THE M A G A Z I N E - Desert Magazine of the Southwest

Copyright photograph by D. Clifford Bond.
WITH SEEING EYES
BY MURRAY SKINNER
Los Angeles, California
My desert is not sand alone—
Its brown immensity
Boasts jeweled weed and purple sage
And one brave willow tree.
The cactus with its brilliant spine
And flower of silken grace
Has stamped its own especial brand
Upon the desert's face.
The glittering skin of creeping snake,
The lizard's spotted side,
The chaparral cock with pointed crest,
Find cover here to hide.
The colored rocks which gem the land—
A giant's precious stones—
And green mesquite and grey smoke-tree
Make Persian-carpet tones.
My desert is not sand alone—
Its broken symmetry
Displays an artist's rarest dream
In lyric pageantry.
MIRAGE
BY GRACE PARSONS HARMON
Los Angeles, California
The purple glow on mountains at the desert's
edge,
The tangle of mesquite when the rainbow
bends,
The white of yucca, red of ocotillo,
The trickle of cool water where the rough
trail ends;
The whiteness of the desert 'neath the autumn
moon,
Coyote laughter riding down the wind,
And then the brooding silence of the night,
That leaves the day's mad tumult far behind;
The lure of mountain peak against the stars,
So fraught with nameless mystery and charm:
I know them all! I see them rise again
Above the city's rush and wild alarm!
CREED OF THE DESERT
By JUNE LE MERT PAXTON
Yucca Valley, California
Said grandma tortoise to an ailing lizard,
"Please go to my doctor, for he is a
wizard.
He'll keep you out in the sun all day,
And give you a treatment of violetray."
9*idian
By GOLDIE CAPERS SMITH
Manhasset, L. I., N. Y.
Shear the sheep, and card the wool,
Twist it into greyish strands,
Dye it with berry and root and leaf
And tincture of stone, with practiced hands.
Weave it into a sacred rug;
Within its center the honored place
Give to your dusky god, the Sun,
Staring afar with brown-burnt face.
Circle the Sun with cactus thorn,
Eagle, and serpent with darting tongue,
Forked lightning, and desert bloom,
—Symbols old when the world was young.
Fashion the stripes and cut the woof,
Knot the thread to a fringing edge,
Bend your forehead to touch the dust,
Chanting your praise from the mesa ledge.
But famine stalks the sun-hot sand,
A shriveled belly groans for bread;
Your treasure goes to a stranger's hand,
A white-skinned pagan with covered head.
A pagan who prates of myths and lore,
A barren creature, leather-shod,
Who flings the rug on a polished floor,
And plants his foot on the face of the god.
DESERT WANTING
By MRS. G. L. BECKSTEAD
Eloy, Arizona
I want to watch a cactus wren move in
His bristled cholla nest
And wonder why he doesn't feel the
stickers on his feet.
I want to find a prickly pear
And peel the ripened skin away
And wonder if that sour red pulp is really
good to eat.
I want to crush the leaves of creosote
And hold them to my nose
And wonder why I like that spicy bitter
smell.
I want to find a grey-green clump
Of mallow blooming near a rock
And wonder at the wind-blown freedom
of each fragile bell.
I want to hear a canyon wren
Trill down his minor scale
And wonder why he sings on down instead
of singing up.
I want to feel the deepened whiteness
Of Saguaro blooms
And wonder why there is no stem for such
a waxy cup.
I want to see the light glint on a buzzard's
Tilting wings and wonder how a bird
So skillful in the air could be so awkward
on the ground.
I want to fill my pockets full
Of oddments from an Indian mound—
An arrowhead, a bead, a piece of pottery
I've found.
WEATHERWISE
By LEE HELM
Twenty-nine Palms, California
Knowledge, it is often said,
Will keep a man from harm
Now I know the reason why
I never feel alarm,
Not a casual doubt or fear—
It gets as hot as hell right here.
32 THE DESERT MAGAZINE