Mojave Wind

Sleep in the Mojave Desert
by Sylvia Plath




Out here there are no hearthstones,

Hot grains, simply. It is dry, dry.

And the air dangerous. Noonday acts queerly

On the mind’s eye, erecting a line

Of poplars in the middle distance, the only

Object beside the mad, straight road

One can remember men and houses by.

A cool wind should inhabit those leaves

And a dew collect on them, dearer than money,

In the blue hour before sunup.

Yet they recede, untouchable as tomorrow,

Or those glittery fictions of spilt water

That glide ahead of the very thirsty.





I think of the lizards airing their tongues

In the crevice of an extremely small shadow

And the toad guarding his heart’s droplet.

The desert is white as a blind man’s eye,

Comfortless as salt. Snake and bird

Doze behind the old masks of fury.

We swelter like firedogs in the wind.

The sun puts its cinder out. Where we lie

The heat-cracked crickets congregate

In their black armorplate and cry.

The day-moon lights up like a sorry mother,

And the crickets come creeping into our hair

To fiddle the short night away.






"Mojave Wind"



By Mike Ziem



From outta' the west

Like the Devil's breath

It races across the land.

With the fury of Cane

And not to be tamed,

'Cept by God's own mighty hand.





So it shouldn't seem strange

That the *Tehachapi range

Of mountains stood not a chance.

It would pick up the sand

In the palm of it's hand

As across the desert floor it danced.





An incantation of devastation

Heralds the wicked breeze.

Taking command of the birds and land,

Sagebrush, and Joshua trees.





It can be cold as ice or hot as hell,

Whichever it endorsed.

The decision, all it's own,

Ruthlessly enforced.





Its dustdevil's prancing and

Mischievously dancing

Like phantoms prowling the Earth.

Transforming the soil

Into whirlwind coils,

Tornadoes of debris and dirt.





But a time comes when

The mighty zephyr moves on

With the haste which it came.

Without a trace it was here.

Just a mem'ry remain.



And a deceptive calm

Settles across the sand,

And the gale freely relinquishes

It's reign of command





But make no mistakes,

It'll be back again.

It's a part of this place...

The mighty Mojave Wind.







* The Tehachapi mountain range is between Edwards AFB

and the town of Mojave. It serves as a "bottle neck"

which greatly increases the speed of the wind.