Blank Verse of a Blank Land

Blank Verse of a Blank Land

A Poem by VennelaMargame
"

Based upon driving through central Nevada last summer, in response to someone who wrote that rural Nevada was "creepy as Hell."

"

They chose to call it creepy, but they’re wrong.

The sanguine rocks and salt-cream playas crawl

And ooze but never creep or sneak or steal.

Upstate Nevada’s far too obvious

For innuendos or dissimulation.

Peaches and cream, the desert sweetly sweats

As though the earth might actually be alive,

Or so my prejudice would wish to make it.

Baking in bright, dry dreams, with showery thoughts

At best, or none, it does not play at life,

Nor play at death. It does not play at all.

 

Eastbound, some distance west of Currant Pass,

The road shook out a laugh, and then went stiff

From swells to flats to swells, twenty-one miles

Presented without pretense, save for that

Which I projected: pale, abyssal plains,

An asphalt sine wave, calculus of travel,

The skinless earth, hot bones and drying muscle.

I’d find a distant mountain on my atlas,

And measure where it first came into view,

Drawing my vision’s compass into stone.

The continent is smaller in the desert,

With so much less for it to hide behind.

 

At Currant Pass, the grass and trees returned,

Canny components of a narrow world,

And blanching canyon branches, balls of shrubs,

High desert pines, nourished by shouldered clouds

With secret mountains up their skirts of sky.

An hour earlier, a squall had come.

The first rain in five thousand miles fell,

Near the Extra-Terrestrial Highway Junction,

As if it did not know that I were there

To catch it in the act, and contemplate

Seeing Nevada putting on her blush,

To paint her cheek upon the rocky-nosed

And sandy, staring countenance of West,

Without a care for interloping voyeurs.

Our fantasies are weeds that take their root

Within the hardest soil. They stand on stones,

The sharpest stones, until their cuts are grafted

Into the desert, inextricably.

There, in Currant Pass, the dough of earth

Was rolled and folding in, with salted crusts

And the hungry smell of heat. A dying house

And yellow grasses, waving, fell in line,

Because their colors were expected there,

Hot tones below a molten sugar sky,

Among the blown-glass pines and frosted canyons.

Abundance in abundance, overwhelming

Munificence in emptiness, and heat,

The gentle heat, most loving, saintly heat,

A continental blanket wrapped and curled,

A land of fleecy sun, tied bright and close,

A solar system soaking in a spring

Of hot galactic brine, and all that was

Or will be poured its herbs into the bath,

And I, a giant, standing over all,

Beheld and understood and mastered it.

 

But nothing happened. None of that was true.

The road was sliding on, the West rushed back.

The desert was a desert full of dreams,

Being beheld, and nothing else. No love,

No hate, no secrets in the shallow earth.

Upstate Nevada’s far too obvious

For innuendos and dissimulation.

Its value was no more or less for this.

One need but widen one’s corner of the world

And it will come; there is no infinite.

© 2014 VennelaMargame


Author's Note

VennelaMargame
This probably could be tightened up. Let me know where if you think so.

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Featured Review

Your poem reminds me of Allen Smuckler's writings. I think I spelled his name right. Search him on the cafe. He always wrote about his travels and the places he's been. He now put all his poems in a book, I think he's doing okay with his self-publishing efforts. My favorite two lines:

Peaches and cream, the desert sweetly sweats
As though the earth might actually be alive,

Nevada, another place I have never been to. But now you make me want to go visit.

Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Muse

6 Years Ago

The picture is stunning. I Wish to see a larger version of it.
VennelaMargame

6 Years Ago

It doesn't blow up if you click on it?
VennelaMargame

6 Years Ago

Hmm, here's an image url. https://scontent-a-iad.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash2/t1.0-9/1010603_1010020930.. read more



Reviews

Your poem reminds me of Allen Smuckler's writings. I think I spelled his name right. Search him on the cafe. He always wrote about his travels and the places he's been. He now put all his poems in a book, I think he's doing okay with his self-publishing efforts. My favorite two lines:

Peaches and cream, the desert sweetly sweats
As though the earth might actually be alive,

Nevada, another place I have never been to. But now you make me want to go visit.

Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Muse

6 Years Ago

The picture is stunning. I Wish to see a larger version of it.
VennelaMargame

6 Years Ago

It doesn't blow up if you click on it?
VennelaMargame

6 Years Ago

Hmm, here's an image url. https://scontent-a-iad.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash2/t1.0-9/1010603_1010020930.. read more

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Added on June 16, 2014
Last Updated on June 18, 2014
Tags: Poem Drive Nevada Desert Nature

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VennelaMargame
VennelaMargame

NY



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I want to apologize to any friends on here for how long I've been delinquent. I need to get back on here, clear my backlog of read requests and get writing again. Best wishes all. more..

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