There is no justice. You are free to choose, But you are not free. Dynastic power manipulates Our beautiful world, Corrupting what could be. I’m sick of superficial civility, I’m sick of powerful elite,

Hot, Like a late August Shade tree Southern Idaho afternoon. Sipping iced drinks from colorful plastic patio chairs, Kids leaping over spinning sprinklers Dripping wet with desert laughter and sun– Immersed

Desert knows no tomorrow Doesn't mind what happens today Can't remember the hailing, stormy winds Nor the birdsong's tribute in the amber sweet morning calm. Pervasive sage grows green strong… then withers

Learn to read the river. Watch the double back Downstream of the boulder. See the green glassy waves. Be the river swell, Then exhale. Align yourself along the seams Of the transient currents Roiled in

It was a scorching bright blue The sky that day With a steady west wind howling by. The desert's grey dirt swirled dancing Sagebrush ruffled and waved without pause, As a young jack merlin leaped airborne

Hearts yearn for a home And feelings heal bearing new scars, Altering the courses we travel In our journey to the stars. Golden moonrise sea shine Calms stormy oceans of worry, Rolling with the swelling

You don't have the answers. Everything you expect to happen might not. Life makes no guarantees. Existence is triumphantly strange, Our eyes see different things Both are true, yet incomplete. Be forever

Tender, tender, time and again Her love like the morning sun– Warming hope in flowers stretched long for praise. She smiles in the pale dawn light sneaking past wicker wood shades. Her breath is slow and

This poem was inspired by an experience I had flying a helicopter across an icy Alaska bay in horrible weather. Luckily, and because of my good training, I made it to the other side. The music grew louder,

A regrettable, honest truth about life: Leaving loved ones gets more difficult over time And not easier with practice, as one would expect, And I found it to be painfully true as I've aged. Image source

Poetry is life in words. Surely your life is poetry If only you learned to love the words. Words are meaning Words are experiences Beautiful, eternal, ethereal words make meanings memorable And worth our

Anyone ever get the feeling that you're talking rocket science by the way your interlocutor's facial expressions look when you describe Steemit for the first time?? 😅 😅 Source Luckily Steemit is, in

Birds feel for the wind Bent willingly towards thermal skies Ascending nearer an objective view Of a planet wreaked in mayhem, Spying a species killing and cruel, Fighting for their color, Fighting for

Maria Flores was born with an uncommon share of beauty, Uncommon even for the beautiful women of Monterrey, Mexico. She was born the same day the drought ended, Her newborn tears spilling onto the hospital

Hi Steemians, What an awesome community this is! I have spent the last two days researching and writing blogs and am thrilled to be a part of Steemit. I am still learning how it all works and would love

A tired old tree Born many years ago on the plateau, Brittle with suffering from the warming desert, and Unaware of a mass looming lasting displacement, Holds firm to poor, thirsty earth Hoping others

Daily Boise River Picture 6.22.17

Clouds mushroom sprout the horizon Finding freedom in less pressure on high, Splash blue with white elephant billows of love, Turn dark as new monsters, and Rage wild through the night. Morphing sky white

Written words Will Live on, Beyond My final heartbeat. And from that horrible distance You will know me To be true. Image source Read more at desertidaho.com Thanks!

Autumn rain wetted her hair Soft, like a morning kiss, Adding chill to the tragedy, and Blistering every solemn footstep As she walked alone in great grief From an unexpected departure with love. Image