Took this photo of Southwest Mesa, which just made me curious about mesas around the world. I took a little time to explores mesas beyond the Southwest, highlighting notable regions and sharing poetry that celebrates these flat-topped mountains. Mesas Around the World When thinking of mesas, the red rock landscapes of Arizona and New Mexico often come to mind. Yet, mesas also appear in other continents, each with distinct cultural and natural significance. Venezuela : The Gra

I took this photo of the Southwest grass lands and then wanted to know grass lands around the world. Once I researched some of those regions I looked for different poets. One poet who captures grasses vividly is Dashdorjiin Natsagdorj, a Mongolian writer whose work reflects the spirit of the steppe and the natural world. His poem My Homeland (Mongolian: Minii nutag ) offers a powerful glimpse into the relationship between land, sky, and identity. The Landscape of the Mongoli

Driving through the Navajo Nation at sunset, I took this photo of the red rocks at sunset. The color reminded me of Uluru, also known as Ayers Rock, in Australia. This connection sparked my curiosity about Australian Aboriginal poets, leading me to discover Fred Biggs, a significant yet often overlooked figure in Aboriginal literature. Fred Biggs belonged to the Ngiyambaa (Wangaaybuwan) people of western New South Wales, a different group from those near Uluru. It is importa

I always enjoy when one of my assumptions is challenged, when I saw this image of the sun coming through the clouds, I wanted an Inca "Son of the Sun" text or song to complement it. The image of the Sapa Inca as the “Son of the Sun” is one of the most powerful and enduring symbols of the Inca Empire. This title connects the ruler directly to Inti, the sun god, and forms the foundation of the emperor’s political and spiritual authority. Yet, when we look closely at the histor

This image is from a hike in the Unita Mountains and the reflection of a peak in a glacier lake. Alfred Castner King’s poem Reflections captures this phenomenon with vivid detail and thoughtful insight. The Full Poem: Reflections by Alfred Castner King On the margin of a lakelet, In a rugged mountain clime, Where precipice and pinnacle Of countenance sublime, Cast their weird, austere reflections In the water's glistening sheen; I strolled in contemplative mood, Both

I captured this rare cloud rainbow — a rainbow that forms within the cloud itself, rather than as the familiar arch across the sky. Scientifically, this phenomenon is known as a cloud iridescence or cloud bow. It occurs when sunlight is diffracted or refracted by tiny water droplets or ice crystals suspended inside the cloud. Unlike a standard rainbow, which forms in the sky opposite the sun, a cloud rainbow can appear embedded in the cloud, with its colors spreading subtly a

When I first saw a photo of a simple landscape with sagebrush in the foreground, a mountain in the center, and clouds stretching far into the distance, I was struck by how much layering it contained. The image reminded me how even the simplest things can hold complex layers of meaning. I don't always like historically significant poems, the clash often with my values and beliefs. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that poetry is not all about me liking it. This idea connects

Water often carries a quiet magic in literature, symbolizing life, change, and sometimes, the elusive dream of immortality. In the classic novel Tuck Everlasting , water acts as a fountain of youth, granting eternal life through its slow, cold, and steady drip. This idea of water holding the power of forever living finds a poetic echo in W. B. Yeats’s poem The Wild Swans at Coole , where streams and rivers reflect the passage of time and the tension between permanence and cha

This cloud drifts like an enormous jellyfish floating through water, suspended in the vast blue sky. Its billowing form feels almost alive, gracefully navigating the currents as if the air itself were liquid. I wanted a poem or chant that could capture that same sense of suspension and reverence, and I found it in a Hawaiian chant: He ui, he nīnau —E ui aku ana au iā ʻoe: Aia i hea ka wai a Kāne? At the eastern gate, where the sun comes in at Haʻehaʻe — there is the water of

The image of a log resting over a cold, flowing stream in autumn captures a quiet tension between stillness and movement. The air may be crisp and chill, yet beneath the surface, the water continues its journey. This contrast echoes the spirit of Emily Pauline Johnson’s poetry, where rivers and streams. Her poem The Song My Paddle Sings offers a vivid portrayal of a paddler moving swiftly along a river, with water that is sometimes rushing, sometimes calm. The poem’s opening

I was thinking about the fleeting brilliance of gold, inspired by the golden leaves I saw drifting in the stream—so bright, yet so temporary, soon to mulch and wilt. I wanted to find a poem that captured that same sense of impermanence. My search led me to a Tang dynasty lyric, known as The Gold-Threaded Robe  (Chinese: 金缕衣). This anonymous poem uses the image of a precious garment to explore impermanence and the value of youth. Its simple but powerful message resonated immed

The poem Plant a Tree by Lucy Larcom, gets misunderstood that a tree is an endless legacy. That small acts in life, like a little seed, will last for all time. But even trees die, and I think about that when I plant a tree or say a kind word because I think that the temporariness of it all is why it is so important. Plant a Tree by Lucy Larcom (1824–1893) He who plants a tree Plants a hope. Rootlets up through fibers blindly grope; Leaves unfold into horizons free. So man's

It wasn’t a blanket of snow, like in winter. Fall snow doesn’t fall; it settles on the ground between the mud and the dying brush—snow for when there are no birds left in the branches. Twigs and leaves wait in the patches of snow as if a child forgot them in the yard. It wasn’t a turning snow, mixed with mud and slush, like in spring. Fall snow sits on the peaks of mud, as if the earth had left the rocks, the grass, the dirt, the sagebrush, and the branches in a single breath