Who made the hawk so sad
in winter sky , etching it's loneliness
to my wandering eye ,
Noble upon the tallest elm
Steeped in curiosity , crying tales
of Cherokee , of Muscogee , of hunter
and warring party*

*What hand did color the Georgia dusk ,
with lavender blue oils and orange sunshine
traipsing centurion forest
With waterbirds following the lantern of
God home , through arable pastures , o'er granite domes

One drop of blood from the occasional briar ,
A sprinkle of late morning dew mingled with foraging sweat , a touch of sunburn mixed with one hundred percent desire for a summer treat that's heaven sent* ...

Such a remarkable day
Throw a stone into a pond
and watch it slip away
Put a finger on the sun then
highlight the world
Take in a performance of
backyard , native birds
Read a poem 'neath the firs
Yellow bells , daffodils , nature stills
The swell of cascading streams ,
misty dales , the lambs of Spring , the nightingales ,
the whippoorwills , buck dwellings , new growth
stands , broomsage pastured farm lands
Tis a remarkable day
Catch a sailing leaf
Let it carry you away* ...

Spinning for bluegills
on a placid lake
As much amusement as my heart can take
Panning for gills in the windslow'd
wakes
Catching a thrill on a perfectly blue Spring day

Call me 'the nonchalant' in Springs blue eyes
Her favored son come to partake
of sweet wine and honeycomb , of tenured
pine and hardwood laced in spanish moss ,
of willow ponds long since crossed
Tempered breath about my neck
Anoint these weathered feet in May oil and myrrh
A crown of 'suckle , **** grass between teeth ,
cascading pools beside her creekside beach* ...

Have you worked a crowder pea field in July
As the Georgia sun fries
When humidity sits you down every half hour ,
where the weather deals great power
Showers are few and far between
Dirt fills every pocket of your blue jeans
Sweat blinds
The day seems to grind
Humor and inspiration are hard to find
Picking peas by moonlight
Mosquitoes feasting by lamplight
Filling bushel baskets by day
If the good Lord be willing , please call the paper wasp away* ..

With a plug of morning chew I pulled ever closer
into the thick forested narrows
Dawn fishing along a foggy riverbank
Snapping Shoals turned off the think tank ,
made a mans mind draw blanks
Singing waters drew a quick smile ,
I've returned here quite often from many
a mile with rod and reel , with a wounded
soul seeking my creators control
Walking away reborn
With open wounds sewn
My path redrawn* ...

Today a tree , tomorrow a bluebird
Later becoming an Elm ,
a pelican out to sea
I was once tall grass
Growing tall in the gulf breeze ,
warmed in Georgia sun , my friend
was a Boxelder , we sought the
shelter of navy blue sky windows
I fell in love with a heron sailing from
east to west , my passion was to be the afternoon
moon or a magical Willow at rest
My dad was a cardinal , my mother was the nurturing waters
of Indian creeks , my siblings were the blackberries of
July , grandmother a doe , grandfather a raven
Death is merely a transition
Life is forever* ..

I hear the four o'clock bound for Columbus
It sound's like a harmonica wavering low and
running south
I can feel the ground tremble
The store windows reverberate
Every wheel churning
Every length of track burning
Hurry on down , thundering freight
through tiny towns* ...

Cane pole fishing spawned many a thought
Ushered in countless boyish dreams , wrought more than it's share of childish hard spots
Taught a five year old the patience of Job
This blessed classroom along the River Road* ...

Moss grows unchecked on the
granite surface , cushioning bare feet
like velvet , pine forest obscured with
morning mist , a sun kissed peak , a wetted
valley , a covey of bobwhites , a coopers hawk
Oaks of every shape and size stair step the lone
trail to the top
Her overlook is grandiose
Boot sized ponds and cacti share the precipice
with cottontails and whitetail does
Tall hardwood canopies lie row upon
row , a place of solitude , where earth moves
slow , where creativity grows , where fragrant
summer breezes blow , where secrets are withheld that only the mountain knows* ...

Have you walked a sweetcorn field in June
When Georgia's skies are bluer than blue
The music of waist high plants stirred
in the breath of the Gulf
Gatherings of wild turkey , raucous crows
and flocks of mourning doves
Follow songbirds of all shape and size along
the woodland edge
Traipse dirt roads to the Indian Creek ledge* ...

The bottom land was made
for slide guitar and mason jars
Water from the 'River Jordan' with
blue notes , alms for vagabonds ,
I'm quite familiar with their songs
Nor am I the first untouchable touched by
by the Live Oak riverbanks , I belong
on this bank recalling hardscrabble decades ,
a marriage without love , a thirty- eight token
from a hollow point self medicated Grandfather , Father ,
and two uncle problem solution , I dilute these memories
with Painters **** and the cold April waters of the *****
Within the mud on these two feet rest the others , reduced to
dirt and river water , fed on by trees , dung beetles , tiger mosquitoes , bobcats , snappers and coyotes
Cool topwater holding the Milky Way in her lap ,
air filled in pine sap , 'brackwater' and red mud
My cigarette , my **** , my shotgun* ..