Prospector Poems - Poems about Prospector

Succumb to a rabbit hole, avalanche perception Compiles tiles sliding, interchanging hues Collapses cement rigidity command of tension Cube covers corners interior cog subdues Determined digits dive in darker dire dimension Coming to glinted dug river bed treasures Coalesce of pleasures drift in liquid suspension Culminate in mind crowned proud avenger Clever surface turner ensures dirt spurns limits Combative burrow tunnel richly...

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A spot of fresh blue water Flows off rocks backs jewel covers Fossils of dormant brown doubles Captivate earthen brothers Mining, panning gold treasures Jewel covers rocks pleasures Dunged up hammered measures Crystal blue waters pressures 7/25/19 Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019© Written for project North Omaha Writer’s Group assignment 2019©...

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Prospector Pete had roamed the hills fer years searchin' fer some gold. He and his faithful burro, Fred, were both growin' weary and old. He'd looked fer color in many a mountain and stream in Colorado, Lookin' fer that mother lode, that elusive vein, his own El Dorado. Oh, he'd found a few nuggets here and there, but didn't...

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I wonder often what do you do with them, the many jewels mined from my rankled mind. Jagged edged gems scraping, my brain further chafing as you unearth each disturbing bauble. I wonder often if your excavation reveals some personal fruit or some prized, torture bred treasure. What do you do with your collection of stone and marl? Do you display your torment born trinkets? Do they sit...

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a prospector of both time and space deeply in search of your embrace...

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The Old Prospector, The Crazy Old Fool Folks said that nasty fool is a damn old bat times the bastard knows not where he is at Rumor is he lives in shame for murdering a man eats lizards and snakes, drinks from rusty can He eats snails, claiming it slows his pain wore a sombrero, his umbrella for the rain Chewed on...

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Greed overtakes any prospector looking for gold. Here I am above the Arctic Circle braving the cold. The bitter freezing is enough to kill anyone young or old. The river flows under a very thick sheet of ice. Temperatures at fifty degrees below zero are not nice. It is late morning, and the sky is a crepuscular gray. That golden orb...

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Prospector Pete had roamed the hills fer years searchin' fer gold! He and his faithful burro, Fred, were both growin' weary and old. He'd looked fer color in many a mountain and stream in Colorado, Lookin' fer that mother lode, that elusive vein, his own El Dorado! Oh, he'd found a few nuggets here and there, but didn't amount...

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The Prospector: He packs his tack in a great canvas sack And then drives away in his car. Nobody cries as they wave their goodbyes; They will await his return from afar. When he reaches the track he will find his way back With his GPS tuned to a star. The stories are told how he travels the...

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It was just another road construction Of a brand new super highway, Only seconds just saved from destruction On that cold, cloudy winter day. The back hoe was about to crush it sure, When the archeologist whoaed— And they gently pried open and then tore The pine box so long ago sowed. Inside were some old fragile human bones, And shreds of a prospector’s...

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