WRITINGS AND OTHER LITERARY
ABOUT THE TABLE MOUNTAINS
We've seen Denver City grow from tent and log
to peopled boxes of brick, steel, and glass
And below us a territorial capital cane at last
Then towns of Aurora, Englewood and Northglenn
Wheat Ridge, Westminster, Arvada, Lakewood and
As stately sentinels North and South we ask
Have not you've seen us change in morning cold
from hues of browns, grays, orange to red and
Or, watch us glisten and reflect in evening tide
as the parting sun pays its last respects and
The Song of the Mesas
Mighty sentinels North and South
we’ve stood our ground for eons of years
long before you humans appeared.
We’ve seen mastodon, tiger, horse and sloth,
before moccasins, boots and human cloth.
Embracing sentinels North and South
we've welcomed men with shovel and pan,
burros and horses that pulled and pranced.
Beckoned west they passed our rugged mounds
to their destines in forgotten tent towns.
Observant sentinels North and South
we watched as men sliced rushing waters
with pick and shovel and earthen borders.
They carved long, curving clear creek veins
that stretched across the prairied plains.
Strong and mighty sentinels North and South
we withstood the powerful northern winter storms
and drank in heavy spring and summer pours.
Yes, we've felt the sharpened spears of hail and
that rolled and pounded our mesas peaks.
As craggy sentinels North and South,
barren, windswept mesas are our paradox
for home and safety we give to coyote and fox.
And in our bosoms we hatch both snake and bird
to give balance to nature on our mesas firm.
Colorful, distinctive sentinels North and South
we've delighted hearts, minds and youthful eyes
with silver light across our crests in full moon
And have you not watched the games of hide and
played by jumping shadows around our variegated
As mighty sentinels North and South
please leave our beauty for those unborn to find
as their own sanctuary of peace for future
And also for bird and beast a habitual place,
just let us be your sentinels of open space.
The late December moon
pulls himself into view
in slow motion.
He peeks over South Table
Mountain's high mesa,
lunar face flushed with the effort;
Seeing that all is well there
he springs into colorful
With a side-glance at
still-intact North Table Mountain
he glides benignly
Across the sky while
accepting his due
homage from earthlings, then
Down to Signal Mountain
where he pauses
at earth's rim
To enjoy once more
unblemished Table Mountains
And the small village
all is well.......he is gone.
--Mary G. Dunham