I am a vehicle shackled to land yearning for the journey home
Through times open doors
Before windows of curiosity
At the base of galactic mountains
Within lights brilliant disclosure of love* ...

Nightfall interrupted by lightning
The call of nocturnal songsters
drowned in a sudden squall
The drummers that march into
quiet country from the west
Symbolic crash of cymbal ,
flam upon drum , tapping of the bells
The euphony of triangle pings and  
pan flutes
The boisterous return of a watchful poet's twilight muse* ...

A piece of the world made to
contemplate creation
A place to absorb the ****** light
of the heavens without reservation
Where Cherokee tears flow freely
from pink flower encrusted observations
To catch the breath of Pine bidding warm
salutation* ...

I was once a pedestrian on Fayetteville
Highway , on a midnight jaunt down a dark
byway
With the North Star to reconnoiter my
trail
Struggling to get home fast
Destined to catch hell
Puppy love reared the head of Medusa
as the band played My Sharona
My date made it hard to think -
as I primped in front of the sink
The weight of a psychotic heart was a heavy load so I made a break for the open road
Wet grass doused my white jeans , my silk shirt reflected
moon beams , a killdeer chuckled at my quandary
Yet better to be alone than sorry*...

Biding my time
As the midnight mockingbird
With wrought songs of anguish heard throughout the night
Twas he who declined audience to partake of his sorrows
With singularity disguised as melody
Passion pure* ...

A cool day stroll with your lover will quickly turn your driveway into the most beautiful location you've ever discovered* ...

Gene was flat topped , honest and old school
Not one for shootin' the bull
He woke up everyday at four in the morning off to twist gas pipe for a living
Sometimes lame , but rugged and independent , he'd say your either making money or spending it* ...

Curious birds circled to the left of center
Glossy orchards bedecked the meticulous ,
sparkling commons
Period , white fence rails , beige winter
fields , brick buildings with dancing hedgerows
Air filled with wild spearmint , December oak
fires carried on Tennessee breezes
Palmetto blue windows , pink dogwood blossom
brushstrokes stippled into morning ivory* ...

The music of the Republic blares out of tune , it wreaks
of the sewer , politics and Hollywood penned with immoral , ****** ink allure
Assembly line product lacking imagination , based on aggravation
Tinged with savagery , we're back in Rome today crying
for death at the Coliseum , waiting for the "Star" to fire his rounds
Waiting for an accident as the race cars circle about
Wired to the machine with our transmitters shoved in our faces
Rewriting our history , swimming with the crocodiles then becoming
shocked as to why we've been bitten
The basic rules of morality are being rewritten
We are cornering 'the lion' of demarcation this very moment pretending it's a kitten* ...

What if cheerleaders rant an raved when the garbageman emptied
a trash can
What if the marching band burst into song as the septic tank truck
was backing in
How about the paparazzi following the mailman
A live TV shot of the roofing foreman being interviewed by ABC , CBS or CNN* ...

Pompous Chefs will bray and spiel but a good waitress is who really makes the meal* ..

My New Years Eve predictions and predilections revolve around my Manzanilla olive addiction
Salty fruit soaked in wicked good , cold Beefeaters Gin
Sending tipsy resolutions off into the wind* ...

Governments have relied on 'fake news' since Hannibal
crossed the Alps* ...

Tuesday pouts like a stubborn child
Gale fervor and weather wild
Staccato cellos and violins , oboes blaring in the wicked wind
Mischievous elves rattle the hickory branches
Bullfrogs shout with glee as the rain advances
Old man Sunshine takes a nap
Picklenose Pappy has a cat in his lap
Kingfishers tap dance in the shallows
till black becomes blue with evening day-glo and
puffy marshmallow* ...

When I become electricity I'll
need hashish to complete my
wiring
A schematic of pills and liquor
for my quest to soar higher
For in my days trapped in flesh ,
emotion revealed my ignorance
Trust was a spring loaded trap that
bit my ankles repeatedly
Benevolence was a pit viper coiled
in the weeds
Women were my downfall with ploys and tricks
Promises revealed themselves as fleas spreading disease
I stumbled upon a capital city which turned
out to be a movie set
Contractors from the four corners of Earth were
busy filling it with fake furniture , mannequins made of
wood and plastic limousines
Gunfire led me back to reality that evening
Doberman pinschers exposed their teeth with
unmitigated anger* ..

Torch recognized fear from a hundred yards
The first inkling of panic would make him charge
I can still see him chasing my Dad across the grassy avenue
Mean old Torch is now a bucket of glue* ...

On the day my soul becomes light
I will shine for you the following night
A new star will be added to our celestial tapestry  , you will recognize my signal of devotion from the highlands to the sea* ...

Somebody got a shotgun from Santa
If I craved loud noise I would move to Atlanta
They've fired it every ten seconds
At least they seem to be firing in the opposite
direction
Woe unto me , the southern holiday firearm obsession* ...

Crows have gathered in a brown field
sprinkled with frosted glitter
Sunshine wanes and flickers with
burst of artistic vigor
Woodland song , bluejay gay revelry along pinewood rows  
Water oaks crowned with mistletoe
Christmas Day adorned with the blessings of home* ...

Trapped in a briar patch with the sun
falling ever faster
A rite of passage that every child
should have to master* ...

Leaves crunch beneath our postman's feet
Fussy songbirds slowly advance up Wilkerson
Street
The familiar and the new , cedar greens and
beautiful sky of blue
Majestic pecan , centurion oaks
Hopscotch squares chalked on a lazy road
Where people still blow car horns and wave
Where church bells and courthouse clocks
measure the day* ..

Do you see the caricatures neath the full moon pines
The ghost of General McIntosh , spirits of Creek hunters along
the river brush
Old Timers whittling song flutes from bottom cane
Farrier's shoeing mules , work horses straining at the
crack of the whip , ferryboats treading shoals across the
foggy Flint
The voices of children in one room schoolhouses
The rousing , morning bell of little towns , the clap
of field wagons
A fiddler sawing a piedmont 'Rag'
The rustle of picking field peas with Croaker bags

The moths were drunk on barrel fire
Automatic hand- held engines sent death on lasers
I prayed for the gift of invisibility
When the doors of hell erupted I watched
myself fire involuntarily* ...

A light cover of April snow
A piece of gum that's lost it's flavor and thrown
The last sip of a milkshake
A ****** up mess to cleanup in the
parties wake* ..

Sticky , cedar sap , candy cane little red hands
Toddlers leaving cookie crumb trails
Warm cider and holiday bells
Hickory embers with Christmas tales
Tinsel , gluhwein , spiced apples and caramel
All is well this evening as tree decorations are bright ,
reflecting across the family room ceiling tonight
Convocations of enhanced spirituality and reason , all is well this winter season* ...

Each drop of rain has been programmed with
exact coordinates from which to strike land
The direction of the wind rehearsed from a
remote corner of Earth
The sun signs off daily on lucky parcels that will bask in its
love
Every wrinkle in the mirror planned in advance
A lavatory faucet stream explosion where it meets
porcelain
Small rivers hurdle down cabinets retrieving dust ,
bound for trim moulding , another universe now forming
The trimmed end of a hair lying on the floor , the residents are attempting to contact the opposite end for answers , for surety of purpose , to prove they're not alone

If I found a way out for a day
I would soon journey back
I would burn the map for fear
of being followed or roll it small
enough to swallow
I would stand in the shadows while
the controlled marched by then race to
the rooftop to marvel at the sky
I would stroll cloak and dagger through
the shoppes in town then hide in the sewer till
the sun went down

Tea , clover honey with screaming plans for
the morrow
Sorrow , urban sorrows
To disappear as a tom into the woodland
No tracks for the huntsman , the taxman nor the sharpshooter
Decadent , fur coated , remorseless Atlantans
A countryside spartan , an archer shooting prayers into the rural night , a mortal simpleton beyond measure , lunatics obsessed with the forty hour work week hidden treasure !!!  They die everyday , drop like rocks , their story encapsulated , chiseled on a marble block
Something for the gardner to **** eat
Faded paper flowers , fire ants in the pea gravel
The pre-planned life of another worker bee committed to earth that no one cares to celebrate or unravel
******* time clock , ******* office politics , **** the idiot you're training to become your boss , **** the mans silk suits and his cashmere socks

Debris on the roadway
Leaves in the pond
Trash stifling storm drains
A foolish marriage leaving pain
Candy apple autumn
Hot chocolate winter
The alluring smoke of spring barbecuers  
The 'goats of love gone astray' turning
on skewers

I witnessed the fiery sky of Virginia traveling south
Twas the template of Valhalla without doubt
I picked an eastern star over the mountains
of Tennessee to follow home
Something for a penniless , young loser to
call his own
Back to Georgia to say goodbye
To ensure a widow that all was fine
He was a book already read
Now he was dead

The rhythmic , frigid breath of March
Where pathetic sun worshippers have no God
We are the center of the universe , traveling ships
Purveyors of elusive miracles that lie just beyond our fingertips
Our forefathers physicality becomes the dust collecting on windshields
The steaming earth from a fresh turned field
A beam of starlight where celestial life melds

Pray for magic
Pray out of sheer panic
For absolution
For a cease fire solution
For the end of Aleppo's ****** confusion
Find the benevolent God of everything
Tell his highness of indiscriminate killing
Whether they're praying on two feet or kneeling
Tell of mothers and children screaming
Tell the almighty of demons in the sky on a feeding frenzy

Autumn robins hop spritely in Sycamore trees
With gingerly voices , with musical tributes
just for me
Choruses of carry on , carry softly , carry me back , carry
me home heard in the breeze
Sing blue for love lost , yellow for childhood
summer , crimson for the coming dusk , violet
for the wildflowers that edge hill country thick pine forest
Chre , chree , cha -chreet
Swee , swee , cha -roo
Perform colors of the bounty of spring , of afternoon sunbeams , of boysenberries and roadside streams
Sing polyphonies of winter , snowcapped hedgerows and holiday dreams

Our finches carry on without government
Robins are free , song filled and independent
The autumn trees ne'er proclaim a 'leader'
A catbird tends to it's affairs without a throng
of 'believers'
The homing pigeons squawk at my propensity for guitar , pen and paper , raw penchant for melody , song and fable
My friends are a shut door , a curtain pulled closed , a light switch clicked to off , a compulsion for sweet silence , a star in the western horizon
Blazed and glazed at night am I
Getting right with Randolph at twilight* ..

I thought of May briefly with her clay vases of portulaca ever spreading
Cut grass lending fair fragrance to
daydreams , bare feet treading cold , hidden
streams
The call and answer of whippoorwills
Evening Whitetails gracing green clover hills
To lie mure in evergreens
Swaddled in piedmont fantasy*..

Blessed are hopes keepers , the diligent and the seekers  
The light in the child's eye , the everyday miracles , the mothers intuition
A ray of sunlight aspiring for a patch of earth , inspiring
fractured hearts with the glow of the hearth , sadness replaced with abundant
mirth , a firm abutment at the bridge of despair and concern
Blessed be the touched , the tearful , the inspired and the cheerful
The declarations of Kings reborn , the gifts of charity awarded the suffering and the unsung

I crave divinity fudge during the holiday
period with roasted pecans and butterscotch
pudding
Crisp morning walks with smoked hickory
wisp , wool mittens and horehound whips
Picture perfect pinecones that crackle with
the sweep of the breeze , Ethiopian coffee
with brie and cherry danish 'neath mistletoe
topped hardwood trees* ...

The Christmas wine bottle is already empty
Seems the family has little if any empathy
Yet I'm quite content , drunk , carefree
and talkative
Another ten pounds fatter on honey ham ,
egg nog and cinnamon biscuits
Some get high on the festivities
I require a tad more intensity
So douse the fruit cake in Sangria
and chill the gin , strike up another round of rummy
and deal me in* ..

Fresh morning chill
Birdsong , woodland chatter
A smatter of sunshine , a token
of December in memories till* ..

Summon the Strategic Air Command
The world could use more rock bands
Load the B-52's with Ludwig drum sets
and Marshall stacks , tie a twelve string
around the paratroopers backs
Saturate the zone with music books , score pads
and stands
Run missions non-stop , send commandos behind
operational lines bearing SG's and Les Pauls
Microphone stands and PA's , Roland keyboards
on every corner , continue dropping supplies till the world comes
to order* ..

The evening winter sky panel resembles the stained windows
at the Methodist Church
Though I dare not enter I'm sure it's a beautiful
place
Awe inspiring like the first light of day upon my
face , the morning view from a hillside home place
The ringing bells on Sunday morning chime like a
Stratocaster with a touch of chorus
I wonder if they have a guitar somewhere behind the pulpit
The Baptist Church has a picker I've been told
Avoiding religion religiously ensures that I will
never really know* ..

Tarry night tickles my soul for the blackness signals the poet to assume control
To expose and color with crayons unknown
To throw the layman dog a bone
I cherish the faculties of my twilight muse
To blend and wield sickness and sorcery in any manner I choose* ..

A hammer has a face and a claw
Let the painter paint , the sketcher draw
Two rowers to the right , two rowers to the left ,
one man only at the vessels helm* ...

You foolish beings
You left the safety of the trees with
a plentiful diet of fruits , nuts and berries
You acquired a taste for blood that -
sent you to your knees
Your protein addicted brains developed
tools to inflict pain , to carve flesh ,
introducing your animal brethren to the pang of
uncontrolled , calculated , violent death
Today , we continue to watch from the branches
Thankful for the power of flight
To distance ourselves from your -
destruction with all our might* ..

Living room clocks are good drummers
They keep good beats for us guitar strummers
They never complain and they're always on time
Always creative , compliant and song wise
Zen musicians that keep their mouth shut
Approachable and quite cheerful when the band
is in a rut* ...

One Saturday I found myself in Atlanta at an 'Art Show'
I became far more interested in the chaps cleaning the windows* ..

Aspiration abounds in the silvered , drizzly days of December
With mournful dove that find banquet within my yard , below leaf barren Cottonwoods standing proud as if on guard
For every grain of sand secure in life's spiral purpose
For the communities that teem on the rain plashed surface

An existentialist farm boy with a severe case
of insomnia
Ratting 'round his kitchen in danger of
a *******
Happy with his honey and his biscuits
His chocolate milk and his Whitman* .....

Snow looks like popcorn falling
from the sky
Popcorn means a first crush at the
movie theater , a cold Dr. Pepper ,
a view from the back row armed with Raisinettes
and chocolate covered peanuts
Breezy Winter days are perfume for the soul
The returning sunshine recalls the power of a smile
Enjoy , for the snow will only last for a short while* ...

My teenage guitar playing was a caterwauling wildcat in a feedback induced search for the cackling daemon Raum
Dad never made me turn it down* ...

I traverse the dense pinewood by rote
Through wiry entanglements
Crossing red dirt roads
Engaged to no one , respectful to every
briar , berry and stone
Filled with the music of forest rain
Rummaging fauna , damp floor fora
of bird , sweet breath of multitudinous
country flora , roebuck and windswept
question , hardwood umbrella stops along
the way in timely , unshaken order
Content in where I belong
To close the circle for awhile and belong* ...