Mud, whiskey, death
and bad debts, the river's
high water, mysterious birds
flying south disappearing
like a youngest daughter,
no good men, bad intentions,
changing seasons, unexplained
pains, all of these are reasons
I've seen good women weeping
after the hardest rains came.

North Carolina poet, Jim Wayne Miller, on his goal in writing poetry. "Growing up in North Carolina, I was often amused, along with other natives, at tourists who fished the trout streams. The pools, so perfectly clear, had a deceptive depth. Fishermen unacquainted with them were forever stepping into what they thought was knee-deep water and going in up to their waists or even their armpits, sometimes being floated right off their feet. I try to make poems like those pools, so simple and clear their depth is deceiving. I want the writing to be so transparent that the reader forgets he is reading and is aware only that he is having an experience. He is suddenly plunged deeper than he expected and comes up shivering."

I have found my place
where I wish to return
again
and again
where the wind dances along the swells
then lands upon you with the gentle
yet powerful crash of the wave
again
and again
where the Sun says so much more upon it's departure

God knew that this is where we would come
to see him
to know him
to understand that beauty like this was intended
I am lost in my awakened dream
these outer thoughts
these outer visions
these Outer Banks

Long walks on Atlantic shores ,
my inamorata bask in heavenly light ,
Young dreams perfectly fulfilled , where seas
deliver their swansong poetic flurry , where love
songs receive their final verse ..