Arizona or Bust: Mark's Arizona Site
Must see these sights...Every day
Oh Great Spirit,
Whose voice I hear in the winds,
And whose breath gives life to all the world, hear me!
I am small and weak,
I need your strength and wisdom.
Let me walk in beauty, and make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset.
Make my hands respect the things you have made and my ears sharp to hear your voice.
Make me wise so that I may understand the things you have taught my people.
Let me learn the lessons you have hidden in every leaf and rock.
but to fight my greatest enemy - Myself.
Make me always ready to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes.
So when life fades, as the fading sunset,
my spirit may come to you without shame.
Ghost House In The Desert by Albert J. Taylor
I came across a house that stands alone,
The ones who dwelt there once are now unknown.
They vanished long ago, when, no one knows,
And in their place, the desert wildly grows.
The only voice there is the low wind's moan,
Among the cacti and the desert stone.
Old house, you stir a strangely aching heart,
As though, like you I've sometimes dwelt apart.
Your door with hinges turned to rust,
Your well, like prophet's mouth, is stopped with dust.
Across your sill I watch a lizard start,
The only life in your abandoned heart.
The road that brought you life has since healed,
Cresote and mesquite fill your field.
A cactus wren arrives to give a scold,
And tells me that what life was here is cold.
Whatever life you held once is concealed,
What secrets known, your remnants will not yield.
But as I turn to leave, I feel a brush,
Of ghostly spirit in your lonely hush.
Poem by Don Hedgpeth, Cowboy Artist of America
'Cause the cowboy and the Indian are still among us yet,
The land's still wild toward the place the sun has always set,
Don't hide out in your studio, Cut loose and roam about,
Go see the West before it's gone and all your time runs out.
Epitaph in Camelback Cemetery, Paradise Valley, AZ
From the late Tony Hillerman, whose mystery novels read more like poetry
"On an August afternoon when the monsoons have started bringing in moisture from the Sea of Cortez, park somewhere atop Second Mesa with a panoramic view. To your right the westerly wind is pushing this warm moist air up the slopes of the San Francisco Peaks, where the forming mist quickly becomes a cloud, and is pushed eastward over the Painted Desert to grow, and climb, and begin trailing a thin gray curtain of virga and finally a heavy black wall of rain. And this cloud is followed by another, and another, because these mountains are the mother of clouds."
Native American Ten Commandments
The Earth is our Mother;
Care for her.
Honor all your relations.
Open your heart and soul to the
Great Spirit.
All Life is sacred; treat all
beings with respect.
Take from the Earth what is
needed and nothing more.
Do what needs to be done for
the good of all.
Give constant thanks to the
Great Spirit for each new day.
Speak the truth; but only of
the good in others.
Follow the rhythms of nature;
rise and retire with the sun.
Enjoy life's journey, but
leave no tracks.
