Poems

All entries that I consider poetry. When poems are posted, I consider them rough drafts which I continue to edit over the years.

My 44 Year Old Hands

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25 years this blog has weathered space and time and it was offline for a couple years with no backup. Thanks to an older backup XML file and the Wayback Machine, I’ve been able to restore the original journal that spans a quarter century of my life. This poem is a time warp from the poem I wrote, which is in the archives, titled: My 22 Year Old Hands…

My 44 Year Old Hands

These are my 44-year-old hands.

Desert hands.

Sun-cured. Split. Salted with years.

They don’t move fast anymore,

but they move like water in a dry wash —

only when it matters.

There are canyons in the knuckles now,

thin arroyo lines where old grief carved through

and never quite washed smooth.

The bones creak like truck springs on a washboard road.

Weather talks through them.

These hands have gripped a steering wheel at 2 a.m.,

held a camera like a compass,

picked through rusted towns and shuttered doors,

lifted stones just to see what lives beneath.

They’ve bled on sandstone.

They’ve shaken with anger and mercy.

They’ve held people like fragile relics

and buried things that never came back.

I don’t use them to reach for everything anymore.

The desert taught them restraint —

you carry only what you need

or the road strips you clean.

Now they know the feel of wind,

of heat that hums in metal,

of prayers sent up with dust devils

instead of pews.

My 44-year-old hands aren’t pretty.

They’re honest.

They tremble less from wanting

and more from remembering.

And when I finally lay them down —

sand-cold, still,

done —

I hope the earth knows them,

like a long-lost stone

rolled back into its riverbed,

and trusts

that they tried to hold this world

without breaking it.

by Nathan Arizona

Related: Braffits Creek, A Thread in the Great Basin | Sonoran Spring with the White Wings

Hovering Up The Canyon

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Middle of the night

during a dripping light storm

Clouds dense like soup

with a smooth humid stench

permeating the mossy August air

it came to me in the early morning

around 2AM with a lowly hum

shortly after orbs were playing tag

which stirred me out of the deepest of sleeps

They danced like ancient spirits

and shimmered

above the New Mexico pines

near the Colorado line

in a place off the road, I encamped

on my way to Dulce

on Jicarilla Apache Lands

it was an old growth forest.

It was where I saw the triangle craft

hovering up the canyon

above US Highway 64

rotating on its side like a wagon wheel

before climbing into the moon soaked

cloud quilt above

and vanishing.

Poem from my UFO Encounter in 2014

by Nathan Arizona

The Shadow Man: The Visitor

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I’m hearing the voices from the far distant past from a time when earth was on a different sphere

I could see them roaming the empty landscape underneath the constant turquoise sky. And the valley floor went on forever beneath the bright hum of sun accompanying massive cloud ships. The calmness of the wind whipped up silent dust devils that soon hid their view.

I now can hear their footsteps in the forest but something else walks through the undergrowth. I cannot spot his shadow even though I have always known who he is, because he came to me! He disappears in the rays of filtered sunlight that drift through the skinny pines.

This shadow man constantly dances with me even in the lively flame of my red warm fire; both the fire and the shadow man against the black night – flickering off the trees under the twinking stars. . . those infinite star systems as far as the eye can imagine.

In the early morning the smoke is still rising from what’s left of the smoldering embers and I can catch the wisp of slight burning juniper, maybe a little sage.

I have never forgotten this man – The Visitor who came to me in a deep sleep when I was a 18. His face still haunts me with beautiful flashback memories. This thing, the spirit, the entity, this old man killed my greed and healed my heart.

By Nathan Cowlishaw

December 31, 2017

Tonight, They Arrive

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Tonight, They Arrive!

They came pouring through the portal
like fiery stars
speaking in eternal languages
beyond our threshold
waking me, in the middle of the night
and awakening the soul
to the biggest thrill of a millennium.
Never thought this was possible
or even close to real but
it’s happening
I’m leaving
I’m gone.
Going back into the portal
heading for closer
to the far-away
listening to the little people
singing their strange themes
inside these cobweb tunnels
descending back in time
forward in a backwards sense
All beauty ripping loose
from the seams of surreality
This, a dream coming true, unfolding
a reality, beyond a vision.
I welcome you
Into this mystic.

By Nathan Cowlishaw

Fresh from the Transfer

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Mind Opening Portal
exploring the possibilities
as infinite as they have become
as soon as I had broken the windows
of everything I knew.

Then, as if divinity stepped in,
there he was with all the
beauty that he brought with him
to give to his chosen
unconditionally.

Sentient spirits came from
out of the thundering abyss
from the deep billows of the storm
and down below
all was calm and mesmerizing.

Somewhere out of this chaos
came a powerful peace that predates
our time and place
that came into our space
and brought us together.

It’s quite extraordinary,
this unknown scheme
that is more natural and mystic
than earth-made systems
And into this unknown we venture.

by Nathan Cowlishaw

Aliens in My Early Life

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In my early life, not sure exactly when – some source of intelligence came to me when I was a child. It was not traumatic. It was nothing like being abducted or taken against my will and I was not violated and nothing questionable was committed against me. I have a definitive connection to the Universe outside of our planetary world here on Earth as a result. Whoever they were, wherever they came from; somehow they were involved in my upbringing. I have to give credit when it is due; they had profound influence during my development. There is no other way to explain why I am on this UFO/ET Road, now. I didn’t wind up on this path obsessively until 2013 – when I started witnessing real UFOs in the sky, especially one that was a triangle craft in close proximity on the boundary of the Jicarilla-Apache Reservation Southwest of Dulce, New Mexico in 2014. These events caused earlier memories and recollections in my life to resurface. They are basically telling me, “We Are Still Here!”

Like Humanity, there is good and evil throughout our history with examples like Hitler and the Third Reich, and righteous individuals like Jesus Christ. All these individuals were prime sources of influence on mankind and polar opposites of good and evil. We often blame Lucifer, the Christian Devil as being the source of these evils, and Lucifer is also an Intelligence. The ones I speak of exist both in human and non-human form and when asked whether these intelligences are good and noble or evil and hostile – I respond that they are all the above. Like humanity, there is all sorts of good and evil in all of the Creator’s Universe and I attribute the “Most High” of the Intelligences as the Creator – or what Christians would call God and Muslims call Allah!

We are not alone in the Universe and I think the Creator intended it to be this way. We are being visited and influenced by other intelligences whether they be of light or darkness; there is a balance along with the many shades which accompany these BEINGS. Some of them use technology that is far more advanced than what is available to Humanity’s disposal. Some of this tech has been gifted to us as well, only to be locked up in secrecy.

All I know is that I am barely scratching the surface and I have a lot to learn and there is a lot that I do know about but do not fully understand yet. I have seen some some of these Intelligences, beings, and some of their technologies. I’m comfortable acknowledging this in a very grounded way. Their influence in my life has been very positive with no malevolence but there is a lot of it steeped up in uncrackable mystery. I get a feeling that in due time, more information and knowledge will come to me along with many others who have had these experiences or events that are closely related.

In my teen years I was backpacking solo into the hills. A few of my friends thought I was either suicidal or crazy but I was quite the opposite. While I was out there in the desert, or the mountains, all by myself, powerful things happened to me. These experiences changed my life forever, and the course of my destiny. It made me who I am today. There’s an Mormon adage/scripture that says; “By their fruits, ye shall know them,” and these beings brought about changes in my life that were for the better. Sometimes these episodes left me spooked, startled, completely at a loss and deep in fear but when I came to grips with the experiences, I quickly realized that these events were teaching and preparing me for who knows what? It was something that is coming at a future date. The truth is though, I am an artist, photographer and writer because of these beings and intelligences and their visitations.

If you read through this journal and go through some of my poems/pros written years ago, the words will shed more light on what it is I’m talking about.

They Are Returning

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hey Are Returning!

As I was driving out on the highway tonight
outside of town
watching the sun disappear behind the mountains
with night settling in
crimson slivers of light
igniting the bottoms of cloudships

I felt the warm November winds
of the snowy high desert plateau
in an unusually hot winter

It has been a decade since this mystery
paid me a visit
but the hills of juniper and pinion
are calling me
I could hear them
as they distinctly whispered

Tonight was a desert dance of red fiery
with a light rain upon the snow
and the stillness of the clouds
and the slightest breeze swirling
around me after halting the vehicle and listening

My dreams of the old ways are returning
I felt their strong embrace
not sure what it is exactly that is haunting me?
but the taps of the rain hitting softly on the tin roof of my Suzuki
alerted me to the presence

Things that remain unknown to most
are returning to me as of late
a multitude of eternal intelligences
that provide the shrouded glimpses into the infinite
beyond this life

By Nathan Cowlishaw

My Inter-Dimensional Self

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This heart of mine dreams
because I have a really beautiful soul
that knows and feels the mysteries of the Earth
And recognizes the most subtle light in the canyon
and the complex and simple sounds of the Unknown.
I’ve prayed to my Creator, daily
verbally and in thoughts,
and ponder about
The Creator of the Universe, daily
and wonder if he can really hear me, still?
Somewhere, I’m out there in interstellar space
listening to those far-distant stars
and down in the trenches of the darkest
parts of the Earth’s ocean –
And I’m up there with the traveling snow
being swept off the highest peaks
and down in the desert bottoms where
the whirlwinds whip and roam.
Love cannot be this timeless,
but it still hurts this same heart
because I am human when my eyes are open
But I’m capable of endless visions…

by Nathan Cowlishaw

Honey-lit Afternoon

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Dreams of a honey lit aspen afternoon
Smiles full of laughter
Trying to keep a straight face
Lost in the reality of it…
In the simplicity of your dignity and grace

Coming off the mountain
And meandering off the desert mesa
With you nearly by my side
On a sunny summer afternoon
Singing folks songs…

And I look back on it all
And it all comes back to me
In the moment

By Nathan Cowlishaw

Real Beauty

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Real beauty surpasses the physical realm
and is eternal.
There is a reason we change worlds
while this life is short.
Our evolution is infinite
even though we all must face death one day.

by Nathan Cowlishaw

Date with Jazmin

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The wind softly
sliced through pinion branches
while the sunset’s crimson fire
burned the rock face
Imprinting trees in shadow.
As purple monsoon clouds shifted.
in the early August air
The chorus of insects sang ancient
flooding our senses
with ethereal sensations.
Somewhere, between
reality and dream

She is my new muse… An artist is she…

by

I can hear the soft whisper of the wind as it gently brushes the window blinds and evening starts to set-in… The Robins are singing in the late afternoon summer. Fine sediment is blowing in from the dust bowl west of town. And I’m just thinking… thinking about a lot of things.

Life is full of beauty with the simple, if you just let. them. be.

On the Railroad Tracks

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Let the starlight capture your gaze tonight
where happiness never sleeps and
dreams never soften.
A heart that is pure cannot deny
the truth of what was real,
and I love life because
of what may be?
Never forget the
memories as they come
and go and flee…

The Outlaw Coyote Kate

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In a few words to keepin it short
My heart trembles
for Coyote Kate.

In winter, the wind whistles
over the dark Uintahs
through steep strange canyons
of sandstone and shadow.

The beauty of that country is composed of
lost gold mines, dinosaur graves
and chocked oil deposits –

a wild territory haunted
by coyotes, cowboys, ramblers ‘n such
even the ghosts of
departed prospectors.

as the sun sets
in the freeze of winter
you can feel the hint
of a deep conundrum
plaguing the
land of the Utes.

in quiet discontent
an independent Woman known
as Coyote Kate wonders
the streets of Vernal,
a town of oil drillers
river runners ‘n more.

there is something unusual to Her
silence that causes Me to conspire
as She moves about.

far away to the south
She rides the quiet canyons
and labyrinths of a dream.

I used to engage every adventure
into the forested hills.
I would follow the shimmering light
that appeared in the distance.
yet, I never felt fully content

until She crossed My mind.

The Reality of Freedom

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Okay, I had a wild hair to break out of my shell of conformity and write a few words here on Freedom. I’m talking True Freedom and how it feels. First comes courage and faith to think outside the box and to be different from all the others. Freedom is finding the courage to really let a woman know she is beautiful. Freedom is the wild horse that roams the great basin or is the man that decides to hitch-hike the lonesome highways of America. Freedom is to enter the quiet canyons of the Colorado Plateau and to experience solitude and seclusion.

I seek to be different and to emerge with a unique identity in a world of common imagery and unchanging static. My spirit is like a wild eagle and it cannot be bound by conformity, though I choose to conform. My shadow is a true rebel, but I have learned to bridal the Poncho Villa within. As I roam the great and vast distances of the American West and live the rural small town life – I have learned to experience true freedom on a daily basis. I thank the Creator for instilling in me such a strong and innate since of being. That is, because I am truly sovereign on a personal level and no one will ever tell me what to do! I choose what I choose and discard what is useless.

My affinity is for those that are striving to discover true freedom and who are trying to break away from the mold. There are lonesome hearts and there are dreamers; they are all naturally my friends.

True freedom and happiness comes from within. It all comes from my heart and now I am expressing it here the best way I can. This is just a sliver of my heart and there are infinite ways for me to go. Life is one big adventure to me and I am excited to see what lays around the next bend. With each major rapid I roar with anticipation and excitement.

King of Trees

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It has become Methuselah
while the sweat of black sun
drips from its wooden claws
which break
timeless howling winds

Daily
the cloud people travel
beyond its barren branches
into the ages
of silence

On the furthest edges
of God’s Holy Imagination
stands the test of time

With dark sandstone
plateaus below and
High above
on it’s heavenly throne
rules the ancient
Bristlecone Pine!

In the Candled Night

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It is a candled night
in dreams they sleep
vast distances lay between

the firelight dances in their minds

with each passing hour
the dream fades
then grows

an empty void fills
the interior walls
of yesteryear
even yesterday

a vision of pairs
walks carefully down
an imagined street

the soft candled
sky shows fiery hues

spiraling galaxies throw
colorful intensities

all the while
in the deepness of the soul
the heart rakes the
rugged densities of life

the feeling of absence
grows arduous in
dark moonless hours

when a beautiful song
cannot be sung
…i know a place
where no one ever goes…
that is how the song is sung
but silence reverberates

no careful peace is felt
on a moonless night
when stars ignite the heavens

and with the silence
comes no certainty

it is peace and quietness
that claims forested hills
in the isolated mansions of earth

the quietest of solitudes
are discovered

i hear the song in my mind
while sleeping as rip van winkle
under a wise cottonwood
of thick, rattling leaves

it all seems a dream
even the labors of life

when basking
in beauty and repose

in the candled night
i dream of the azure sky
beside a mountain stream
singing the same careful tune

it is in a far off place
somewhere
far away

Between Birth and Death

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My love of life is incredible and God made me into a pillar of light. Because I am happy to be free, to roam the quiet folds of reality, to travel the haunted night. I drive a small vehicle down the back roads and dirt roads of a big sky desert. My time is short on earth, but spectacular! When I die, allow the coyotes, buzzards, and varmints to eat my satisfied remains. in the end, I want to give something back to the world of creation that spawned me. How grateful I am to be a part of the grand scheme, from birth to death, in a world of the thriving unknown. Where ghosts lurk behind creaky doors and phantoms float the sandy canyons and the wind truly wails.

Wagon of Ashes

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inside the doorway of the traveling sky,
there is quiet peace in this world.

although there is a lonely wagon filled with ashes
it wonders past sea and mountain, and through the valleys.

when it gets dark and black.
without sight, does it wonder
and cannot find peace.

the children that knew, are crying,
while their parents lay in bed dying.
and so the only mother of them all
went to her autumn grave,
and soon the peaceful snow gathered.

the wagon wonders,
with it’s ashes.

In the dark it wonders.

but in dreams, the children are free
where burdens do not exist.
where suffering has no season.

sad world, sad people.
God has been abandoned,

in a hidden place,
the wagon of ashes has stopped,
far away beneath the treeless moon.
the stars are freezing in the bitter cold.

the children that knew are crying,
while their parents were dying,
in the realm of this sad, sad world.

Go into the Wilderness My Friend

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Dream of the old way.,
Vanish into the back woods.
The power of the wind is strong.
There is a shadow in the trees.

The powerful mystery speaks.
Dream of the spirit life
Where boundless solitude is found.
Go into the desert alone
Because it is calling you.

There’s a spirit home for every soul.
And the shadow waits.
In the hills over yonder
The mystery sleeps.

The sun is shining in a quiet world
of peace and stillness
Where the forever hills sleep,
that is where you should go

If you are a child of the mountains.

The Sound is Strong

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The sky is full of storm,
As I retire for the night,
listening to the dense wind blow.
The rain begins to tap the house.

This past summer
the trees were buzzing with ghosts.
And there on the edges of reality
a fiery noise did grow.
The noise is unquiet.
Listen as the coyotes howl…

Praise to those that can hear
the powerful song of beauty.
Beware to those
who do not recognize anything.

The beauty of the wilderness
is beating inside me.
Scenes from an ancient ponderosa forest
flower in dreams, deep at night.
These dreams radiate with the glow
of black sun and turquoise sky.
Wind dashes through the pines
like white water rapids.

The sound is strong, listen.
Love the beauty.
For whatever may come,
be ready!

A Supernatural Wind

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The ferocious wind
whips through tree branches.
I close my eyes and imagine
it’s a dark and supernatural wind
blowing civilization into oblivion.
The wind is singing, howling, and rushing.
The sound is perfect, superb, and beautiful.
Into the ocean deep mind, I descend
remembering ancient days.
It is summoning the anarchy
that burns in my soul.
Where’s an escape
that leads to the past?

Slow Moving Storm

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Buzzing power lines cut the wind
The wind howls and moans as darkness grows.
Winter pushes spring feelings away,
And brings dark cloud ships
that hug mountains,
shrouding them in eerie mist.
Fog enters the desert basin.
Mule Deer gather in cottonwood groves.
Flakes of snow start to invade.
The sun’s heat has faded.
The storm moves slow.
By morning, theres eighteen inches of
Fresh powder and growing.

Dreaming of the Afterlife

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A boy sat outside the village
looking at the grave yard at the mesa’s edge.
“What ever happened to the dead?” he pondered.
“Are they living some where else far away?”

Skeletons walking around after
the day turns to night
inspires the boy to dream of
the darkness and deepness of rivers.

“Are the dead living somewhere else?”
Out on the mesa edge he prays every morning.
He prays, waiting for the sun to come up;
to come over and talk to him.

Every night, he dreams of the
medicine that will make him dead.
He wants to go see the corpse house. Please come.
The sound is making him old.
His dream for the crimson light is fading.

“Poem inspired from a Hopi story.”

The Early Morning

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dark rain clouds
wander the blue sky
making the dream come
alive a vision of the
land singing

Then cries the raven
from its hollow in the
knarled tree
that twists its branches
into the ancient wind

Thunder echoes way across
the desert yonder
farther than
the eyes can see

The black rock
was the blood of
that ancient beast
that was slain so
long ago

the locust begin buzzing
and an eagle heralds the dawn
when that sun peaks
up over the rim of mountains
the clouds catch
pink-red rays

The old man pulls up his
trousers because
of no suspenders. He laughs
out with his diabetic belly
and sings of how he has
“Noassatall disease”

The grand kids pile out of
the truck, hollering and
shouting as grandpa sticks
his false teeth back in

while heavens above are glistening
and the happy meadow lark sings of
a beautiful new day

Changes

by

I am wondering through what beauty is left…

There is hardly a place to go
where man has not intruded.
Everything is changing.
I dream of what happened long ago.
What was Earth like then?
There is a divine power today,
not all is gone.

I believe that the sky
and the landscape will change.
People will have no part in it,
if they are not worthy.

Strange things come to me on the wind.
The sun in this quiet world is talking to me.
The Earth is helping me dream too.
The ravens are excited, and chatter
the news around in their little circles.
The desert is waking up,
and the ocean of silence is telling me.

So I have learned…

Heart of a Resistant Land

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It is gusty tonight,
as the fiery sun sinks into
the western mountains
Stars flood heavens deep
The ancient desert sings
The voice of the mountain
wails through the pinion
singing with the streams of
yellow grass and sage
The basin below
is cold and dusty

The mountain wind moves all night
The Coyotes run the midnight hills
yipping and howling
in the heart of this resistant land

Never to be taken!
Nothing is controlled
Nothing can rob the
soul of the wild

My Destiny

by

No person
will hinder me
from venturing
into shadow

creeping into the
deeper wild

where the
wind sings
ageless

further ‘n further
away from
my captors

…the wraiths
of civilization

No individual
will persuade me
from the call of
creation

forward,
into beauty
of earth and sky.

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