The vivid colors stain the hardened wall face,
with auburn rouge and golden hues of sand,
perspired from the ancient Zion limestone,
the sweat and tears from eons building land.
The Zion tears appear in weeping cliffsides,
as if terrain were brandishing distress,
once named for Jewish homeland and their heaven,
it has become a target to transgress.
While there are those who trust its preservation
to governmental bodies and a tax,
its vastness still allows its open landscape
to be disgraced by vandals' cruel acts.
Those Zion tears exalt with nature's beauty,
reminding us protection is our duty.
A serpentine path
through brisk, unforgiving waves
helps me feel alive.
The unknown is perilous,
disguised or concealed,
without one's conjecture
The future, precarious,
insight has become
too clouded to empathize,
a lost rule of thumb.
You feel quite susceptible,
your heart beats too fast,
you just want the familiar,
a calm unsurpassed.
So walk home, run quietly,
no ghost will take shape,
nor rabble nor scaffolding
shall prevent your escape.
On the road and in air, luggage packed,
I so long for the comforts of home.
These motels and the hostels' stained rooms
have dank walls, and the mattresses, foam.
Overwhelming my sense of repose
is annoyance of raucous events
of the tenants who selfishly chose
to insist they decry their laments.
To be sure, I'd be home on my chaise,
likely reading a Grisham or Quinn,
taking comfort in each turn of phrase,
and forgetting when travels begin.
Purple martins have only to find
the next birdhouse to stay as they roam,
they're content without lives intertwined
with relaxing, small comforts of home.
The glass and steel of modern city towers
reflect their sunlit faces in the quad,
their walls, so brilliant in the morning hours,
relent as evening fills this vast facade.
The native dwellers seldom heed the beauty;
it disappears in busy urban life.
Though hope is found, in workaholic duty,
they can escape the turbulence and strife.
A tower's bright reflection is enticing,
reminding of what humans can achieve;
the sky appears to savor in its slicing
by mirrored columns made to interweave.
Commuters in their cars and walking shoes
look up, content to see these wondrous views.
Jack has published over 350 poems in his career, many with his own photography. He specializes in a view of the commonplace and Americana.