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Canyon Morning
As I lay there
The soft blue
Of the morning sky
Gently steals the
Last of the night stars
And I am amazed!
As I lay there
The black formless
Canyon walls
Give up their
Secret crevices
And release their
Pastel cache of Color
And I am amazed!
As I lay there
The morning birds
Dive and swoop
Their presence
To let me know
We are mostly
Of each other
And I am amazed!
As I lay there
Memories of a different lifetime
Bring tears to my eyes
As I become open
To the gift of
One more day
And I am blessed!
Worth Johnson 9/98
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Ballad of Bessie Hyde
The mighty Colorado cuts deep and cold and strong chisels out Grand
Canyon, works its way along. But from the depths of ages, cold fury
may arise beneath a calmer surface waits violence, disguised.
Many a boatmanıs tried it and manyıs paid a cost; the newlyweds
of ı28 are the saddest of the lost. Glen Hyde was a river man, took
Bessie as his bride; claimed ıtwas nothing finer than a canyon river
ride.
Come with me and we will see the canyon deep and wide this boatıs
secure, donıt forget that youıre my darlinı and my bride.
They worked the scow together, for weeks rode side by side, thought
theyıd earn their fortune as first couple who had tried. Twas November
in the Canyon, the river a demonıs brew Bessie gamely pulled the
sweep, but fear within her grew.
Through the frenzy roared their craft, fierce waves about them
tossed. Those who watched, and knew the two, were certain theyıd
be lost. By Hermit Trail, Bess got off, swore flat that she was
done. Glen forced her back, cursed her cries, vowed theyıd do the
run.
Come with me and we will see the canyon deep and wide this boatıs
secure, donıt forget that youıre my darlinı and my bride.
Christmas day, at Diamond Creek, their wooden scow was found. It
looked to be a mournful tale of two crazy lovers drowned. Though
boat survived undamaged and in the hold remained Bessieıs secret
diary, their fates were not explained.
Some folks say Bess shot her man and hiked out on her own and in
a caveıs a skeleton with a bullet in the bone. Glen Hyde was a river
man, took Bessie as his bride on Grand Canyonıs river run and that
is why he died.
The mighty Colorado cuts deep and cold and strong chisels out Grand
Canyon, works its way along. But from the depths of ages, cold fury
may arise beneath a calmer surface waits violence, disguised.
Marion Boyer
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Grand Canyon Lullaby
Canyon wren sing a lullaby
in the violet time of day;
these walls above close out the world
and keep our cares away.
Canyon wren sing songs of time
locked the stone,
and in this quiet solitude
youıre never quite alone
for stars are shining down
on you, as they did in ages past;
the river rocks the full moonıs light;
youıre free to dream at last.
The Milky Way will carry you
to slip along the breeze
and fly beside the canyon wren
and live your life in ease.
Time to rest at riverside
and listen to the night.
Time to watch the canyon stars
until the morning light.
And though the river calls to us
we put our boats away.
Canyon wren sing a lullaby
in the violet time of day.
Marion Boyer
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