The Song of the Wren
The song of the canyon wren
A simple trill without a lot of melody
A downwardly progressing scale
Maybe a half note of separation per tone
Starting at a high E and ending near C
Originating from a simple, plain bird
Small, gray and not at all showy
If not seen in context would be completely overlooked
Without that context unrecognizable
Yet it and its song are most beautiful
For it is that context that gives it an indescribable air
Its song is of place and its place in life
Times it is heard are the most wonderful
Walking still in the canyons red and soaring
Pausing to rest, recharge, absorb
Casting a line in the calm of the morning
Anticipating the strike
Gazing at ancient art pecked or painted
Wondering if the artist heard the same tune
Balance beaming a petrified cypress trunk
Whose branches were a perch for an ancestor
Following the tracks of a Jurassic Leviton
Who might have paused and turned at a sound
Contrasted against the babbling of the stream
Or the sound of quaking Sycamore leaves
It is of the context that the song takes on the grandeur
Grandeur of place, time and life itself
Sharing the grandeur of these moments is the greatest gift
A life is no more than this song without context
Context of people, place, love, growing and sharing
Dennis Gorsett, Grand Junction
Grand Valley Power consumer-member
Colorado on My Mind
Going down to the San Luis, the devil can’t find me there
I’ll jump off Crestone mountain and vanish in the air
Hard times are forgotten, the past is yet to come
There’s gold in the creek bed, and I’m gonna get me some
Colorado’s always on my mind, there’s a rocky mountain where the sun will always shine
Dreams and schemes and old blue jeans fade away in time, but Colorado’s always on my mind
A fiery eyed white Bison is coming after me
To lead me to the river and sail down to the sea
A hundred spotted ponies are calling me to ride
Across a painted valley with Ouray by my side
Colorado’s always on my mind, there’s a rocky mountain where the sun will always shine
Dreams and schemes and old blue jeans fade away in time, but Colorado’s always on my mind
Boogie Lewis, Nathrop
SDCEA consumer-member
What Kind of World
What kind of world
will we leave behind
what kind of world
will my great grandchild find
the way it is going now
it is not looking great
there is too much violence
there is too much hate
I miss the days
of peace and good will
but we as Americans
can achieve that still.
it will take everyone
come one and come all
for “united we stand
and divided we fall”
so what kind of world
will it be
what kind of world
will she see.
William Lee, Clifton
Grand Valley Power consumer-member
The Bucket List
A lot of folks, so I’ve been told,
Make bucket lists as they grow old —
Lists of things they’d like to do
Or places they might yet go —
A parachute jump, perhaps, or a first-time rodeo;
Shadowy thoughts of things avowed.
Things and places, wistful tomorrows
Teasing our minds with grander things,
Things not always said aloud.
But there they are: persistent,
Tantalizing dreams of uncommon allure;
Shadowy thoughts of things avowed.
I have my list of course; it’s short and simple,
As are my years by now.
But what I’ve done and where I’ve been
I would not wish for more.
But should I pass this way again
I’ll check my bucket now and then,
And hope to find it empty at the end;
Shadowy thoughts of things avowed.
James Mariner, Louisville
SDCEA consumer-member
Written for a Cowboy Poetry Event
If you’re losing weight,
At a rapid rate,
It’s best you wear a belt.
I was in town,
And my pants fell down,
That’s the weirdest I ever felt.
So I straightened my stance,
And pulled up my pants,
And hopped up on my horse.
I rode off at a pace,
With red on my face,
And never went back there, of course.
Tim Menger, Unaweep Canyon
Grand Valley Power consumer-member