, Wyoming
Night, and naked hills are calling;
I must answer, I must go
To the place where they are bathing,
In the twilight's ashen glow
For their lure of desolation
Binds me with its mystic thrall;
When I hear their siren voices
I must follow where they call,
Far beyond their desert regions.
In stark loneliness they stand
Reaching for the shifting shadows
Of a bare, forbidding land.
Gold, nor love itself, can hold me,
I must go though hearts be rent,
For he who looks on naked grandeur
Never more can be content.
PATIENCE
By GRACE BARKER WILSON
Kirtland, New Mexico
Along the desert's rim the sands complain.
In lonely, whispering murmurs, that the sun
Still shines too hot, there are no clouds for
rain.
And west wind wanderings are never done.
And yet. the sage brush dons its purple
dress.
And cactus blooms in brilliant rainbow hue.
Be still, O sands, voice not your restlessness;
Wait for the peace the moonlight brings to
FROM AN EASTERNER
By JEAN CONDER SOULE
Springfield, Pennsylvania
Oh, why did I give my heart in exchange
For a sun-browned lad from the westen
range?
Why did the fates with a grin decree
That this hard-ridin' man is the man for me?
It must be some joke; a new kind of game—
Yet wild as he is, his heart is quite tame!
Though he's toughened and roughened by
bronco and steer,
His arms are as tender, his kisses as dear
As a city lad's with his eastern ways.
Yet for no urban man has my heart sung
praise.
This western male with lasso and gun
With dogie and mustang—he is the one!
I'm just a dude, but I love him more
Than a prairie gal who's not saddlesore,
Than a mountain lass or a brown, plain
Jane.
So I'll ride that horse and I'll not complain
Of the dust and sun and the desert vale.
If my cowboy's there at the end of the trail!
DESERT MAGAZINE