A tiny tear from a troubled eye in Atlanta tirelessly -
fought the Chattahoochee shoals , washed up in view of the emerald coast , found itself 'captured " in a plastic tote ...
It mingled with crystal sugar sand that built a Magic Castle  ...
The marriage of great imagination & engineering stood -
stalwart in the face of high tide ...
Sometime during the night a jealous ocean commanded its demise ..
Later that morning a saltwater pool along the oceanside caught the wandering gaze of a curious youngster
A smiling reflection under deep blue skies , a lonely teardrop-
met its maker that sunrise ..
                                                              ­                                                           A very healthy acorn stood out amongst the trees ..
His view of the autumn valley lit the imagination-
of vivid dreams ...
Cool , opulent morns ..
Leafy neighbors of every size , shape & glorious hue
Evenings with the harvest moon & Lady Venus ..
The call of coyotes , barn owls , gnomes & sprites
The tickle of pie pans & roof tins by harlequin winds ...
The shiver & fright of forest night ...
Pulled to mossy ground by a trickster whorl
A newfound view of the callous world ...

A Rhode Island Red patrolled his farm
A pretty , young hen under his arm
He tallied his flock from morning till night
Announced the dawn in the morning light
Alas one midnight hour a storm did pass
It blew the commander into the 'unknown grass'
He fought for hours to return to his station ,
then heroically chose freedom over his fenced-in former nation ..

Today has to be a lady
Blue eyes
Brown cinnamon locks caressing -
a floor length dress of forest green-
& umber ..
Soft moss beneath bare feet
Shadow black admirers traipse ,-
watch & gently mimic every move-
beside her ...

Today must be a lady
Warm undertones
Whispers that tickle the ear
Wood-line mannequins guard-
our periphery
Mirrored waters craving her reflection
Jays portend loves arrival
The blessed harbinger of the
new day revival ...

If the uncalled-for retort of a politician involves any portion of
their resume you can be assured that their soliloquy is a lie ...

Bright blue mornings                                                         ­                   
Songs on the wind ,                                                                ­                
Days of pralines , brittle & toffee...
Quilts and blankets
Autumn spice , leaves returning -
to Mother Earth
Persimmons & split oak
Cinnamon , hot coffee
Cast iron stokers & old photographs ..

Some nights my bed is cool grass
The stippled ceiling is a thousand palm-
trees , the ceiling fan is a seaside windmill busy-
with an island breeze ...

The chatter of wrens , bluejays & warblers
The statuesque heron beside the still waters
Dragonflies make a loud living in the cattail brush
A red & white bobber is 'tickled' before dancing-
across a cattle pond in the noon hush ...
A 'shellcracker' in the bucket
A spinner in my pocket
An angler with a hunch
A bream away from lunch ...

Wind racked homemade kites -
seek the Light of God in the Rites of March
In the dancing shadow of bulging Live oak trees
Farm boys preening blue jeans smattered with -
cocklebur and hitchhiker , wild onion & skunk greens
Balsa wood gliders know not where they-
come to lie nor the first mayfly with the conclusion of its time to wither and die...
Just like old vanes that succumb to vernal breath no matter-
how hard they may try..
This's the cold , calculated , precision of morning -
searching for her last night ...
Old men garnished in wisp of gray , like spanish -
moss clinging to hardwoods
Plundered on the high seas ,
a badgered admiral's arms flail in sight-
of the lighthouse , his cry muted by the otherworldly-
breeze ..