Where was the crossroad ..The turning point in life ?
What action begat having to defend your little piece of home each night ?
Not enough steam in Atlanta for everyone , or enough street lights ..
Not enough cardboard on the boulevard to rig temporary digs ..
Or food at the shelters to settle hungers pangs , or enough smack tonight to feed the starving pig !
"Why can't February 12th be a holiday ? A day when politicians , the media and athletes give a **** , like Thanksgiving and Christmas , the days we're on TV posing with the talking heads and the other well to do Atlantan's ?"

Politicians continually pick at the festering boil of government bureaucracy with filthy hands yet shrug their shoulders in disbelief
as to why the country refuses to heal ..

I was pronounced dead at the age of ten while eavesdropping
a conversation from a few neighborhood friends ...
Succumbed to wounds suffered from the revelation of
my physical ugliness in the eyes of others , dropped dead
where I stood , left , ran away and cried myself to bed . Still running in my mind at times ...
I was killed again by melancholia at age thirteen from a lunatic teacher
that made sport of me ... He's a crier so I heard , a freak that would never amount to anything in this world , a runt of the litter to be frowned upon , someone to be used and preyed upon ..
Shot in the head with an invisible bullet at fifteen , called a long haired
idiot by someone very dear to me , a guitarist wannabe writing songs
like all the ******* do , societies queer not worth the dirt between his boots , a lazy ******* with no place to be and nothing useful to do ..
Chastised by acquaintances for not working on cars or hunting  , watching NASCAR , playing poker and drinking liquor with 'the boys' .
... My preference was sipping coffee , reading the dictionary , playing the guitar and taking pictures .. My toys are Walt Whitman , Carl Sanburg poetry books and oak walking sticks for touring my precious Hill Country !
You ******* killed me emotionally but I'm still treading the Earth , I'm writing like a man possessed and whistling like a mockingbird , found
the love of my life , working everyday to become the best 'me' that I can possibly be , watching you beer bellied , obese , obtuse ******* physically dropping dead like green blowflies all around me !

Our reflections on a brass doorknob .
A skeleton key would slowly turn each tumbler ..
Dusty pinewood flooring , antique trinkets ..
Propane space heaters and fresh coffee balm private , erstwhile collective memories . A matriarchs kitchen , well water aroma and cross stitched towels , her flour tinged cotton apron , cast iron skillets and brass tea kettle with porcelain service ushers spirited times of conviviality over a simple oak dining room table ..
Hand made breakfast nook curtains , the majesty of tall Water Oaks
with foraging bantam hens and roosters ..
Dirt roads would tell of visitors long before they ever arrived ,
fishing for shell crackers at the old bridge with cane poles and and dough ***** , leftovers from cat head biscuits at breakfast ...
Pecans and crabapples fed young anglers on shady Summer afternoons . Feeding tall grass to black angus and hereford cattle through barbed wire fence , collecting afternoon eggs and walking the furrows at Dusk ,
days I'll never forget ..

Former hotels and restaurants sit like tomatoes dying on the vine ...
Filling stations are like ghost on this highway , long abandoned but still
advertising ... Empty shells line State Route 29 , Hwy. 42 and 41 for many miles , old wood barns with ' See Rock City ' still visible from the roadside , ancient billboards rusting , antique tractors frozen and left to die , once busy , vibrant thoroughfares now have a car or two once in awhile ..  Antique stores and tourist stops that sold peaches , muscadines and pecans plus other southern treats make eerie noises now with no folks left to visit ..
Owners left to query their insignificance , boarded establishments flapping in the wind , gutted homes now prisoners of rain and the elements , grass struggles , breaking free from it's asphalt jailer , barbed wire fence shredded , no trespassing signs laying beside silent roadways ... What terror befell the people when the interstate claimed her prize , what alternatives were available during theses harrowing times ...

Mountain winds carry the church carillon through town ,
hymns echo across sleepy juniper meadows and hamlets for miles around ..
Neighbors gather for Sunday morning service , children laugh and
play throughout city square park benches and monuments , husbands and wives are rather 'chatty' and quite proud in their finest attire ..
Restaurants open at noon , hungry churchgoers celebrate life
and togetherness , one day out of the week the locals swoon jointly
over the month of June , impending harvest , all that is good in the world on a sleepy , thankful afternoon ..

Crimson , vigorous mornings , in disguise , portraying a well to do clear
headed man , off to tackle the corporate jungles of Atlanta ,
cure a debilitating disease in a bustling world renown medical center ..
But it's just me again , soul shot full of buckshot at times , graying around the side burns , combing four years of red beard , chugging coffee till my head begins to clear ..
Checking my hens at the first rays of Dawn , gathering eggs and feeding the hogs .. Greasing my tractor and securing her implements , marking off rows , smiling from ear to ear , relishing my quiet , treasured insignificance ..

Millicent hid a rotted tooth with her pretty hand , schemed every whimsical , nervous smile .. St. Patricks medallion hung prominent at the neckline , Millie scribbled in black marker on a company name tag ..
Her back to the building at closing time , an occasional laugh , whispering in a co-workers ear like girls do sometimes , glowing in the realm of a yellow security light .. Locked in brief thought , waiting for her ride home ...

Old men drinking ***** on Monday afternoons ...
Dragging on Camels , warming calloused hands by
the burn barrel ...
Southern rail cars pass them by , their stories are another place in another
time ...
Cashing welfare checks for potted meat and saltines , Wild Turkey
and Goody powders ...
Crossing the railroad bridge bound for home on a frigid , blustery Georgia evening ..

Morning rime ...The indulgent , overcast pallor of winter morn ...
Hardwoods revive with Robin songs , daffodils crown the throng
of Falls red gold delivery ...
The portal of fair days draw near , the harmonic tune of naked perennials
in Winters fleeting puff of air ...
Feast upon frosted creation , forever watchful this season of hope , for cold weather berries line thickets , dashing evergreens enthrall with all due solemnity , migrants seek the blessings of home , Spring wine
and recollection from the cask of yesteryear ...

Love is peeking out a window at the pretty young girl in town ..
Love is crying yourself to sleep at night without a soul around ..
Love is a bold phone call praying a parent won't pickup ...
Love is passing notes at school hoping the teacher won't catch on ..
Love is Saturday night counting stars on the front porch ...
Love is daydreaming to find the right words mixed in with a little luck ..
Love is officially 'going steady' on Thursday afternoon and breaking up on Sunday night ...
Love is like picking blackberries combined with a thorn or two till you get it right ...
Love is a leaf in the breeze that only the fortunate can grasp and hold onto  .. Love is a walk in the darkest of night with the uppermost faith in the trail laid before you .....

Do you recall the Sunday girls of years past , soft lavender linens
with a colorful floret in their braided hair , just to one side , right above a pretty ear .. Gorgeous pastels , daisy petal smiles and sun dresses as pretty as a rainbow , the lovely magnolias of my hometown ...

Wisteria and gardenia , honeysuckle and rose ...Beautiful influences ,
proper damsels gracing mahogany pews , cherry lips and blushing
rosy cheeks , lifting the congregation with pitch perfect song ....
Young belles escorted home by infatuated farm boys astonished by
their beloved charms ...

Marigolds twinkle in July's ******* ,
Turquoise butterflies , picture postcard weather ...
Morning dew cools latent heat , hitchhikers
gather on wet blue jeans ...

Agrarian summertime dreams , days of Strawberry
wine , brilliant stars that whispered cool nights ...
Muscadine harvest , fireworks at horizons edge , Roman candles and rocket lights whistled low piedmont refrains ...

A military necropolis , resplendent with period battle colors towering above , skeletal wrought iron guardians at her periphery .. Stately Oaks forever dispatch tall shadows across etched memories , unsure days of furious cannon and musket .. Ramparts once besieged before a forgotten battles fury , where deaths Angel culled the very land in search of heroes ..

Red Maples do burnish woodland alleyways ..
White sugar snow vies for immortality ,
Deep blue dreams , the visible breath of
my youth , ice giving way beneath water soaked leather boots..
To bear witness of natural forestry , the rattle of peckerwoods , fluster of
pink Azaleas , Pines riding windswept fury as acorns crackle , River Birches standing noble o'er Hill Country brooks , RedTips receiving
their nervous sunny advances ..
Cattle trails lead homeward , sunlight on a Winter day that lays on
brown grass , quietly drifting away ...

Money and labor for walls separating nations could build gigantic
kitchens and dining areas for thousands of homeless , undernourished
men , women and children ...
A place of hope in every major city in America , a living monument
to address the immediate need of every person ...
We're imploding hotels to build skyscrapers when one building could help take care of many , many desparate people lying in the street , living the nightmare of homelessness , the people that are brushed aside like ******* on the boulevard , the people we drive by and try to forget ...
The people that are fed on Thanksgiving and Christmas only to be forgotten , left to fend for themselves the remainder of the year !

I worship the mattock that tends my Spring field ..
The Apple tree with it's Fall yield ...
The tractor that criss crosses the meadow ..
The firewood keeping me warm in the hard months of Winter ..
I pay homage to the Summer rain ..
Give thanks in May before our pollinators every day ...
Pay respect to my water well on parched evenings ...
Most grateful indeed for every change of Season ...

Make the transition from burdensome flesh
to inanimate light , not life in the physical sense
but as proud orbs that brighten our very skies ...
Traveling waves of collective understanding ,
a peaceful unbiased advanced order , relayed through
the miracle of time and space , revealed in a
civilization unlike our own through an alien prism
reflecting brilliant as yet unknown colors ....

And on this day when our afterlife is solved ,
When all fear of death is absolved ...
The persistent needs of flesh arrested ,
Our true purpose within the Universe shall
become quite evident ...

Be forever watchful for the charlatans , the snake charmers
of certain Baptist denominations ...
The monsters in need of jet airplanes to spread the Gospel of
their convenient , malleable Jesus that scour the Earth ..
They tell of Gods word in privy , ****** the elderly and the afflicted out of every last penny ..
Jeweled Temples built with iniquity , ever reaching for the clouds will find a scarlet termination , an incredible hard fall one day to the cold , unforgiving ground ....

Children are most precious seedlings that will flourish by addressing their most basic , primary nourishing needs ...
Copious amounts of red and black dirt , no part left untouched , a daub of soil from head to toe ...
Summertime showers to feed and cleanse their young minds and bodies ,
to run and play in wet fields of hay , to gallop in the rain after hot and dry days ...
Brilliant waves of sunshine to help them grow , the light of creation pulling them to the blue sky above !!

The honeybee attempting to overwinter by the window sill ,
the same one that sparked the growth and fruition
of our Summer Squash hills ....
Filled our trellis with delicious cucurbits and Roma tomatoes ,
brought life giving pollens to our Pattypans , Crooknecks
Butternuts and Acorns ..

On vulnerable days of anguish , frequently addressing the quilt
of blessings drawn at each window ...
Panes of glass , promising patterns hemmed with creative , understanding hands , the patchwork color of my isolation from the outside world , encased in the promise of light , viewed from the opaque clench of desperation ..

The big gray dog home with a Walkman on my chest ,
The long drive from Anniston , hitting every small town
to the West ...
Driver please drop me off in Hapeville , destination Kelleytown or
Covington , anyplace on Earth will do , anywhere but Fort McClellan !!

When the recusants stand before the porcine boor in fetters ...
As the Fifth Estate is flat lining around us , the Constitution
twisted till it finally shatters ..
The Military in pursuit of its own , bestowal of civil liberties shot
full of machine gun rounds ...
Bloodhounds bay with the scent of dissidents , storm sewers turn into
raging red rivers ...
When martial law pulls the rug from beneath our feet ....
When broken glass covers every downtown street ....
I will pray for something to take you down !
I will long for someone to take you out !

A bantam sounds afternoon tidings as the iron weathervane points Northeast ..
Both silhouettes as endearing a sight as my eyes could
ever witness ...
Astral nights , my amour ..Colorful light illustrations brushstroke the East ,
The edge of the Milky Way perplexes , I bask in it's subtle persuasion ..
Wind battled score and five year Pines sound timorous refrains , offering great euphonic consolation* ..

21st Century contraption of a mind , snatched from birth , taught how to "Walk the Line , " Hammered into conformity , Play Doh brains pressed in a mold , dressed , plopped on a conveyor , not one piece out of place ..
Our State cores a whole , pours a mandatory twelve years of robot ideology between our ears , who we should emulate , who we should fear
..  Fed factory Farm swill , sequester our imaginations , zero tolerance , shot full of Ritalin ...

Schools of whiting ne'er struggle for the surface air ,
Herefords peacefully forage their Winter hay , seemingly without care ..
Each ray of golden Sun methodically pursues it's Earthly calling ,
Every raindrop on the mountainside bound for the valley floor
searches quite slowly ...
Let love be quite natural , free flowing ..

Have you witnessed the Miami Moon , the hills of Carolina ?
Walked Folly Beach at first light , toured the bazaars of Downtown Atlanta ?
More importantly , have you counted each blessing you've received by and by , have you told the love of your life how you feel about them tonight ? Well ?

Long walks on Atlantic shores ,
my inamorata bask in heavenly light ,
Young dreams perfectly fulfilled , where seas
deliver their swansong poetic flurry , where love
songs receive their final verse ..

The **** cackled on a huge granite rock , tales of suffering and penance
among his harried flock ...
A now woebegone keeper of the past , intent on rest , cheerfully
malingering the duties of leader to no end , leaving his subjects
to quarry amongst themselves ...
The governed whispered rumors of mutiny , the loyal Knights implored
patience to no end , the once determined King visibly shaken , the future of the Royal Flock in sudden jeopardy , confusion swept across the entire barnyard , the flames of revolution intensified daily , young Roosters openly declared change , defended their space and new Hens
quite vigorously !
The old King came to terms with his fate amongst the flock , graciously
lowered his head on the chopping block !
A new leader was crowned shortly thereafter , the hens settled down and returned to peaceful , contented cackle ...
The old Rooster was remembered for his courage , the brilliant leadership he bestowed toward his subordinates and subjects as he was most assuredly reduced to chicken and dumplings ..

  .

Young writer , I implore you to write about every emotion that's gripping your thoughts , write it out exactly , for God's sake please forget ambiguous ******* about your work rhyming , punctuation or any such thoughts ! These things come in time , what truly matters is what you feel inside !! If you paint a Zebra and try to pass it off as a horse the oldies on this sight will most certainly pick it up ! Writing from the heart will shine like the full Moon , pompously scribbling prose like a jack *** will tell on you , very , very soon !!

Dad and I had good talks coming home from work at times ..
He would tell me about the day you two met at least twice a month .
It got better and better each time he told it .  I can still see him smiling , talking about your red hair and picture perfect smile , sometimes a tiny tear would swell up in his dark brown eye .. Seems you two met at the Fair back in '58 , it must of been a great time to be young back then .. I'm certain that I feel the same way today Mom , though it's auburn hair and big brown soulful eyes I've stumbled upon .. Hopefully a grandson will have the chance to hear my tale , told just like my Dad spoke years ago , with a tearful eye and a warm , thoughtful smile ...

A millstone of terrific intensity and abject tonnage , hoisted o'er
the muscled backs of goodmen , stone of great magnitude and wealth
bestowed his beloved , kindred recipients ....

A most delicate creature of profound curiosity with the patience of Job ..
Noble fowl that study the trail ahead for hours on end before making themselves known ...
Royal North American birds with qualities , instincts , character and presence of mind that any man would do well to pursue and retain as his very own ..

It is my sincere pleasure to inform you of the return of the Robins to Hill Country .... Stately , regal birds they are , with a dark gray coat and a breastplate of burnt orange ... Telling tall tales of their Winter quarters ,
blessing my backyard by the veritable hundreds ..
Dining voraciously on earthworms and grasshoppers , sifting through the
grass like diligent window shoppers .. Singing sweet melodies and carrying on conversations , 'tis a great blessing indeed to have them home from vacation ...

I put your picture under my pillow ..
I carved your name into our Weeping Willow ...
We held hands in front of my fellows , and I didn't care
what they thought or might have said to our neighbors ..
We were an item from June till the first day of school ,
and thats just how nerve racking , cool and fleeting a first love goes for two lovesick , romantic young fools ....

In countless states of mind I have sought your indulgence ...
Supplications before all others , therefore this graphic acknowledgement before The Keeper of Jahaanam . Barren dogwoods stand guard at the gravel trail , my altruistic reservations , mindful of winged demons along the way .. Twilights confusion seeking redress , placate mortal dishonor before all men , lead my staff into solace , repair a broken mans sinful impropriety , sanctity of numerous hardscrabble days , are hast thou forgotten ? The vilification of fools , fable before kings , a rivers confluence and ablution along granite enclosure ?
A deployment of demons creep o'er the mount soldier , merciless and
begging , damnable .. Unforgiving ..
Pandemonium reeks of sulphuric intimidation , Hades treads his kingdom cunningly .. Radiative embers flow into pools of methane , all manner
of lunacy and devils at his feet , corruption billowing from his every breath ...
Archangels deploy at the portal , even cries for mercy are not allowed their freedom and salvation . As seven days go by even as the downward spiral grows before my very eyes  ,  Beelzebub's confusion laid before me ! Please charlatan my ****** hands will not come clean so allow me the time to relay the sentiments that keep me awake at the midnight hour , when chariots flys overhead at great speed and the dogs inch closer to my bedside , my disease , it's breaking my heart rendering my soul defiled ..
My ***** stained linen , unshaven idiot that I've become with rotted teeth and insecurity . I see the smiles , hear the snickers and read the whims of Satan's entities that stand inside my mirror on a meeting by chance held by one hand while slicing at my wrist with the other.. I feel you Lucifer so my fate you seal .  I hear you Jesus an know the burden you deal ! They call him the lighthouse so make my supplication you ******* child of darkness that quivers long into the night in self induced agony ....!

What brings this suggestion , dare I say compulsion ..

A parable of enduring love hereafter , my soul applied to song , voiced on the wind by the very instrument of God ...
My heart in her receivership forevermore , my star in the Autumn night directing me home , a ravenous , emaciated vessel having found benefit of welcome shore .. In the grace of eventide , gulls cry , explore the surface of the oceans , faithful in their travails across the tumultuous waters , birds that long for the fidelity I propose before you , my one and only ...

Mother Earth I pray to thee , as if all the gifts of flora and fauna were made just for me ...
Gracious for the grassy cover beneath tired feet ..
Thankful for every rush of air I'm allowed to breathe ...
Blessed is every miraculous ray of life giving Sun upon my body ..
Enchanted by every butterfly in the field , every songbird melody ..
Eddies of cool tranquil waters , mountain valleys , aromatic , abundant
Spring flowers ...
Summertime berries , every phase of the Moon above , the first snow of Winter ..
Fields of clover , the raptors above and the blue skies they circle ..
The apples of Fall , strawberries of June and the fireflies of warm weather ..
January frost , the winds of March and the Whitetails of September ..

Refracted images from pools of standing water , tall people and fast cars passing wet crossroads , in this rural , sleepy village I call home . Cirrus hope and reminders that follow rainy yesterdays , storms bound for the churning North seas , to the cliffs of an Irish village later in the week ? To the vineyards of France then off to a Mediterranean beach .. From simple beginnings grow immense dreams indeed ..

Joyously we would meander through the peach groves in the month
of April ... A hundred blossoms on every tree , simple everyday beauty as far as my young eyes could see ..
Grape arbors under diligent care , wisteria filled the cool morning air ..
The morning dew , wind blew life into rolling hillsides , Springs new calves played tag in the afternoon sunshine ..
Guineas always longing for new places to forage , piglets in the henhouse , Brown rooster wing to the ground , dancing a warning !
Noon heat and four o'clock showers , the church bell in town struck
every hour ..
Bethel Church would come alive on Sundays , joyous hymns that echoed through the country ..

When I hear Steppenwolf I smell **** , when Foreigners playing
I'm tripping on tab tea .. Danny Joe Brown was yelling , ZZ Top was my musical religion .. Black Sabbath rocked my world , Robin Trower made my head swirl ! My Sg and Peavey would make the ground burn , my wah pedal made the Earth turn ...
Bostons first album blew my mind , Running with the Pack and a bottle of wine ....
Randolph Wilson was my occupation , Jimi Hendrix held it all together !

How many images do you see , in a hardwood thicket minus the leaves ? Abraham Lincoln taking a stroll , Martin Luther King big and bold ..
Jesus on the mount looking to the sky , thoughtful Rachel Carson with a tear in her eye ..
I invite you to walk one January eve , off to explore your heroes lying in the trees !

Where the grasses magically pirouette , where Spanish Moss dances . The illusion of Oaks kissing the land off in the distance ..
As leaves rejoice and sprint green fields in search of home , sweet gum cones shine like silver dollars ..
Studious farm animals graze upon endless fodder , Pekin ducks
imbibe indigo blue waters ..
Where the Sun caresses the back of my neck and shoulders , where my
Grandfather waves , reading Whitman from his porch ..
White Turkeys brighten the rural horizon , the scent of homegrown tomatoes tickles my nose , the allure of honeysuckle fence line and prickly , white Cherokee rose ..

Harvest Moon effigy , ivory in subtle contrast to pearls tranquility along windswept confident shorelines , tousled charcoal locks wrapped in silken bonds , violet attire that relays the waters reflection from a million stars ..
Sable Palm within the kindred of Oat and Sawgrass , warm Gulf
nightfall , diamond waves explore the pier , where lovers embrace ,
where romance directs the eve .. Amber lit vessels grace her southern horizon , Mexican breezes brush raven hair beneath the canopy of night ..
Breakers tinge the ocean West , ebony Aphrodite features are
aglow tonight . Unwavering and forever recalled ..

Tireless Engineers are needed for many a bridge has been destroyed ...
Carpenters , block masons and steel workers from every corner of Earth ..
Every color and creed employed to secure their timely construction ..
Many islands in need of the path by the light , wave after wave of our
brothers are in need of stout bridges tonight !
Love is needed to brighten the skies , to make electric connections to those in the black of night .. Black and white linemen are sought to wire the world in shared pain and forgiveness , to brighten the lives of those gripped in plight , answer the need of the helpless tonight !
Many energetic , compassionate people are needed to address the infrastructure of humanity on this very night !

Discovered myself fixed on nothing today ..
Caught gazing into the trees , unsure of my place ,
morning mortal equations unsolved , a state of grace longing
for refuge within my very soul ...
Surrender my moral culpability , slay the antagonistic demon ,
collect all that is good in my world and carry on poetic dreamer ..
Young birds expect to fly , the daffodils of Spring long
for the sky ... Seasons are born to die , I shall commit my poetic alms
to the spirit famished the remainder of my physical life ..

It's ten o'clock , I was just wondering how you are tonight ?
The train has left Palmetto , on the way South on this rain ravaged night .. Sequestered heavenly lights , poetic blue stars should navigate each pull of the lost Moon at high tide , and I'm left wondering where you are tonight ?
Aluminum tint forest on my left and right , siren song of whippoorwill ,
the erstwhile cat's paw message of intercession , a belated cry as to her plight , still left to wonder how you are tonight ? ..
http://hellopoetry.com/nicole-dawn/

A stout *** soaked cigar , Apple brandy by the crackling hearth ..
My excellent hardwood rocker , whimsical memories of Elizabeth ,
warm recollections of Amanda , tireless tiny trotters indeed , forever locked away in Dads heart ..