Setting sun upon golden stage
Blessed enabler
Bury random thoughts in
milky twilight
Open the doorway to peace
this star-filled night
Songs of the forest ,
mourners of the canopy atop
moonlit chandeliers
Set the stage for a thousand years
Every nocturnal beast -
and nightfall songster
Sing to waning sunshine
To springtime constellations
Of hope before universal nations
Of the quest for dawn , rivers of pure light and salvation*...

Tending a field of sinsemilla
With a bluebird cardinal chorus
A happ- happy guitar picking sun
above us  
A singing stream ,
Mr. Porker in his overalls ,
Mr. Goat in his denim jeans
A blue heron at the well
Whistling Sunflowers covering the Port dale
Purple bud in a basket , cool earth
'neath bare feet , Randy Rooster working
the hashish , chickadees crooning in the
tickled trees* ...

Pour the moon upon this netherworld
Like white plaster dripping from tall trees ,
may it pool at the base of evergreens
May it form streams illuminating the nighttime world
Bringing mans trepidations to light
May it drown pain and suffering tonight
Pour the moon upon my world* ...

The oaks locale was flawless , a songster mockingbird
was in perfect pitch , her marshland retained -
waters to exacting standards , her nutrient rich feeder streams quietly meandered
The land drew me in with perfumed 'piedmont wind'
Gods blue eyes watched over me from on high ,
faces appeared in marshmallow sky
Water lashed the banks
Pine trees reflected skyward in perfect rank
Wild azalea , honeysuckle , cottonwood and river birch
guardians stood beside me
Tall brown grass danced , directing my homeward journey

Mourning doves speak into liberty blue backgrounds
Into ebony forest at silent nightfall cry -
the keepers of lakeside memories* ....

A suggestion of blue within blackness ,
of faith tendered by 'anguish'
Daffodils disguised in tall grass ,
rows of black and gray 'coldstone' strafed in unchecked greenery
Burgeoning , stalwart , once heroic entities
receiving the tempered breath of nightfall -
repetitively and forever
Cut granite profiles tinged in
sunlight and wrought iron , guarded
by water oak and magnolia sentries*...

I was Satan in the House of
God , Custer before his final enemy ,
a candle before the storm ,
a young boy trapped in nettle and thorn

The conflict of myriad raindrops ,
of marbled , thundering intimidation
Of pagan streaks of fire jettisoned from
black , whirling leviathans* ...

The driving rain is a catalyst
for change , for opening hearts
or tearing them apart , for poetic
muse , for paying your dues , unencumbered
on the golden rail or a first class ticket
to certain hell
The drops tap time outside my window
A trickle a trifle to a deep crescendo
With innuendos of a special nature ,
midnight functionality failure ,
belaying the cliffs of Dover
one wrong move , into 'the Channel'
and over

A ray of hope across treacherous seas
A red maple leaf falling in the autumn breeze
A smile from the heart
A glowing fire on the hearth

The sapphire surface was dappled
in April sunshine
Evergreen seeds soared in the
morning breeze
Bluejays , Warblers and Finches
announced the rite of Springtide
Songbirds of every color replied
from her hardwood canopies
A psalm from every tree
A shower of blessings unto me* ..

Charcoal sylvan settings drawn with quills of silver-
and blue as crickets play hypnotic , bucolic evening tunes
The call of nightfall dove beside the very miracle of everlasting love* ...

Golden days among dancing trees
With agog bees tapping on windows ,
dragonflies carried on fragrant windsong ,
where yellow butterflies alight in spring
meadow , topwater explosions 'neath lakeland
palmettos
The music of April enlightening sable woodlands ,
o'er crystal spillways unto brash brooks ,
carry the news of the day harper bluebirds ,
curious cardinals , laughing crows , bronze sparrows
within 'boisterous redtip hedgerow*' .....

Along Port Lake ,
where my emotions are at their apogee ,
With the blue heron , the smallmouth dancer ,
beneath the river birch , sycamore and
cottonwoods in withering days end
Beside golden waters in the sun swelled eve
Where God's artistic brush gently tints her hardwood
trees* ....

Curious Brown Thrasher songbird
How I long for your window to the
world , traveling Hill country with wings unfurled , skipping from hardwood to evergreen with songs of splendid countryside scenes

Trapped , semi-tamed ,
players on the grid forced from
point A to B
Confined to insulated stria , racing to their
destinations , crashing into transformers , divided ,
fed to culled , starving machines* ...

Guitar buried in effects
Women mired in makeup
Men wrapped in ego
Woodwork dripping with shellac
Seafood dipped in breading
Carpet drowning in dust
The baptized cleansed in water
The son copying the father
A publican garnering trust
A 62' John Deere seized with rust
The dead becoming dust
A poker hand royal flush
An over and under combination
A gods abomination
Traipsing the woodline for a spell
A five o'clock trip from hell* ...

Red wasp stopped by the window
Man stopped by the world ,
only the surface of said world he truly
knows , running from fire , calmed by rainbows ,
on one knee praising mountains , before oceans
declaring them to be gods , amused with frogs ,
chaining dogs , slaughtering cattle , turning his
brethren into pawns
Explorers smashed in windshields
Warring , painful sequels
Always on the surface of the window
Seeking more* ...

Cobwebs collected in
four corners , tins reflecting
sunshine along the wooden borders ,
a cash register from the fifties
was ironically up for sale , a mirror
from the sixties , gold leaf shot glasses
glimmered , mason jars and fondue sets ,
a tea service , Corningware plates , thimbles ,
candelabras and goose quill pens shimmered
A mannequin with costume jewelry ,
old Army outfits , icepicks , bread pans and shaving kits
The air was stale , like grandmothers house ,
Several traps within eyeshot in hopes of a mouse ,
The days lunch stood open with late morning coffee
perusing a giant ceiling fan overhead , old time
rockers and brass bed sets
A clerk with bifocals and white apron nursing a wood
pipe with black cherry tobacco ,
A shelf with horehound , licorice and rock candy ,
guitar strings , sewing needles and 'medicinal' blackberry brandy* ..

Rain colder than the word no
Into wind revealed painful secrets I go
Across sheets of lightning induced anxiety ,
through 'Downdays' filled with rumbling thunder
insecurity and finality* ...

A quarter till two , a distant siren wails ,
up from the bushes a peeping tom bails
A hushed night interrupted -
by a lone owl ,
Tonight a thief is on the prowl
Silence suddenly crushed by screaming air brakes ,
the thunder hides the sound of a rock through a
window pane , the cries of the homes occupants
are in vain , the Southern railway's aided and abetted burglary once again  
Bloodhounds bray till morning light ,
not a trail in sight ,
The quarry has disappeared once again ,
rode the two a.m. to Montgomery like the
howling wind* ...

Friday is an old day now
Where black and blue skies meet
Where the same people walk -
the same potholed streets
Intrigue in the afternoon breeze
Barbecued meat , perfumed ladies ,
the flowers of Spring , the wild onions of
the field , warm meals
Fridays rolling up the streets
The same old cars , the same urban
scenes* ...

The skipper ordered this
vessel to ground along the darkest quagmire , visible to four-sided certain gunfire
Running my flag up for all to see , this rusted , shot skewed hulking monstrosity
Firing useless torpedos  
Screwy window's that open on submarines ,
This beached whale of wreckage having
escaped the high seas ,
a ship of dreams exposed to its enemy ,
facing zero indemnity ,
scoffed at by her fellow sailors ,
doomed to failure* ...

Her ways are of the seashore prior to dawn , let her draw you into the light of day

Wear your pen in a holster ,
keep it unbuckled* ..

The sacrosanct statues at the statehouse
follow me with their eyes
A ******* socialist trespassing on
holy ground
A bumbling , ne'er-do-well demanding
free medicine , free college , insider working knowledge
I demand transparency
Term limits
Organized guerrilla religion is killing us
Wall Street will continue to bill us while 'Big oil ' methodically drills and kills  
Malingering big Pharma has no business interest
in cures
Environmental agencies will wave us off -
till we're able to walk across polluted rivers
The news is dead
Journalism is dead
Someone help us , for the news is dead** ...

Sparrow choruses carry on a warm March
breeze , echoing through racked
hardwood trees as helicoptering
evergreen seeds fall into a churning stream
Reality fades into a dream ,
Into bucolic , springtide scenes ,
Across beauteous , hillside opportunities* ...

Lakes can blow your
mind , they can take your breath ,
help to pass away the time on a
higher plane , even curtail a few aches and pains
They whisper your name ,
they've no regard for routine matters nor boorish games
They entertain the child within ,
sailboats at mercy of ocean wind ,
Jolly Roger flags , blue whales ,
shark fins and full sails
Boats filled with the evening catch ,
rowing to shore in a stormy patch ,
telescopes and 'Crow's Nest' , red buoys
and sailing men
A day at the lake
A line in the water
Your **** in a chaise
Your thoughts left free to wander* ...

Catch a yellow monarch with curious eye ,                                                                ­     see it fly into sugar blue sky ,
see it figure eight , stopping at the rose bush
for a needed break ,
Swivel , pivot , pirouette
Take off , swirl , twirl and bank
Glide , whirl and ride the wind
From a blade of grass to the highest limb
Mother monarch , chase the piedmont
flowers , bask in golden sunshine by the
hour , ride the breeze of April , the blade
of May , enraptured in warm June and July days
From bell post to bird bath , from pole barn to
stable , from Fig tree to blueberry bush , at eventide ,
by dawns cradle* ...

A dawn dollop of sunshine along the amber hay borderline
A teeny dapple of raindrops on mushroom tops
A dimple thanks to a young smile
Pine forest , first sketched in black pencil ,
colored in rainbow stencil , glazed
in morning tinsel , so long to Old Man
Drizzle* ...

The lake road spoiled ,
a pulp wood ravaged
landscape , the stench of
diesel , grease and oil
Clear cutting , soil busting ,
stump burning attack of the
woodland , roads turned to roil ,
black grass , untouchable slurry
Men in destructive machines
Hell bent detractive flurry of death
A wreath for a lot on Palmetto-Cascade Highway
today* ..

The becalming music of night
Glittering sailboats amidst glorious starlight

My God drew glittering
diamonds across the turquoise
plane , amber sunlit shallows
beside lapping banks ,
leaves of every color sailed her
silver waves , windswept memories to cherish
the remainder of my days* ...

White stars light the way home
Along familiar trails through spring scented
dark pine forest
Beside yellow moonlit fields ,
Entertained by nighttime
musicians in spirited twilight appeal
Along golden stair
step hideaways , barbed wire fence lines ,
into whippoorwill harmonies and curt cattle calls ,
to the sound of the nine o'clock town bell , through misty dales into
the cool creek valley* ...

My muse , the springtime earth
The smoke of chimney
fires just as the daystar expires ,
with burnt orange goodbyes ,
'tis a diddy begging lyrics , a melody
in the moment , a dash of fleeting sunlight
in the Shangri-La forest ,
Copper , lavender , technicolor salutations
Mourning dove recitations* ...

Nights encroachment is changing the face of town ,
an orange star phasing out ,
the borough is closing down
The elderly are content from front porches
the children called to dinner ,
bicycles , baseball bats and chalk are left
on the ground ,
the sound of buses and semis , the last train
headed south
Artificial light slowly filtering out
She's slowly , methodically , shutting down

March quiet cold
Afternoon of scarlet orbs
Trees within trees ,
Red and gold leaves ,
Songbirds appear to welcome me ,
Continual chatter from 'the Creators canopy'
White Pines scrub together
Two lifelong sparrows of a feather*..

Fly high aerial sailors , imploring the news of Spring b'side
morning flowers and grassy knolls , windamere mornings across the diamond studded snapping shoals , from the knothole of a hardwood tree , from a schooner in brilliant blue seas , from the golden edge of a garden periphery , from the starlit bridge across all eternity*
Busy bluebird perched on my farm bell
Sing of stories only you can tell
Sunny days along seedling pastures
Tales of love and pure rapture...

If I could be Bear Creek ,
free flowing ,
broad shouldered ,
calm in the heat of summer ,
ferocious in the midst of the storm ,
fluid in every situation ..
Marching to the love of the sea ,
in touch with every bird , every tree
Grinding stones to do my bidding ,
every grain of sand at my beck and call ,
my life's blood a cascading waterfall , enrapturing
the hearts and minds of lovers , firing the
imagination of the young , providing sustenance
to the evening dove , my thoughts are a
virtual flood before parched earth , relieving the dusty trail ,
filling the lowland with love , nourishing
the beast of the field , a living monument before my brothers*...

I'll eat fried bologna sandwiches
and drink your watered down whiskey
Give me cotton sheets and cheap concert
seats
Morning biscuits and gravy ,
A Chilton and a wrench ,
A tractor and a plow
Good old fashioned hand to tool
" know how*"

Spray grazed my brow
from the wooden trestle ,
her countenance was of thunder and
explosiveness devoured by the
piedmont countryside

Sometimes a neighbors smile is really a wall ,
meant to draw you away from
life's frequent pitfalls ...
A friend in need has planted a seed
Let the flower grow , water it well
Chart a course for happiness and let love sail

White wispy plumes on blue curtains
Contrails headed north
Contrails headed south
Busy jet planes flying about
Some flying low
Some flying high
Hurried jet planes in the south Atlanta
sky

Hamburgers and hot dogs ,
lemonade , fried sweet potato pies an scuppernongs
Saturday night revivals and county -
fairs
Convocation and worship in the
warm , sweet summer air

Thrasher in the plum tree
Who ya hidin' from
Chirpin' in the canopy
Bold as the sun
A chirp to the Old Crow
A whistle for Bobwhite Quail
A bow and a wink for a Yellow
Swallowtail* ...

if the peaches hold their blooms
if the figs survive the chickens
if the berries are tickled with rain
if the plums are so entertained
if the crabapples taste a shower in November
if the pears make it through winter
if the jalapeños get hot weather
if the grape vines hold together

Wind chimes jingling
North gales singing
Evergreens swaying
Bob Jitters misbehaving

Warming the hives
Shoveling the drive
Tapping a maple
Hot cakes on the table

A stone across the river
The sound of a smith in winter
Skates on the mill pond
Hoecake in the courtyard

What was the inspiration
for country ponds , for carefree
bodies of water nurturing native songs
Filling young hearts , blue mirrors with tall pine edges ,
carefree days 'neath cozy river birches
Dragonfly prancers and rock bass river dancers ,
sultry bullfrog diddies , red clay marsh , rolled up
britches , sacks of sandwiches , straw hats ,
cardinals , egrets , herons , chickadees and finches
Rain cooled July breezes , row upon row of knee high corn ,
blackberry , blueberry and dewberry thorns
Songs of the creek , of highland hayfield and crystal clear rivers
Tales of arrowheads , tomahawks and hawk feather quivers
The confluence of neighboring streams
The story of piedmont dreams

Where do honeybees go
after they die
Do they grace and forage a universal
sky
Do they still seek honey day and night
Do they navigate by sun and starlight
Will they continue to entertain us in our next life

Awake to promises , dreams
and ambitions , to coffee
and dark bread , to life's intangibles flurrying about
my head
To the truth , to the rain of
depression fought by a pharmacological
roof  
A morning ode to dark clouds , knowing full well that
sunshine hides in the background