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 ..

This fir is an old friend
She lends a punctual ear to no end
First shielding my body from the -
unforgiving Georgia sun then we
quietly face the beautiful ambiguity -
between dusk & dawn ...

The pang of nighttime hunger
The loving draw of the evening kitchen
Needle point napkins and lace
Accouterments methodically placed
Clean hands & red Winter faces
Laughter , reflection & grace ....

There's always something fascinating on the other side of the street ..

If the Earth was the eye of a foal ,
a black ,wondrous , glass sphere filled with -
mystery & soul
She'd mimic a footpath of white gold beside the blue banks in chilly -tempestuous Fall
The call of iridescent matriarchs along the mire
The pall of bonfires , snow capped rabbit rocks , snapfingers -
& sorghum wheels
Mallow traipsing grass oceans
Silver Maple , red & gold leaf devotion ...

There are no skies any bluer
Nor truth any truer
Green any greener
Nor cool morn ever cooler
Or new Autumn pasture ever newer .....

Corporate greed + 1000 money making schemes x
0 (thoughtful musicality) = 0 originality ...

Life began well nourished after breaking the fertile ground
Patriots shouldered their rifles in crisp salutation
Soldiers joyously gathered around , Marching bands played-
musical testimonials , the sound carried throughout-
every town
The Apple Tree was Liberty
She grew strong an bore the fruit of Freedom
The citizens selfishly gorged on every bountiful harvest
Day upon day , Year after year till one day when-
the spoils of government could not be reached ...
Her bounty died on the vine , rotted then fell to the earth
In a fit of megalomania, bureaucratic fertilizer exalted her to reach the Heavens but she was so denied ..
Aloof and deaf to the clamor and pain of her citizens
In her dying day she lay felled by the keepers sworn to-                  
her defense , now a page in history on the wrongs of nationalistic -government , the "Star of the Grove" with all her promise and good intent came and went with a painful end ...

In a magic workshop where new notes inch down -
an assembly line , silver haired conductors dressed to the nines
Receiving value from pipe smoking wooden timekeepers , hauled to a staff and gently placed on or between its lot in life  
A rhyme in the morn , a song in the night
A ditty to ease the mourners pity
A score to the poor , tones for the bones
Reckless jazz , a rags pizzaz
A country boy croons , Piedmont blues by-
the light of a Harvest moon ....
Cacklin' hens , morning wrens
Afternoon rains , songbird lanes ......

The annoying , scraggly gent without hope in his-
eyes could very well be Jesus in disguise ..

A rattlesnake is a gentleman ,
unlike a politician who's ill intent-
is never announced in advance of-
his wrongdoing ...

Stormy days and squeaky rockers
A crucial L&M over a rolling thunder -
slobber-knocker
Johnnie Walker Red tickles the throat and cleans-
'the closet' ..
Old garb folded , put in its place
Dress right dress
Nothing to do but watch the others run life's race ..

There once was a hound named Biscuit
He seemed to move from one part of Palmetto to the-
other in an instant
Although the garbagemen were his prime fellows he was known to travel by patrol car or would stealthy trod green , late night chilled-    
rail line and meadow..
He oft rested at the door of city hall
Loved a good game of tackle football
He was the only family member allowed on my fathers -
couch , held the honorary title of second in command in -
our tiny house ...
His 5:00 am bark alerted every canine around to join -
him in his take on the blues
To this day I can still see his tracks to town in the morning-
dew ...

Autumn millet whirling in the dove days
On September morns the prize will graze
Sharp black powder and rolling earth
Family and friendship
Afternoon revelry and mirth ...

A 70's turbulent , monkey *** , ' lovers forever ' -
doomed summer romance is now 'a smile' that my better half cannot-understand ...

A wren at the window was telling me the news
He's waving to every songster along -
the way
Whistling a song and a rhyme on a perfect day
Scribbling a write in his new hideaway
Inviting his friends and elders to come out--
and play ....

At the witching hour , behold , crepuscular scores-
of power and passion are scorned -
A dower belonging to the -
hopeless and the forlorn
A lovers electricity feeding-
jilted circuitry ...
Quickening skin ..
Wetted lips ...

Magnolia , honeysuckle and Cherokee roses-
hide the aroma of gun powder & mace ...
Yet , wisteria tinged with the odor of burning-
structures leaves an undeniable taste ..
The cheers for her professional sports teams housed-
in grandiose stadiums drowns out gunfire -
in poverty ravaged neighborhoods ...
Airliners bound for Atlanta sail high above -
the call for justice , equality & mercy                                                  
At the behest of the Almighty a lonely cropper took his last , hard breath beside an Ellijay apple tree , a laborer in Valdosta , a mechanic -in Albany
Their physicality cracked from years -                                                    
of pain and toil neath the unforgiving Georgia-
sun , councilors , legislatures & sheriffs woefully resist modernity in the midst of public desperation ..
Deaf ears to small town minority halls of worship begging tolerance , -
brotherhood & civility
Behind her facade of beauty , pecan orchards & peach trees-
lies the ****** robe of humanity
Unsung heroes vying for shared liberty....

All the churches lock their doors today
Canned biscuits replace the old fashioned -
way
Fast food joints line the parkway
The gas stations stopped giving prizes away
Once proud whitewashed homes are tinged -
in gray
God ****** communist ....

A familiar star...
The first pinprick of light -
to enhance the coming night ..
My kinsfolk wait in golden clouds
Your son's weathered hands caress the crackling cornfields
Ears with mastery of the dove and the whippoorwill ...

Where the supernatural plot , scheme and-
ploy
Where the Devils soldiers howl , laugh and annoy
Where the wanton distant sound of trumpets are heard-
in the midnight hour
Her name is Helen
She flustered the sails of Magellan
Mortally confused trader caravans on the -
Saharan desert
Spun the compass of Hillary for fun
Emptied the magazine of a freedom fighters-
gun
She dabbles in pain and sorcery
Trills a fiddle high atop a Locust Tree
She fools the unknowing with a smile an
a hug then mashes your corpse like
a garden slug ...

Defining the crossroads of mankind in a medium of guilt ...

A feather pen with an endless supply of ink
The secret extension for my 'forever on call shrink'
Copious cups of java
A skeleton key to open the mind of Whitman
A workable plan for my poetic missions ...

When Father Sunshine sleepily slips away
I reach to the corner of the earth and pull the-
veil over another day
A punctual Jay sings of the joys of May
In honor of gourmet feast , acorn and berry ,-
Dancing under the boxelder
A ballet with kindred spirits atop pleasant , Hill-
Country hay
The musicians ode to jovial eves , red clay lanes , -
the rest till morrow , the creak of the vanes and warm Spring-
ways ....

Some folks are waiting on the perfect wave
The one their parents talked about
The big fish neath the boat that stirred -
the anglers red hot imagination
A lost Sasquatch in the midnight hour crying -
out supplication
The return of their gods in the nick of -
time , a bag of notes without rhythm or-
rhyme ..
The greenest grass the eye can handle
The calming flame of a 'forever candle ' ..

The young will shade their fallen progeny
The land traveller is halted by the sea
Revolution will eventually fill every street ..

Any evening during the last ten days of October
On a clear night from a porch chair
Face the East , swear upon the lair of the-
long departed and the forgotten
Beg for the ministry of the Delta Ghost
The Twelve Tones , the demonic host
Break the seal on a bottle of scotch
Pour a quarter cup into a white coffee -
cup
Add a half dollar piece , a steak knife , a -
metal fingerpick
Cover the offering with a handkerchief
Turn out the light
Search the heavens with all your might
Let the concoction be , may the sound of -
the thrush , whippoorwill or cicada alert thee ..
Remove the linen covering the ' chalice '
Dip your pick whilst the light remains dim
Play on a whim
Play in the light
Play on any dark and dreary night ...

Country hamlets filled with sweet barbecue smoke ,
wisteria and the perfume of afternoon rain
Steamy lanes , chattering 'grays' ,
Red clover pastures bordering city byways ...

If life was an Etch-a-Sketch
Hard memories could be quickly erased
Backgrounds replaced with -
mountain vistas , gulf waters-
blue lakes , whirling snowflakes-
Cherry trees and sweet dreams ...

I was taught to understand the wail of Jones and Owens -
The cry of the fiddle , Hank telling it right ,
the Opry on Saturday night
The necessity of a front porch
Steel toed boots , sun tea and sassafras root                                             A late night swing for two 'neath a bustling oak
Coonhound companions and old school-
blokes
We learned to catch our own minnows 'n
fry our own slabs
Sunday dinners turned into afternoon naps
Grief and gain walked hand in hand
Someday my body's corruption will be turned to sand
Left to blow across this hallowed land ...

I peered upward into a thousand colored shapes-
Bathed in a cool living pond
The Bells of Heaven mingled with the-
tones of this raging fountain
Jesus Christ surely stood above this waterfall
So be it ...

Tye recalls the reflections of Autumn
Heavens mottled blues , windswept cattle-
ponds , dancing grass sprinkled with wildflowers-
of every size and color , morning glory sun shower
The inspiration of late November , bare hardwoods crowned
in mistletoe , fiery sunsets , gravel byways , meandering brooks ,
braying country hounds , storm racked aerials ...

Quick sips from Port Lake
The blackberry feast of Summer
Aromatic pine , cool downy carpets of-
springtide hay
Dragonflies whirl then glide to earth
The afternoon drummers of Spring
The Dance of the Hedgerows
Curtains of life sweep the genteel trees , filling every plain
A culled pasture receiving her churning sustenance
Ra's rain song so delivered ...

She is a child holding artwork with stick-
figurines , crimson roses and smiling sunshine
Tye lies still like a portrait to be before bounding away from-
tree to tree , bathed in creations gleam , loving
musical phrases , industrious and free ...

You can turn the sound of a busy highway into -
the oceans final destination
A saw into a rare tropical bird calling from the thick -
Indonesian canopy
Air brakes releasing become a noble Brahma-
warrior guarding his minions
Revved engines are motorboats sailing the African -
river wilderness
An afternoon cup of coffee with Walt Whitman
A lively front porch chat with Martin Luther King
Tucked into bed by  " The Angels " ...

About a half handful o' chaw to start the workday-
will give your mind a little tingle
Make the morning brighter and keep your-
vocal cords on idle ...

Someday you'll truly awaken
Not tethered to air , land or sky  
Your physical delights on Earth
enjoined into ocean , woodland stream-
and mountain ..
Drawn to the music of creation
Forevermore ..

Two o'clock shower
Steamy asphalt avenues
Songbirds criss- cross wetted grass-
and June wildflowers
Hedgerows reveal their hidden diamonds
Rain drop ballads
Ditches have become a churning-
river deep in some faraway jungle
Explorers fighting to stay afloat
Longing for home
Caterpillars trying to avoid the Thrashers
Mother Bluebirds leery of a ****** high-
above
Shimmering glass pastures beckon famished dove ..

Am I playing the guitar or is the guitar playing me ?

I began to walk the right of way
A doe rose and darted across the red clay
A hawk gave away his battle station
Crows alerted the occupants of Hill Country with --
great articulation
Tall grass bowed before mistletoe and ivy upon oak
North wind tinged in field smoke                                                             Should I hang a weathered parka on the daylight moon
Maybe a prayer for the warmth of June
Start a cedar fueled conflagration in honor of -
third platoon
Alert the aliens of Europa of the galactic news
My chillbain and madness are close friends
A dastardly , hopeful , midnight skywatcher
Loyal to the very end
This cylindrcal eye of wonder
Plotting possibilities in astronomical -
numbers
Connecting dots , casting lots
Secured in the whispering hallways of the mind
Tranquility , fame , planetary games

Recede from hostility
Moor this understood warrior

I should put my embattled theories to the test
The whispers of jasmine and honeysuckle -
invite a poet to rest in hillside hamlets , raptured in the diamond showered throes of Spring ..

Port Wood's Godhead breached the jealous -
canopy
Shards of pure design restored the pang of -
darkness
Tik -tok from a red bellied sentry
Water explosions from unknown entities
Morning dance from Mother Heron
Whitetails revealed in burning fog
Killdeer , nuthatch and jays work her
trembling bog ...

"The placid lakes are filled with the tears of those-
in mourning
The rolling oceans are the turbulent , healing answer-
of a benevolent God in wind sprayed glory" ....

A little Mady bird caught the sun ,
having forsaken her nest then revelled in the-
new morn
Dreams of sunflower fields and wisteria ,
bumble bees and sweet corn ...
Oak arbors sprinkled with tinsel
Pungent , turned earth laden with -
sweetgrass , kernel and lentil ...

Sing a song of powder blue ventures
Proud announcments from the tip of -
fragrant magnolias
Scolding her contemporaries draped in water oak-
sanctity                                                    ­                                            
Nestled in mistletoe
Pious morning adventures ...

Foraging whitetails
Fastidious dove
A lavender sunset with-
a new moon above ...

A wintertide timid sun shines green along the stacked pine
In myirad hues agin some lonesome fenceline
Sparkle red clay beside the hardwood borders
Keep a writers flicker of thought in apple pie order ...

Pull the bucket mouths to the surface
See shad tremble , darting and nervous
Caste the shadow of a stately heron
Paint the colors of Spring at the behest of Hill Country's
songbird clarion...

Do the aliens read the twinkling ,
sunny sea
Do the stingrays fly out of the ocean -
blue just for me
Was the syrup on my flapjacks harvested-
without objection
Can the poor of my country find sustenance -
without protection
The phases of the moon shall never cease
The pain of hunger will soon increase
Malnourished toddlers become disillusioned
adults ...
Organized religions are in fact killer cults ...

Cold weather miracles ..
Unique , frosted , fed up -
entities driven by the cool wind of change
Spanning King George's namesake
Coating the land
Lot to lot
Realigning the governed
Dot by dot ...
Tolling bells
The depth growing ever larger as the -
blizzard swells ....

Hopeful as the streams neath springs melting snow
Broken rows teeming with April growth
Old farmers toil in the dog days-
of summer
Churning cracked land recalls the song of the vane
A poem for the plow-land they continually tame ..
Old farmers and their kind grow silent just -
as busy field houses , family and barns eventually surrender to -
the tug of the earth ...
Fighting the pang of winter for all they were worth ...