phoenix monsoon storm
haboob isn’t dirty word
it is dusty though
—Terri Guillemets
phoenix monsoon storm
haboob isn’t dirty word
it is dusty though
—Terri Guillemets
the world we abuse
roasting us like marshmallows
in a fire we lit
—Terri Guillemets
our apocalypse
once in ultra slow motion
now on fast forward
—Terri Guillemets
—LIFE magazine, 1922 February 23rd, digitized by Google, books.google.com
“Who so blind as not to see that a great change has come over the leaders of that party, and the representatives of that party on this floor?”
—David Wilmot, U.S. House of Representatives, speech, 1850 July 24th
sprightly little yellow butterflies
flitter their aërial dance in pairs
through tireless mud dauber paths
and webs sway vacant in the breeze
of poor spiders caught unawares
—Terri Guillemets
The moon is always
running away from me
as if she thinks that time
is just a cyclical game
of hide & seek —
She runs and runs
then keeps on running
leaving me to the mystery
of why the nights run short
and the days even shorter
Please, Moon —
just for one night
can’t you sit still
and stay a while
We can have
a midnight tea —
just you and me
we’ll talk all night
and bask in the glow
of your regal beauty
—Terri Guillemets
I write of only 3%
of the landscape
around me —
the green trees
colorful flowers
amazingly adaptive
dryland wildlife
and blind myself
to the rest of it —
but it’s time
to take a good look
and acknowledge
my selective seeing —
the 97% is dull
barren, stark, harsh, hot
out my bedroom window
there is a plain brown
block walled fence, my
neighbor’s white-metal
shed roof, off of which
glares the sun so brightly
it’s blinding, not a speck
of green in sight, except
one small weed emerging
from dusty gray rocks —
yes, there is a lizard
on the wall, doing push-ups
in the morning sun
and I watch him
with fascination
awed with nature
I forget the surrounding
urban desert ugliness —
until suddenly I wonder
where will he get
his next water?
surely from someone’s
yard watering system
but where do we get
that precious water
for our thirsty homes?
and how much longer
will we be fortunate
enough to have it?
our city and county
allow so much over-
development, it feels
as if they are slowly
killing us, overcrowding
us, not caring about
our quality of life
nor the lizard’s —
but maybe, just maybe
we Phoenicians are
simply outright foolish
for trying to live here
in our air-conditioned
fortresses while the
city dries up around us
—Terri Guillemets
my life is a mess
but this moment is perfect
my life is perfect
—Terri Guillemets
moonlit winter trees
bare branches paint gray shadows
ghostly risen roots
—Terri Guillemets
I am searching for my feelings
through shelves of dusty books
can’t help but feel I’ve left them
in some forgotten ancient nooks
as if an author long before me
captured my emotions in his day
and saved them in fine poetry
for future me to find someway
—Terri Guillemets
Time is as Sand
Flesh is as glass
Sand quick is Run
Life soon doth pass.
—Author Unknown—
public domain image, undated
source: wellcomecollection.org
hiding in my winter cocoon
not coming out again until June
—Terri Guillemets