Carole Moran Poems

A place in the desert where date palm trees grow
And peopled with folks from afar.
The Furnace Creek story bears telling e'en now;
As years pass, the mem’ries continue to flow.
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Blue, Red and Yellow
Are primary colors.
The colors of childhood;
The colors of children.
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Give me my soul.
I want you to give me my soul.
I don't want to take it;
I shouldn't have to take it;
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I want 'CREDIBILITY'
Graved on a stone for me
When I die.
I want no name or
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A lonely monument out there
In the desert, standing bare;
To guide the pilgrim on his way
To record the passing of the day.
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The canyon high on either side,
Still, silent river, narrow, wide.
High above and far away
The sky is there, the sun, the day.
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Divided mind, in many pieces;
Jigsaw puzzle soul.
Mirror me; mirror broke;
Shatter, crack, and role.
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The dread
of bed
is in my head
and causes me to doodle.
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A beautiful face
With a gold mask.
A jester's face,
Yet not a jester, really.
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Driving the freeway at night,
In Las Vegas, the city of light,
(From grey, cloudy skies overhead,
At intervals lightning is shed):
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