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Wes Hyde

Wes Hyde was born in Fontana, California, in 1967, the son of a Riverside firefighter and an Indiana farm girl. Wes says, My parents fell in love while my dad was in the US Air Force, married and never could decide where to live. Consequently, Wes grew up moving from town to town and state to state, returning to California in the late eighties to work as an artist in the Modesto area. His art has appeared in such publications as The Artist's Magazine and Mountain Living. He now resides in Flagstaff, Arizona, where he can be close to his children and the beauty of nature.  Publishing credits include: Wilmington Blues, The Circuit Rider, La Petite, The Horsethief's Journal and Frogpond.



At Mount Rushmore:
between the front teeth
of Theodore Roosevelt
a raven nesting.

Previously published in Frogpond Magazine


An owl passes
from one moon to the next
without sound


Dead calf, broken fence,
my horse shying at the noise-
caw caw-aw caw-aw


Don't know the people,
but the ravens look well fed
up on the church roof.


Elegant raven,
why are you dressed in mourning
when I am in love?


The Stellar's jay-
it looks so blue
against the snow


Winter nights-
old woman, your hands,
your hands!

Previously published in Neiderngasse, German Edition. Translation by Michaela Gabriel


Her beautiful hands
touch one breast, then the other.
I think she loves me.


a rice paper kite
tattered
in western winds

© Wes Hyde