Death Valley: Poetry

WARNING: Extreme levels of desert-induced morbidity ahead!

I wrote this on our first fully day of hiking.

Fall asleep by a cliff and wake up dead
When a too-loose rock tumbles down on your head.
On bile, on blood, or on worse you might gag
When a rattlesnake bites you in your sleeping bag.
Forget the routine and a foot you will lose
When you don't shake that scorpion out of your shoes.
You'll know you're in danger of dying of thirst
When your head feels as though it is going to burst.
Collapse, burn, or just go insane
When the heat bakes its way right through to your brain.
Paralysis stems from your poor, broken back
When your legs give out and you're crushed by you pack.
You think you're saves, but life grinds to a halt
When that water you find has far too much salt.
A surprise twist ends your last living day
When a flash flood sweeps in and sweeps you away.
A lightning storm hits and you watch for a flash
When--too late!--you body is blasted to ash.
You'll run for the road, whispered prayers on your breath
When you see why it's known as the valley of Death.

This poem started out about a series of nosebleeds and mutated into what it is now.

Rivers of blood, blood all around
Blood on my shoes and pooling on the ground
Blood from the mouth and blood from the eyes
A stench that attracts many thousands of flies
Blood on my pants and blood on my shirt
Stains that glisten with each renewed spurt
Pouring until it obscures an trace
Of expression upon the agonized face
Blood from the chest until I scream, "Why
Does this boy bleed so much when I can't make him die?"

Thinking of Sweet Charity on top of a mountain...

There's gotta be some land tamer than this
There's gotta be some path better to take
And when I find me some kind of path I can take
I'm gonna get up
I'm gonna get out
I'm gonna get up, get out, and take it

On top of Ubehebe peak...

On the peak
What we seek
Tarnished metal box
Holding years
Of smiles and tears
Fumbling with the locks
Open wide
And inside
Papers to the brim
Sorting through
Planning to
Read, peruse, or skim
Others shout
Pull some out
With their names addressed
None for me
Though I be
Happy for the rest
Write I will
Leave until
I mingle with the past
On this day
I am on A.
W. E. at last

Around day 13 or 14 I got to thinking about Strident/Tam's version of, "Hush, Little Baby." Verses in a similar vein popped into my head.

Hush little baby, hold my hand
Don't worry about the nightmare land

Hush little baby, let me dry
The tears from your one remaining eye

Hush little baby, listen well
Just try to forget this brand new hell

Hush little baby, try to bear
You fate for nobody's going to care

Hush little baby, take your rest
Before a knife lands in your breast

Hush little baby, just the same
Even though they'll cast you into flame

Hush little baby, save your breath
Crying won't delay your painful death

Hush little baby, don't ask why
This will be your final lullaby

This poem was based on The Pillowman. I never got the fifth couplet to work out as well as I hoped. Oh, well.

My brother, you know best of all just why I'm not so bright:
for seven years your loving parents tortured me each night.
At times the line 'twixt real and false can slip beyond my ken,
So why are you surprised I made the little apple men?
It took so long to add the hidden razor blades she ate.
My dedication can you not at least appreciate?
And what about the little boy whose foot I chopped in two?
You'd ask the same if even the Pied Piper came for you.
The little Jesus took so long, but it was worth the sweat
To see your words come true at last: I'm ever in their debt.
I'm honoring your stories in the only way I can:
They are the single reason I refused the Pillowman.
If you had never written them be sure that I'd be dead.
I owe my life to all these bloody harvests from your head.
So that I've explained, Katurian, do you see why
I'm not to blame for children that your stories caused to die?