Western breezes tell tall tales within sparkling canopies as hardwood and loblolly vie for the afternoon sky ..
The Lamp of Creation highlights a sylvan masterpiece -
with amber , gold and wild rye ....
Rambling yet pertinent ..
Blessed growth cloaked in antiquity ...

The dance of the vultures o'er frosted red clay ,smoke swirling in the timid valley , ominous vibes in the winter grass alley ....
In the Principality of the Pulpwood Stumps
A wounded , worried lover's psyche tortured
Misty rain , copious memory hound weathered men and brothers
Barking corporals , leathered skin , soggy dens ..                                     Nutcrackers form a line , stand tall , call cadence then break into attention
Tight , bright , impeccably sutured uniforms crackle in the biting breeze , adorned in silver clasp with pink marble buttons securing slingshot munitions ...
With cherry cheeks a bugler splits the silence
The soldiers load their roscoe's
Keepers of the Grass hurl sweet gum cones
high into the orange eve
Locust spears guard fescue forts and hillside -
tunnels
Cracked corn funneled into hollow onion stems
The November battlefield looms dark and silent-
as the autumn bulb dims ...
A spiffy locust then proclaims from a tall tree
War is finished for you and me ..
The pasture of our forefathers shall be -
divided in thirds
A share for every mammal , insect and bird ...

' Fat cats ' float to the top
They skim the surface in defiance -
of gray herons
' Bullies ' alert the swampers of the
Farmers Moon , of the shimmering
robe of Venus , of the blue canopy -
lifted to the music of cicada , cricket ,
katydid and barn owl .....

You'll find me straddling the -
crescent moon
Ukelele in hand
Working on a tune
Connecting the dots in-
the diamond night
A friendly wave as new souls -
meander by
Setting a course for the ' Heavenly Lights '

Threadbare in the calculus of love ...
Hopeful as the evening salvo of -
thunder and sun shower
Infant streams that writhe for some-
faraway ocean ..

If this stein could talk
A bevy of tales t'would ne'er-
balk
Pouring like a cold beer in the dog-days
of August
A hot , black coffee in Novembers frost ...
Gluhwein with a cinnamon stick
Cornbread and milk for a -
hard working hick
Holding Cherokee roses
Green onions tickling our noses
Cool water from an old fashioned well
Remembering March's 'yellow bells' ...

Guitars were made for rainy days
To casually strum and pass the time away
Guitars were created for the crack of dawn
Music scored for the stream to carry her burden -
in song
Guitars were made in the night
To pen ditties in the morning light
Wooden instruments striking a chord at -
high noon
Songs of the melodious wind and the-
****** moon ....