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 |   This blog contains responses to blog prompts, & thoughts on spiritual or religious themes |
ʻIdál (Justice), 13 Mulk (Dominion) 176 B.E. - Wednesday, February 19, 2020 Artist: Eleanor Swan Title: Home Means Nevada Lyrics1 Way out in the land of the setting sun, Where the wind blows wild and free, There's a lovely spot, just the only one That means home sweet home to me. If you follow the old Kit Carson trail, Until desert meets the hills, Oh you certainly will agree with me, It's the place of a thousand thrills. Home means Nevada Home means the hills, Home means the sage and the pine. Out by the Truckee, silvery rills, Out where the sun always shines, Here is the land which I love the best, Fairer than all I can see. Deep in the heart of the golden west Home means Nevada to me. Whenever the sun at the close of day, Colors all the western sky, Oh my heart returns to the desert grey And the mountains tow'ring high. Where the moon beams play in shadowed glen, With the spotted fawn and doe, All the live long night until morning light, Is the loveliest place I know. Home means Nevada Home means the hills, Home means the sage and the pines. Out by the Truckee's silvery rills, Out where the sun always shines, There is the land that I love the best, Fairer than all I can see. Right in the heart of the golden west Home means Nevada to me. I've lived in Nevada since sometime in the last century. I'm not saying exactly when I moved here because I like the phrase "sometime in the last century" better than the exact year. This phrase establishes the fact that Nevada is now my home and I can truthfully say "Home means Nevada to me." Many of my poem deal with Southern Nevada, Clark County, and the Las Vegas valley. I Dark soulless faces stare Up from the cement sidewalk, Their huge blank eyes burning holes in your thoughts, Their voiceless mouths screaming in silent terror. II Pale ghost Walk across the deep blue sky Leaving their dusty footprints upon the firmament. III The odor Of the silence Permeates the mind And sends the senses reeling. 1 Wave upon wave the rolling hills Lap at the foot of Mt. Charleston, while coin by coin tourist feed, the local economy. 2 Tread marks on the Jersey walls, beer cans on the shoulder, and pot holes the size of Cadillacs, give the city color. 3 Through scattered pools of light, wade daughters of the night, plying their illegal trade, beneath casinos' glittering shade. 4 High in the sky distant stars pale, at the shame of the city's dancing lights, while suicidal pedestrians, cross against both traffic and lights. 5 Queued in irregular lines, locals wait for signs, to change from red to green, from closed to open. 6 Questions commonly asked, by arriving tourist: "Are there any churches here?" "Do people really live here?" 7 Why set alone in your room, when you can be alone in a crowd; why listen to a noisy T.V., when there's the poker machines' symphony. 8 The part of town you live in, determines the quality of the streets; the part if town you live in, has little effect upon crime. 9 The most important piece of equipment, isn't the one-armed-bandit, but an environmental control unit, that runs without stopping all day. 10 The asphalt rivers are dry receding waters left dirt ramps along concrete curbs 11 Incongruity Sprinklers watering the lawn While it is raining 12 In winter the cold air awakens the longing for summer, as the night wind echoes the voices of lost souls. 13 Winter's wind is a knife cutting through your thoughts, and severing all hope of warm happiness. 14 The wind's cold laughter sends joy flying: no snow; no rain; no sleet; only the glacial wind of night. 15 In the hot light of day , the city lays spread across the desert a hooker seductively beckoning. Footnotes |
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