Spinning silver , silken sweaters with -
my catawba brethren , foresting oakwood estates
beside red fox companions , in witness of white-tail herds ,
compelling frigid streams of yellow perch and shellcracker , lemongrass sun hued byways engulfed in dewdrop prisms reign atop pattern encrusted red clay earth
In memory of morning , of the caterwauling Alabama easterlies ,
of vagabond waterbirds that sail frost laden , bucolic scenery

*I became invisible one Summer , a ramshackle empty home was my
safe port , the walls my confidant , my July bastille in constant danger of being overrun
Hostility answered in midnight dreams , a flea the mongrel couldn't reach , unbathed in reprisal and pain killer forgetfulness
I dreamed of my death , I entered a dark place , burnt musical scores to light my way , sang out loud to show I was not afraid , I dreamt the same nightmare everyday
I ran out of money , ate cornbread for five days straight , running out of "Oxy" was sweaty , demonic pain , on the eighth day a I heard a voice on the answering machine asking if I was okay
Pawned a decent guitar that morning , went to work the following day
I was at the crossroads that year and by sheer luck I just happened to turn the right way

Fight , fight writers , poets and playwrights , manipulate and fool the gaze of government with all thy might , extending a daisy with the left hand while smacking common sense into their bureaucratic mindset with a swift 'right'* ...

The east appeared with gleam , sweetish and balm
Convective , white light did shine upon the fallows
Hayfields became lambswool , brown thrashers sang of rainbows , of life principle bestowed resurgent , appeased , arable piedmont cropland , genuflect before the bluest of blue , before the mother of cloudburst , upon the gray toned and the disturbed , the humbled stricken tenders of the lowland barrow within the earshot of crackling cane , across the froth of over washed brookside , oak liquor tipping the surface of pooled hollows , wire grass laid to rest among yearling pine and sycamore

Give the actor a mirror
The senator a pedestal
The poet a falseness

Be it prayer , meditation or a good thought tonight ..

Our function is to question all
To challenge the bitter , the sweet , the very footprints we leave
We lay in Spring primrose valleys requesting the dirge of hard Winter with odd forethought
We pen the macabre , the obscene and the refusal , providing a chart for the self righteous imbecile , the lay and the lost , we are new today but very well called upon tomorrow* ...

A birds-eye view of Hill Country bound
for my celestial reservation will most
certainly create unbridled hesitation* ...

O , the talent of an October day to
thrill and delight , to correlate with the painted
pages in the wonderful volume of life* ...

Fall sunshine
Silver spider yarns in flight
Pirouetting Maple exaltations ,
fledgling Bluebirds , not a cloud
in sight , Mister Mockingbird call
the roll of Fall with all your might
The butterfly dancers , the honeybee
determined , the Woodpecker drum
major , the violinist , cellos , the piccolos ,
the sagebrush pianist

Elder gentlemen crave the past like
nicotine infused black cherry smoke ,
riding puffs of chilly October morning
park scenes in my hometown etched
in gray day period couples struggling through
leaf covered sidewalks , followed by beggar
birds , those canopy filled blackbirds commanding
the audible forefront of greeting , courtesy
and old folk innocent chatter
Smiles and laughter as automobiles circle the
city center of Willow , Water Oak , granite monumental
reminders , window shoppers , price hawkers huddled
in a little brick town no one ever hears about , lost
on the tip of the newsroom tongue , in conversation , this 'black and white village' where townsfolk forever scurry about

Fighting the reduction of me
With musical phrasing , window
gazing , trips to the coffee *** ,
relatable poesy , I often envision a friend                                                           ­          with yellow roses and lavender posies for
my monument or in celebration of sudden notoriety ,
who knows* ...

Frozen fires laid en masse like burnt offerings
Shards of ice dove from White Pines , cracked into
a thousand pieces
A lone Bluebird alighted , she picked from the frost encapsulated
hidden greenery , a supplication for sunlight was answered
From that point forward I knew you were with me* ..

Sometimes the velvet blue night is a sorcerers cloak , prestidigitation
centered on my downfall , the pun of a hurtful joke , belted to the yoke ,
trudging my demons at the crack of the whip , a clipper ship mired in the
doldrums yet life has no braking system , it's a no replay theorem , no drain to open to whirlpool away , no script to learn of the coming days , no Madison Square Garden for petty songs , no oracle defining right from wrong* ..

Tension at a turn
Tension at the graded curve
At the waters surface , inside
a minuscule world , at the first hello
and the final goodbye , at the flowers
sunlit birth , at the glorious final flight from earth
Crying for more , crying with good reason
Crying for recognition , crying for peace and evolution
Secret society and secret handshakes , secret recipes
for secret cakes , secret love and secret hideaways
Secret gardens , secret mistakes* ..

Fish on stringers begged for their lives
Rattlesnakes came under the front door to hide
Rottweilers growled at the foot of my bed
Blood flowed from the bottom of garbage cans
I was in a firefight from every direction
Impaled by a nurses syringe with fire ants jumping
out of the needle
Closed my eyes to die but kept returning
Faces shot out of walls screaming " burn him*" ...

Our wind chimes sound like loose -
change jingling in Granpa's britches
He's coming in the door from a day at Scott -
Lake with a wry comment on Bluegill fishing
Every time the wind blows at the house I'm wishing
that I could be with him for just a smidgen* ...

Hour of terse movement and ambiguity
Gales rushing to secure their invisible voids
Anchored Goliaths pressure their manacles in turbulent , leaf -
revealed vortices , white feather cirrus highlight the blue crown of
Mother Earth as Elven cool day chant and witchcraft mock
the dying salvos of Lord Summer* ..

Pintos and cornbread with a dab of pepper jelly
Walt Whitman poetry from a favorite chair
Hazelnut coffee with rousing jazz guitar ,
eating Manzanilla olives straight out of the jar
Rhyme and verse , raising the daily bar of affection
for Mary Ellen , walking the wood-line at night
"Chillin' in the vehicle of quietude*" ....

Let the Earth receive the music -
of the lonesome eve calling , sung before cranberry ,
fuchsia , Monet renditions of sundown ,
before crystal garland evergreens , Hickory
tinsel , alabaster hillsides from the mortarboard
of 'Divine Creation' , odiferous rosin cementing
the grandeur of distant dark Sugar and White Pine
The conviviality of countless starlight from dew
wetted plain o'er boundless ****** night* ...

Do harbor love for chatty Mockingbirds
Lead vocal of the Piney-wood , carrying
the news o'er the red hills , the peanut
farm and blue water grist mill
An audible question from the first morning
Chickadee , a quick retort from a Cardinal
in a Mimosa tree , sail the tepid current
mighty Blue Heron as Cottontails quietly feed the
Red Clover shelf , chirping Bobwhite graze withered , October
corn as iron vanes portend the coming of the Blueridge storms

I care not what the 'peoples endless song' alludes to ,
For I've reached my own personal conclusion
Save the cake recipe for another , for the -
icing is normally the same as all the others
Overalls cover my body better than the works of the finest clothiers
There is not a sock on this earth that competes with -
bare feet to warm grass , I've yet to witness a publican -
that failed to 'out bray a Jack ***'
Whiskey is good medicine for sore backs and 'hay cough'
Fancy cocktails and beer are the stuff of the spoiled and the jaded debutant
A full week of work is a gift , one hour without makes a sound mind drift
Simple music and ways can move a mountain
A parched , shut mouth with an open mind will lead thee to a cool fountain
Plan the death of a horse with a donkey in waiting , for the lamp a candle , the truck a wagon , for the cup a ladle
Watch the beast of the field quite closely for each one tells an invaluable story
Look into the eye of the January wind , face the Sun of August as if welcoming a friend , tithe the God of November rain with laborious days , face the storms of March unafraid* ...

Today warblers race with yellow butterflies
Shiny Pin Oak leaves reflect skyward , puffy -
clouds shaped like a dragon , an Indian Chief ,
a diving dolphin , songbirds in melodious -
conversation , Fall puffs of air bring the smell -
of barbecue and burning leaves , Apple Cider -
memories and nut laden Pecan Trees
Where clothes are still hung out to dry , where old -
movies still make the ladies cry , where men are -
'occupied with their occupation' , where farmers are -
in tune with their beloved nation* ..

Does life teem beneath the ice ?
A hardened facade meant to protect
and hide , to reflect a star gone wild ,
a leviathan bridge to the other side-
as the tadpoles beneath continue to forage for
their lives in relative peaceful devise
Tis a moral dilemma to puncture such a shell
Ironically toying with a newfound civilization ,
inflicting damage , a population in fear of total
destruction just as we've gradually , thoughtlessly                                
pillaged our own , a once plenteous reserve becoming empty
Like Bluejays overtaking the nest of a weaker entity

Callie was a dishwasher who wrote
beautiful songs , she was sowed in
good earth but never watered , a bad tooth , a hard smile
and a ****** up father , a grinding job ,
unable to truly foster , a miraculous musical
mind but everyone wants the next Lady Gaga ,
big breast , 'the perfect ***' , hollow music
with the same beat , someone acting 'street',
someone with Hollywood teeth that'll drop
their pants in a second for all to see , someone that
wants to save the whales above everything else taking
pre-planned questions on Good Morning America ,
a hired hand for the Corporate Gestapo , a Barbie doll
with a low IQ , a jaded view , a politically correct jewel
devoid of true , independent view
There's a Callie waiting to touch our soul if we could -
close our eyes and let the music assume control* ...

Across a looking glass pond -
facing zephyr music revelry
Atop paint-by-number artworks , leaves
in brotherhood with perfect rainbows ,
shine on midday tall 'Lantern of God' ,
ruminations of a change in season , of
eventide convocations with the North Star
and frosted narrows , October operas of
wind carillon and songbird , golden bottom
land misty coming of nightfall , the sconce
of The Little Dipper and Orion , of woodland
diapason , timely Whipporwill and Thrush* ...

Papa cut the spurs off of Rocky Red
The rooster keeps flogging every time -
I turn my head
He's dancing a jig with a wing dropped
low , turning circles and singing bass notes
Rock'***** both legs till they've bled
Please snip the hooks off ' a mean old Red* ..

Have you ever walked the habanero row
Worked in spicy air that wouldn't let go
Run to the henhouse like stormy wind
Sit with the chickens till the burning ends* ..

I'll joke about tobacco and pull your leg over
liquor but we've got well water that'll trip
your trigger* ...

October bonfires for Autumn lesser pyromaniacs ,
with Oak , Hickory and Fall leaves , ashes floating
in the Black Moon night , they ride into star clusters
then fade out of sight
Locked in flames allure , counseled by fire , glowing
embers , hypnotic flickering light , running nightfall shadows o'er the hardwood lines  
Gardenia perfume , warm coats , our uncloaked breath mingling with sweet smoke , cricket songs , hand-made skewers with
bratwurst and marshmallows
Trading stories , relearning one another ,
growing stronger , warmer , drawn into the wavering glow , crackling
tinder , white ash flurry , kindling eventide mellow* ..

Old pictures , intrinsic keepsakes inside a silver box
No room for me inside , no place to stay and hide* ..

Something in the house is walking up
behind me , an appliance feinting footsteps ,
a ceiling fan quickening skin , something
tumbling in the wind , another nighttime
without end* ...

Love is one cross word away from -
the unforgivable , friendship laughable at best ,
your a marionette at desires behest , a piece
of rotten meat with vultures flying overhead ,
a dough ball in a bream bed , an exhausted rabbit in the dog pen
We lust for mates fully aware that our hand will do the trick , like wolves in heat , rain striking the hot street turned to steam , called again by clouds for the repeat
An encore of voracious gender neutral toys and ******
A S'more on a stick at the crossroad of fire or teeth* ...

Found yaw marks on the blacktop
Someone had a bit of trouble trying to stop
Maybe got distracted by something unknown
He struggled to get it together and carried on
Maybe he was showing how much he could handle and lost control
I understand his situation for I've been guilty myself at times of all four* ..

Find a guitar for it is the sun , wind and rain
Frets are the tumblers unlocking one's pain
Music is the stair step to higher being
Harmonize with windsong as your mind is freed

Tones that touch the heart of thine enemy , mimic
the heartbeat of Jehovah , crashing wave chorus ,
thunderclap above , the flight of eagles , the braying of young
beagles , the coo of turtle dove , laughter of a child , whispers
of love

Perform with eyes ridden with tears , with unbridled fear
Before the committed stockade with reason held captive , before
the downtrodden and the betrayed , before the hopeful and the vain
In the backdrop of freedom , against the folly of state induced reason
In thy greatest hour of grief , atop the mountainous relief* ....

A splash of green clover beneath bare feet
A hot Pekoe tea with a smidgen of honey
A hardwood canopy with a Mossy Oak
to rest upon
The first cool day of Fall to turn you on* ...

Off to sell 'market tomatoes' to those East Atlanta communist
Those long haired , know it all Bolsheviks and their
electric cars , running around half naked like they have
a clue about a farm , their buying these god awful tomatoes
for two dollars apiece , they smell like *** , wine and sun
screen haggling over my price like I'm growing food for
free , like I've no other place to be
Are these organic , absolutely don't panic , their grown
in A1 chicken **** , the finest soil I've ever been associated with ,
a secret family recipe cooked in Georgia July heat , blessed by
a 'Witch Doctor' from New Orleans , a bit of peat from lowland
forest , cow patties from a friends dairy barn , dry manure thanks to
a 'Horse Princess' from Zebulon , ****** on by a pack of ornery goats in the village of Kelleytown

Blue cover , incommunicado
Wiregrass incense , cool shadow
Nibbling a long bit of **** fescue
No fires that need tending , no friends to "rescue*"

I am every racial slur , homophobic
speech , shot fired in anger , every military
maneuver on a foreign beach
I am oblivious to hungry children ,  glued to
every word of the press , hardened to the plight
of the addicted , mocking each woman's precious gift
of unique identity , rollicking through the decay of
my fellow man , fracking , e-mailing , cell phoning ,
abhorring the mother breast feeding her child in public ,
robotically following my brethren , opposed to a Muslims religious freedom , the **** of needed history , automatic
weapons freely sold , schools out of control , computer
generated , typed in hate with no foreseeable end* ...

Feeding stray dogs from abandoned
benches , counting cars to feed active clinical obsessions
Wrapped in Dad's trench coat , focused on a city sidewalk
Running fingers through unkempt beard , growing old ,
bits and pieces falling away , hopefully leaving a trail for my children to track me down someday
Screaming ****** of Crow overlooking my chosen boulevard
They tell tall tales and cackle , aware of my biting score
A fluttering , wind racked Gideon Bible with relevant verse circled
in blue ink lying on front steps , my reflection in black Army boots ,
my craven public image and disparity vociferously unaddressed* ...

Her tone was impeccable with a black coffee , canned biscuit breakfast
She drank from a saucer , her take on the world was like no other
I remember frosted windows with the sound of her voice
Sometimes I can still hear her on quiet , early Winter mornings* ...

September's globe has been stirred
Birds of every shape , color and song
fill a golden yard , diamond shine Oaks
and crystal Pines , busy butterflies
A Tennessee breeze whispers cool refrains
Eastern Grays preparing for Winter days
Rubies peek into the living room window
The voice of Autumn Angels trill and crescendo* ..

O , what I would give for a Quarter Horse ,
to visit the lowland of Camp Creek , just the two of us
She would carry me o'er the terraces of misty Hill Country
We circumnavigate Port Lake , we cross lush estates , mingle
in blackberry rows and scuppernong arbors , stop by unnamed ,
unknown old barns on a lark , gallop along country roads till dark
O , what I could explore with a Quarter Horse , to pass the time
of day , just the two of us* ...

I play the guitar and write poetry because I
have to , it's something I work my way through
each night , emptying my mind on paper , a few thoughts
committed to music , score books penciled in , erased ,
odd collaborations reaching logical conclusions , the first note
becoming the last , a forest fire of a past out of control ,
easing the conflagration with timely prose , ascending , descending
scale combinations , every memory both good and bad streaking
past , the mad writer with his muse on his lap , disclosing his
theory , some nights writing his own obituary , as if anyone understood ,
melody is chopping wood for the instrumentally inclined , something
to chip away the night , something to help you turn off the lights ,
to dream , revisit , reinvent , work your way through to write again* ...

Home of stinking breath , bat **** rides filthy air
Refusing to hearken , aluminum -
beer cans crushed , pitched into full -
trash receptacles , father the vagrant -
pining for replenishment , mother -
the receptionist trying to feed fearful -
children
Just build a 'Still' in your ******* room and drown in the copper kettle
Drunken men emulating the Phoenix , may your plume of smoke -
travel faraway from your children , may they attain the mettle
to lead normal lives , close your disaster like a ridiculous book ,
shelve your selfishness and the toll it took* ....

If you wish to know me the path runs through
my poetry* ...

Wrapped up in January weather , the metaphysical snow disfiguring the ground , prudence , creativity ... I don't know about God , but I'm praying anyhow , with one eye on the candied , cocoanut flake yard* ...

On the day I pass I believe I'll stop by -
Orly Terrace to tell my friends goodbye
Check on love notes carved in Pine trees -
and hunt for 'crawdads' one last time at my
favorite creek , walk the side roads like they
were dirt again , chase the ice cream man
down the road just one more time , feet flying , half dollar in hand* ....

At the playground little girls whisper , point and giggle
Boys would reach for the top of the slide , form clicks
according to muscle , tenacity and determination
Shooters and aggies , jackstones , hopscotch
Open coats in Novembers breeze , bright leaves in a
whirlwind , the squealing merry-go-round , balancing on the
roots of Live Oak trees with ***** knees , trading lollipops
for gum , whimsical erasers for big number two pencils
Watching from a railroad tie sand lot border , writing rhyme
in white sand , singing a new song to myself , playing the cello
in my imaginary band , waiting for the white confusion of recess
to come to a quick end* ....

The intolerant flowers seized the field
The different were ridiculed and slain
The dominant fed from the soil of their enemies "corruption"
They grew tall in their attempt to reach the Sun
They shadowed their children in their quest for superiority
till they were gone
The ' Powerful ' expired with no one to carry on* ....