Elder Gents studying their cards , a rollicking game of pinochle
on the lawn , Black Cavendish tobacco sweetens the air as they sip on RC Colas , dine on Moon Pies ...
Southern Belles reminiscing over coffee and shortbread cookies ,
young guitar players selling songs , gray pigeons making a living ,
hard at work on the busy sidewalk ....
Retired lovers window shop Main Street , a penny for their thoughts
today at Noon ...

A powder blue view of Elysium as lavender and pink clouds float
to the East , greens turn from pear to basil , cool Northern winds
sprinkle their magic before such imagination , the day winds down to Dusk with the Evening Star's sterling , most proper invitation ...
Twilight Earth sings outside my favorite window , her voice a cradle
song soothing the very hour of sunset , calling the Moon to temper the night , beckoning the astral glow of the midnight lights ....

Strips of gray , alabaster and black brushstrokes streak across my confused sky .. Howling , relentless zephyrs hammer fledgling Oaks and softwood Pines ..
Curious leaves and needles clamor beneath the canopy , searching desperately , running for shelter ... Cardinals and Thrashers witness the exodus , their curious chirps drowned with each gust of late February's
Winter fury and banter ... The wind is a young child this afternoon , testing her Mothers scorn , running free throughout the yard intrigued
by the other side of the road ..  Storm clouds are in juvenile mindset as well , threatening rain with their mind on Carolina , tempering my welkin today and gone by tomorrow ..

Quietude coupled with soft memories .. Panoramic views from marble benches , peace surrounding soft lakeland scenery ..  Bronze testaments dot shamrock greens on motionless , Sunday introspective afternoons ... Soulful communication and memory with the interred , curious dialogue between songbirds spark the hopeful hour of communion and togetherness ..

Green Coleman lanterns hung over the water , craving the humid night , nocturnal creatures bathed in the artificial lights ....
The metronomic crash of breakers on the aluminum hulled vessel , baiting hooks and tying gear by flashlight or sheer memory .. Horned Owls , Killdeer and Whippoorwills filled the dark night with haunting songs , the crash of bass and topwater shellcrackers would chill the blood for a moment , cause you to breathe in deep  , exhale out loud .... The aroma of lake water , insect repellent and cigar smoke , chewing on a plug of Bloodhound , strained eyes concentrating on nothing but that bobber , waiting on that tasty fish to take it and run ....
Working your piece of the lake till the early morning Sun ....

You drew our names with a piece of chalk ...
I stood over it so the boys wouldn't see
it on the asphalt ...
It washed away later that afternoon in the Summer of '74 ...
And to this very day I could take you to the exact spot in College Park
where it was wrote ...

Where honeybees work Pineapple Sage , where the Cattails stand proud
in the lyrical winds ...
At the terra cotta crossroad where timeless love and friendships have coalesced ....
Down the hillside toward hospitable , glistening , green bottom lands ...
Across the grassy divide into sunny , well kept acreage ...
Forever walking the field road to the Old Starr Dairy ......

Rainy , whisper white Tuesday ...                                                              ­           Dissonant , rigid , iron metropolis . Via Dolorosa ..

I turn to my left , my reflective portrait in a five and dime piece of 'artwork'.. A stunned , graying anomaly going eye to eye with his namesake ...
Thumbing through 'fish wrapper' trying to make myself believe
a masterpiece is lying at the bottom , something to occupy a lonely wall
in a forgotten room ..
Something I've been guilty of many times over the years ...
Hanging on to things that have zero significance , working hard to remain ' Vital , Marketable and Practical' for wolves and robots who were oarless in the deep end of the lake , basically committed to my destruction with no clue for independent thinking , creativity or even grade school logic for that matter .. Tonight I think I'll leave the 'Van Gogh's and the Monet's' here at the store , head back home and write this poem in black marker on that 'lonely wall ..'

Detach the mournful profile from youthful embittered emotions ..
Sad , dark hours preceding death are merely curtain calls , rivers that peek inquiry from birth to ocean swept , delta epilogue ..
Reborn of Spring storms , the memoires of blackberry Winter ,
gray day maritime gales , thundershowers of September , yellow daffodils of March foretell the onset of today , gleam in the abiding sunlight of their anticipated hereafter ..
Behold the cliffs whom covet the turquoise exposure of the sea , imperiled flowers that belay their certain capitulation amongst the sharpened bottom .. Gulls shriek in suspend animation , black shorelines echo their resignation , carried across thick ocean breezes ...
Our physical days quite aware of the future at each subtle turn , the payment of debit with every expensive hour ...

Chasing the cloudburst of June ..
Vying arid , parched Summer determination ..
A blessing to walk flooded narrows , receiving the aroma of fertile soil ..

The dark purple muscadine arbors of July forever bring
joy and laughter at times , powder blue dreams in a simple , curious
frame of mind , **** moments of bliss , fresh cut green alleyways coupled with the smoke of lit field periphery .. Wild plum trees flourished , these red delights are forever cherished .. Collecting the bounty at Dusk with paper bags , eating our fill on the front porch , continuous hand to mouth till our tummies were full , practically never getting enough ...Concord grapes were most abundant , Nana would make a tasty juice concoction to have in the Winter , the sweet taste of Summer made available for us in cool November ...Blackberries filled the rural roadside around the first of July , cool mornings with straw hat and boots to fend off the briars , surrounded by beautiful songbirds seeking the same sweet prizes ....

Good night American Oligarchy ...
Our children are still receiving a deplorable education ,
young people will be shot in the back tonight running from the
kinder , gentler Gestapo policeman ...
Our hungry that died on the streets this evening will be swept away ,
so a potential killer like Trump or Clinton can have a parade !
The Rectangular Plasmic Brain Melter will be feeding the citizens
what you want to hear ...
We'll all be off to grease the machine , looking over our collective shoulders in fear.

Sometimes the sound of crickets late at night are tiny tears shed over a love gone bad ... The whippoorwills seem o' so very sad ...
Stars are searching for love and their place in the world ...
Bullfrogs are sharing my pain with the cry of a Barn Owl ...
Wind whispered rejection at midnight grows o' so painfully loud .. Sometimes .....

Cars skip pass the Mill Road this cloudy afternoon ,
screaming by like volunteer Firemen heading to a field afire ,
running like the Governor has come to town , like a farmer struck oil
with his tractor plow ... You folks are speeding in vain , for their will be no escaping the rain , regardless of what you may have under the hood ,
or what the talking head on Tv has told you ... A rainy , early afternoon in February in this part of the world means showers the remainder of the day , you can rest assured ....

Her hairstyle is combing long auburn , wet hair down in front then throwing it over her pretty head to dry ... She's in her mid-fifties ,  no makeup is ever needed , flannel shirts and blue jeans with tennis shoes and one precious diamond ring .. A voice that I seek at Dawn , a smile that lights up my world ..A walk with your best friend through the woods is a trip to anywhere , the shores of Greece , the mountains of Chile ...
A day in the country with this girl satisfies the hunger for anything I could ever crave on this Earth ...

To lay my head upon the tawny cover of softwood pines once more
as I pry the manifest question of youthful travail and insecurity ,
to garner the earthen tier beside natures vested , rippling waters ..
Churning runnels lending delicate directions , whirlpool portrayals that countersink their matriarchal beginnings , only to gradually disappear ....
To wander the carpeted trail with arbitrary resolve , free of pious
intimidations .. Fixated with superb creativity  .. With the eyes of an eagle .. Determined . Pithiest .. Invincible ..
As heat obscures the blacktop ahead , the shade of home is but a dot in the humid distance , tar laced Georgia roads in the month of August are quite dangerous to young , bare feet ...
Sorghum fields , hog wire boundaries , darkening skies ..The unbounded Sun dragging each step , briar patches line the road shoulder , painful reminders of lonely boots foolishly left unkept ...
Fire ant mounds hide in tall grass , Cow Killers forage alone in Summer swelter , brown scorpions , cottonmouths and the list goes on virtually
forever during Dog Days , legends of wounds refusing to heal , double headed rattlers and rabid foxes , Longhorn bulls turning wild , growing bloodthirsty , hunting down unwary farm hands .. Men turned lunatic
from tainted moonshine , waiting at the wood line for clumsy boys and girls , well water made septic from lack of rain .. Bobcats running in packs for any food easily obtained , including boys that refused to listen
to mother , leaving their cowboy boots when warned not to do so ... This will be the last time I'm caught barefooted , all alone , left to my own wit and minds reserve , Mom and Dad can be sure of it !

Love belongs to you and I , human love , a one of a kind rose
on a vivacious , spreading vine ...
It defies any description that the government attempts to define or "Officially Recognize ."
Love is unique , without barrier or political controls ..
Love does not answer to the moral majority or any other protocol ..
Human beings glow in the light of love .. Straight , gay , lesbian etc..
are words that create division and sorrow ...
Love is our hope for a better tomorrow ... Why are we so afraid of love ?

Warm rain mimics the taste of the Mediterranean upon reticent lips ,
a river of salt streams from her hairline , running freely along her timeless , glowing expression . Wild honey pooling at the base of my Aphrodite's bare , delicate neck .. The tender , moist fixation at the confluence
of our timid breath , her sweet face held in careful hands , brown sugar eyes and cinnamon tresses , new Sunlight upon glowing , china envious articulations ..

Squalls shadow petulant March with outrage ...
The incendiary finger of God striking the fearful world ..
Blackbird covens proclaim their insecurity at tempest edge ,
charcoal leviathans loom , ever radical and ominous ....

I witnessed a crimson star , hurtling southbound to Florida ,
it lit up the Eastern sky , quickly faded , a brief yet momentous
occasion to all fortunate spectators addressing the uncomplicated night ...
I answered with a tale of the Big Dipper watering the chariot horses of Orion , Sagittarius shot his arrow just for me at twilight , Venus gently covers sleepy Earth in her silken black shroud , crystal dreams quietly
settle over timid countryside , sleep for now precious dreamer , let sleep abound ...

Understandings latent compression ...
Melancholy's nightly quietus episode deflection ...
Brown eyes insistent upon the awe , tranquility of star shine ,
an empty expanse withholding infinite reminiscences ..

Black spire inspirations,  electrifying intricate patterns , Winter stars do envy the brilliant lights of Atlanta , our Southern Queen stands tall in every direction ...

The bold waters of Indian Creek polish skipping stones , cool waters
harbor Yellow Perch and Smallmouths , all manner of aquatic fauna ..
Sand bars glisten in the afternoon light ..
A chorus of nature's musicians sing to the coming of night ...

The life current of Georgia flows along this vital artery ..
Creek Indians fished , hunted and bore testament to their precious waterway ....
Full Moons still recall the laughter of young native American children along her banks ...
The shouts of intrepid spear fishermen haunt the calm Summer air ,
twilight becoming harbinger for many a ghostly tale on beechnut silhouetted darkness , mosquito ravaged nights ....
Creek hunters running from Oak to Pine , whistling messages along the banks ... Bobcats howl on foggy Dawns while Herons hold still , forever maintain their silent watch ..

Secretly sprinkle my dust over Newt Gingrich's high fiber breakfast cereal . Or placed in the air plenum of a ritzy hotel whereby the elite should get a minuscule whiff of hardscrabble living , thrown on the interstate so as not to feel out of place , run over repeatedly by people  that were forever needy ..By all means please pour me liberally over the Baked Alaska at any tax payer funded high price , 'hob *******' government extravaganza ! Usher my remains across a green farm pond  to be eaten by catfish and passed to the bottom , carousing with the snails and the worms forever seeking cover . Perfectly content , hiding in the mud hoping not to be discovered ..

Alabaster hued pasture land disclosed at sun-up , persistent frost clinging for life against the first golden rays throwing myriad , glowing reflections into evergreen woodlands , inciting boyish imaginations of extraterrestrial orbs flying about , invading the unwary Earth .
The glimmering fields of my rural Georgia childhood clearly visible throughout the vast Solar System , causing quite a stir on Mars and Venus , alerting the aliens on Neptune and Uranus ..
A lookout on the Morning Star warning his comrades of life below , a martian on a silver rocket circling the cheddar cheese Moon , beaming at Kelleytown with trusty telescope , calling his King Jupiter with a secret signal or two .. Homespun daydreams of faraway places , days of sugar cane , sorghum syrup and strawberry patches .. Childhood ambitions mixed with farmland work necessities , feeding chickens , cleaning pens , eating cherry plums , riding dirt bikes and being kids ...

Cold , clear water from that hand dug well could break a spell of thirst
faster than a July thundershower , quick as a swamp rabbit running Camp Creek , swift as a Bobcat scurrying to the top of a Sycamore Tree ...
Cool as a November morning , clear as Dad's list of chores , smooth as a
fresh brushed Quarter Horse , as welcoming as the evening view of home ...

Mr. Hopsons polished , placid pond surrounded by dark green July corn , teeming with mud and flathead catfish , dairy cattle call on clear blue , bucolic afternoons .. Black tadpoles crowd her tall vegetative shore , hoof prints riddle lonesome trails , killdeer chirp atop Elizabeth rose fence lines , paddocks come alive with abundant , fragrant wildflowers of every shape , color and size ..
Beagles cry for their midday meal , songbirds vivaciously work the white barn homestead , Rhode Island Reds gather for Noon feast , Embden Geese patrol East seeking the blacktop , waddle noisily along the gravel drive , forever curious , even a touch boisterous and foolhardy from time to time ..
Charolais bulls command the molasses lick , working salt blocks , lay
without fear beneath tin topped field shelters ..

My imperial , stoic raptor standing watch over sun swept , dew infused dale .. Many thanks for kinship , service and timely Hill Country beautification , long days of valor filling weary minds and ear with noble ballads .. High above , camouflaged within the wind racked Pines , soaring warm Georgia air in quiet retrospection , filling hearts with passion and awe ..

Imagine powder blue , morning flowers ...
Green clover nestled beneath swirling eddies , enraptured by Summer hay and sunflower fields , the chorus of Mourning dove , Brown Thrasher and laughing Crow ..Village church bells announcing each daylight hour , quiet Sunday mornings broken by Pileated Woodpecker and Bluejay ...The smell of Honeysuckle and fresh cut grass , burning leaves and Sassafras ..

Thick fog breaks across West Point Lake ...
Bass boats and crappie fishermen , tour boats and skiers
skim across her blue looking glass , Wood Ducks test the skies
northbound up the Chattahoochee River , bank anglers anchor poles
along her fortified edges .. White granite boulders visible from the mid-line .. Indigo hope and dreams as starlings silhouette her morning miracle , shad minnows skim the blue mirror , visiting gulls feast along quiet shoreline . A tall Georgia Pine mirage forms in tranquil coves , early day crows call hysterically from the hardwood thickets .. Turtles occupy muddy banks , Whitetails quietly graze worked fields , dragonflies and monarchs  incessantly toil beneath the strengthening heat of Summer , baldfaced hornets fortify their paper rampart high atop a lone River Birch ...

Rainwater is pooling on Panola Mountain tonight , plants are rooting
atop her granite escarpments , Bucks are foraging across the lowlands ,
a crescent Moon will become visible as the storm moves Eastward ....
Couples will fall in love tomorrow across the lawn , family reunions and carefree children will run and laugh in the park ... Herons forage to the cacophony of bullfrogs , insects , whippoorwills and owls .. Alexander Lake on this night mirrors a million stars , turtle doves will sound the call to morning , turkey hens will echo across her plentiful moors ...

Excuse me Mr. Robin , pardon my interruption , I was wondering with you being so busy if Winter had finally run it's course ? If you had met your Spring lover , working the ground cover for twigs and little what -nots , building a sturdy home for nestlings to hatch and grow in the coming months ?
Mr. Bluebird was far too busy to entertain any such questions , his blushing bride was tweeting directions , every little leaf had to be just so , working studiously on a birdhouse we built the year before ..
Mr. Robin .. If your too connected with work I totally understand , I'll be on the porch enjoying the weather with visions of April in my head ! If you should find yourself in a quandary don't hesitate to come calling ,
knock three times and wait a few seconds so I won't confuse you with  
my old buddy the Woodpecker !!

Welcome to the snow globe world where happy faces are bundled up with heavy Winter coats and red scarves , Snowmen with pinecone buttons wave to passersby touring the town in Model-T cars ! Country air filled with magical , old world chapter scenery , frosted gingerbread homes and gum drop bridges ...
You and I are most certainly one of a kind , individual snowflakes , our sails filled with welcoming air , gliding through picture perfect settings without a care , excited with the promise of each gleeful morning , sipping on hot chocolate , eating sugar biscuits and raspberry tarts ...
Counting our blessings and learning our lessons , climbing tall trees ,
buzzing like honeybees , playing with friends , praying for sweet days to never end ...

Hey cold gray decrepit wall , paint me a pretty picture this morning because I'm too 'unstable' to be let out ..
Draw purple sunsets and seagulls flying away because I'm to'combative ' to be walking about ...
Good morning minimum wage , mad at the way the creek flows orderly , keeping the peace in the psychiatric world , strong arming sweet people to consume their numbing drugs , walking around like your in the WWE ,  NFL or something ...
Drink machine doctors , twenty second physicals for a thousand bucks , not even looking up with an apparent hundred percent hearing loss when your patients happen to speak up !
Good day Nurse Loser with zero patience , handed out drugs like your poisoning the hogs .. Now that I'm gone I wish you all the worst , I hope you find a Gaboon Viper hiding in your purse ..
Hello kitchen staff , how could I forget , how much sugar does it take to sweeten dog **** ? Trapped in a room with food a rat would refuse to eat .. Standing indignant by your slop like your a Food Channel cooking queen !!

The cessation of my diurnal tapestry , a nocturnal tale of white horse
tragedy .. As we wait for the eight at nine , where shadows
often appear to be alive , hours run pathetically slow , freezing near dead from head to toe . Suckling from the bitter , wicked teet , normal people now **** where I eat .. Old crow nail , purple tip reactive banter from a starving vulture , the wailing of Lucifer , his consumption of the rotten in the shelter I rest my aching head upon .. Putrid bile breath , painstakingly reconnoiter the veins in both legs , stabbing wretched leather , smell of imminent death at the meeting house , night of inopportune visitation from an old chum long since forgotten ...What will I find when the body expires , when my broken heart finally gives in , when my brain sinks to the murky bottom , when the voices stop calling  . Who will I see , to whom will I greet when religion receives its long awaited answer , when the riddles lay restful and solved , when guilt and needle wounds are calmed ...Will life resume once more upon my fragile piece of Earth or will I jettison on a beam of light around the Universe .. Will there be a Jesus or a creature with intelligence I can't even begin to comprehend or will the bulb be switched to off and that's it ?

A final receipt .. The wherewithal consumed in heartache and betrayal..
With her heart on a sleeve , she wore a thousand faces , a smile very well ... Quiet remnants that toll curiosity , like a fittingly remembered door closed , slipped from my hand ..

I fashion myself a Greek poet tonight ...
A picture of myself with a purple robe ,
my right hand on an ancient document ,
my left hand pointing toward the sky ,
something a tad dramatic for a two score and ten
year 'rural , hayseed romantic ...'
A security guard in the Louvre is passing my
frame tonight , no clue as to the description
I've cast upon you , absolutely no reason to treat
my claim to fame any different from all the others I would guess ..
So I'll pop my pills , turn out the lights , dream up something different
for tomorrow night .. A Cherokee warrior , a Kentucky Colonel ,
but most likely a retired country poet , waiting for the Ambien to get started , counting the planes that fly by his window , dreaming up 'writes'
to eagerly place in front of you .. Night night .....

The melting *** of town , a tidy restaurant with the smell of sausage and bacon , pancakes and fried eggs , biscuits and gravy with fig preserves and local honey , at high Noon serving the best lunch for miles around . Lively banter from old timers , waitresses eager to strike up conversations , the latest gossip in a one light village , talk of planting , cattle and farm equipment .. A tidy Piggly Wiggly opens at nine o'clock , the local hardware store busy as ever , selling chicks , deer netting , lumber and livestock feed .. Neighbors more than willing to help one another when needed ...
The town closes at one on Wednesday to allow the residents ample time for church service at five , followed by supper in the Communion hall and another round of chat after sundown ...
Back home to quiet city streets and dirt roads , a lone constable patrols town one last time before closing the day out ..

My love I beg of thee , will you come out this very night ..
Face me in the firelight , never take me out of your sight ...
Let's raise a toast to our long awaited connection  ,
by informing the world of our deep affection ....
For one night I would risk my everything , for
it's in your eyes that my heart begins to sing .....
People will ridicule our devotion , people will forswear
our commitment to each other , deny our heartfelt supplications
before all others , ridicule our togetherness as a ploy for ulterior motives ..
I want to hide in your arms tonight , your eyes cast upon mine ,
your breath in my ear forever and one year ...
We wait for complex answers to simple equations , we struggle in search of honesty when it's standing all around us ...
We draw the warmth from one another whenever we meet , can we not show our heightened emotions for one another as we casually stroll our hometown streets ?

Homemade peach ice cream fresh from Gardner's Grove was a sneak peak into heaven for a seven year old boy ...

An elderly , regional dame in a pretty lavender and white flannel coat checks her mailbox with the help of a metallic walker ... Her yard remains meticulously coifed and maintained just like the persnickety , perfect hairstyle she's worn for the last fifteen years ...
A stunning , curled cotton mane with impeccable , multi -colored dresses for church on Wednesday and Sunday , the Queen of a small town in middle , rural Georgia ..
Her castle is a sixties period brick ranch with beautiful Hostas and Tulips on all four corners ... Cherokee roses and Azaleas , Honey Locust and well kept Concord Grape arbors ..
A gas light stands guard by the front door , her prized chihuahua patrols the front of the estate from a kitchen window ..
On Spring days she waves from her white rocker on the front porch ..
Early Summer mornings she can be found tending her flowers , giving the grass a brief shower , reading her Bible beneath the carport and chatting with family and friends on the telephone ....

The punctual , eleven forty southbound train whistle's through our hometown of Palmetto ! Please tell the good folks of Montgomery , Mobile and New Orleans that I said hello !

Green velvety moss blankets sharp edged stones ,
your feminine fancy awaits on the opposite shore with silken legs
befitting a supermodel in Paris .. A Van Gogh brushed smile ,
the eyes of a fawn , waterfall locks of hair baiting your deadly advance
across the crocodile ridden waters , like a wildebeest you splash and trounce the neck high , raging gauntlet , fighting for every breath of air
as you nervously reach the shore , graciously pulled from the river rapids by 'her lover' , the biggest man you've ever laid two eyes on ...

Along the cinnamon shadows near the bristly,  butterscotch cover of the property line ...
A Barn owl reflects on the coming night ...
Where cold air mimics the call of turtle doves ...
Where obscured Sun transforms Maya blue afternoon skies to silver and gold ...

Driving down the mountain I see the breath of townspeople in the distance , a traffic deputy working the lanes , short chirps on a silver whistle ...
Cars scurrying for work and play , shop owners studiously clean their piece of the streets , working their ads on the windows just so , feather dusting their wares nice and neat ...
The morning paper delivered via bicycle , the ice on winter Dogwoods
that line the main avenue ..
Birds of every size and color work the evergreens in town , eastern gray squirrels noisily frolic among the Oaks in city park , calm , golden streetlights on every block rest till evening now that morning has come to call ...

People move on sometimes and it feels so bad, it hurts even worse at sunset as darkness settles in , be cognizant of the moonlight , keeping your eyes wide open all the time for someone in your life has wishfully and secretly placed a candle in their window , praying for you to find it ..

My white dove forever perched within June berries , the enticement of cherry blossom , dew glistened Wisteria ..  A thoughtful , relentless loving partner and trail bearer of the darkened path , a confidant ministering unto confusion , providing hope and needed rest , two calling arms longing to surround her ****** address ...
A siren song commanding all of time , a brilliant lighthouse at welcome shoreline , heavenly light in the black of night ..
Love stirred compassion riding the surface of each challenging wave , my evening star , my songbird of Dawn ...

When the aliens finally arrive and systematically destroy us for being different 'twould be an irony indeed for Earthlings to chastise them for their indifference and their racism , labeling them barbarians for their principles , sort of like the '*** calling the kettle black for instance '...

Baby's breath whispers beneath quiet Willows , morning sun
approaches its bold , westward salutation , inaudibly removing the nighttime cold ...
My cumbersome foolhardy days along the perceivable , well worn footpath of a venerable life scholar ..
Silent , amusing thoughts of intrepid youthful days , life's bitter traffic
upon the minds electric foray into disillusion , avenues of terrific familiarity and knowledge ...