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 ..

Tiered , golden , pink-indigo skyway vignette
Breathtaking .. Overwhelming at the drafty weather division where placidity and squall collide
The majestic transfer of power before my very eyes
A soliloquy before archangels in the -
shroud of twilight*...

The Pigeons on Locke Street aren't buying
Little Red's cat wants a bird so bad , forever trying
Our beagle Biscuit still escorts the Garbagemen
to the backyard and back to the truck
Little Bo will be leaving yaw marks with his Big Wheel
at the end of the road
Teenagers still 'hang' with mischievous looks
and sporadic laughter
Dads are still walking home from the bus stop
in the songbird chatter* ....

The enraptured nape of sienna grassland
in contrast with the edge of burgundy , blanket
hinterlands
The rebirth of Summer saturation , sunlight
electricity o'er the conductive Earth
Bellicose magpies , heated Jays
Wary Does , taciturn Wrens and sitting Hens
Mother Bluebird sails the open field ,
yearning the increase of the Spring day yield
Morning Robin chortle to the first sunbeam
Woodpecker laughter by the clear , casual stream

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* ...

The eleven o'clock hour has crept up on me ..
Time's checking up on the dreamer who's eavesdropping
on the crickets just outside his open window ...
Shaking up words , throwing them on the table , picking
out the coal from the gold and the occasional blue diamond ....
Connecting the Pleiades and the Moon with an index finger ,
blowing a fantasy from open hand across his starlit creative theater ..

I can see your breath this morning from the kitchen window
Another year has passed , they grow so painfully fast ..
Nursery rhymes , Dr Seuss storybooks are history this morning , sweet reminders of another time in a different place ..
Eight by tens on an antique desk , postcards from Summer on Tybee Island .. Porcelain dolls line the mantle , refrigerator magnets , remainders of our many trips , vacations , ceramic saucers and tin bells , blown glass and seashells ..
Sugar cookies and caramel apples , skinned knees and jigsaw puzzles
Red cheeks with Mothers scarf , your favorite coat , laughing with friends .
Yes I caught a glimpse of your breath a short while ago , reminded me of a little girl waiting on the school bus , not so long ago ..

Night becomes the poetess of Earth
Tempted by the light of the Moon , filling blackness with
the color of her choice
Crushing the silence of ambiguity
with angelic killdeer and whippoorwill voice
Wild orchids breaking the monotony
of a winter scene , the verse of romantics , impressions leading
the hearts of men to rejoice
Reflections o'er the darkened moor
Cricket crescendos , songs of Bear creek , the belt of Orion
wavers in a midnight pond
Tis the poetess of Hill country in search of the dawn*...

Forsaken , little brick house
Where have the children gone
Your owners are two tombstones
The yard now overgrown
No couple to make you a home
No doorbell , no holiday decorations ,
no good news on the telephone
Little brick house , you once held
love within your four sturdy walls ,
now your better days have come and gone*  ....

The barren sidewalks of Palmetto ,
yesterdays shoppes in boarded disarray ,
hushed avenues , empty Water Oak parks ..
Creosote treated railroad ties fill Spring air
currents , Friday afternoon capability shattered ..
Windblown , meager paper evidence collects at
curbside , this abandoned village , forever reduced to a four way stop on Sunday nights* ..

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* ....

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 ...

Abiel Cotton , with two mules and a wagon , worked his way across the villages late yesterday evening ! A noted blacksmith , carpenter and planter looking to patch a roof , sharpen a knife or plow a garden ! Ringing a bell from time to time , alerting the public of his presence in town !  By the light of the moon , traveling home , to the Monastery in Conyers , a good five miles ! You might catch him in the fields sometimes late at night or see him tolling the farm bell in the early morning light ! Old man Cotton will be back tonight , running his route like clockwork , you can count on it ! Busy Mister Cotton will soon reappear even though he's been dead for over fifty years !

She's waving goodbye at the gate ..
A pretty blue dreamscape , adorned with golden scarf across my Eastern gaze .. Our world is turning fast with dark hues and white house landscapes , busy homestead horizons and silver , gravel driveways ..
Forest green love for all Earths inhabitants , Venus has called her friends out to entertain , celestial orbs to inspire rhyme , to sing of love unrequited by warm fires ... To be free of mind and secured in the shelter of hope , latter day convocation and warm tomorrows ...

Fresh cut grass and nesting Brown thrashers , coffee brings fuming passion mixed with a smile , a needed level of quiet reflection
Ceiling fans stir the tempered night air , eight -
o'clock on the tiles with eventide fragrant wealth
and good company ...

My favorite part of the house , the living room , the leather couch , facing South , no stars tonight , misty rain without a' postcard view ' this evening but beautiful for sure ! I've great faith and receive abundant pleasure from things normally taken for granted like a cool breeze , tree frogs ,crickets and zinnias , a good Granny Smith apple and corn on the cob ! Set outside late one night and you'll find it's actually more alive than daytime if your fortunate enough to be out of the big city ..I wish upon the youngster , teenager and young adult on this night to let imaginations run full speed , receiving all that is good in this truly wonderful world , to love and be loved , take time to be alone , find a place in your heart to call your own ! ..

Vivid Cottonwood images lay across my natural muse ...
Lake dancers sway in the shadows , Georgia red clay
bears earthen testament to her aquatic wonders , teeming along
every living shoreline ..
A prayer before bucolic entities , Bream , Shellcracker and Gopher tortoise , Whitetail Doe and Cottontail rabbit ...
To Bear Creek , cascading mother of Port Lake , to deep western forest as far as my eyes can bear witness ...
The deep blue eyes of my creator , juniper green cover and songbird filled canopy , to the sweet ambrosia of native grasses singing in the afternoon winds ...

A southbound 'Steel Thoroughbred' on the move again
Machinery howls in pain , echoing forever on a blustery
night along the Rico plain
I'm hearing engineers tales , the colorful stories of
the brakeman , the call of the conductor at small town stations* ..

Sweet evening dove
Are you in touch with your mortality ,
are you at peace with deaths totality , do you
harbor ill will toward the western sun falling down ,
do you understand sadness as you sing so blue and profound   Your a lovely , lonesome lady on a bell tower in a sleepy town
You bring a smile with shared pain as you make your evening rounds , a reflective lullaby blocking every twilight sound ...

Chewing a blade of grass ,
walking the wood fence line
Jumping a bird or two with -
nothing to do
Venus could be my grandmother
Shining her love , vigilantly watching over ,
laying out my trail through fields of clover
Mom is the 'Farmer's Moon' , maybe a dogwood in bloom ,
Spinning threads of love with a golden loom
Searching the young night for angels in -
the sky , whistling a familiar tune with nothing
to do* ...

The refrigerator hums bass
as the clock taps time
The fan whirls a melody -
as the wind chimes sigh
A spoon strikes a tune as
good tea tingles
The moon and the stars -
gather as the katydids fiddle* ...

Call me lunatic if you must , the Moon if you will ! I , Randolph L Wilson , crazy as a June bug , most assuredly chemically depressed , a studious satellite that ponders the Earth ! With keen knowledge of the dominant species , their transgressions and capabilities . 'Tis with complete faculty of mind that I continue to remain in complete physical apogee from my kind the remainder of my days !
Political persuasion whispered in passing shall render the wise man incommunicado , deaf to much speaks , tongue nailed to the upper palate of thy mouth !
I would sooner wrestle a ravenous Grizzly Bear than assume the mechanisms of the female mind , walk barefooted over hot coals before allowing a publican one minute of my precious time !
Would gladly face the unquenchable fire than deal with the most "respectable Attorney" available !
Look as though I've witnessed a ghost when questioned as to my religious persuasion !
Fifty years bankrupt to the true wealth of the world , my soul at rest this very hour , held within my hands , the jewels of insight and enlightenment !
Metta morning , metta Noon , metta late in the afternoon , count thy blessings at the foot of the bed , extol loves many rewards with every breath , walk with eyes affixed to their destination , looking right nor left , freeing the mind of numerous trepidation .!

                                                                                     The Moon

Rejoice upon the subtle murmurations -
of angelic voices , gaggles of blackbirds performing
within naked hardwoods , Whitetail companions
dwell o'er living , wetted pasture , wintered neighborhoods
Novembers invisible strength racking evergreens ,
cold cover mingles with tall Pine canopies  
Fall turned , brown sugar fields with calling Herefords ,
bound for eventide shelters* ....

Handcuffed lone tree on the island , paraded in front of my peers ....
The whole world stopped to laugh at my plight , tarred and feathered ,
over potato chips , milk , a Slim Jim ...I was fortunate indeed , having stuffed my mouth with these delicacies before apprehended by a ******* , well over three hundred pounds .. He horse collared me , threw me on a  police car  The hood was painfully hot ! His buddies arrived to complete the humiliation ! Joe Friday , **** Tracey , Hero and Crew Cut ...My plea was hunger ..... Hero the Detective stuck his nose close to my mouth to see if I had alcohol on my breath . Crew Cut stood with his hands on his hips while I was being probed in public courtesy of Joe Friday ! **** Tracey was kicking at the ground , head down , obviously somewhere else' the whole time ! Everybody in the world seen me that morning . I was thankful that they decided not to execute me plus even more relieved to have something on my stomach .. If my number is called I would prefer that it was not from starvation . Jail will be another step higher on the social ladder for me ....

Beware of 'the loops' that forever lie in wait
for innocent prey* ..

In my thoughts watercolor sphere, raindrops pressure the paint to smear
The cloudburst continues till the globe is clear , the prism in my piece of the world then slowly reappears
This January mindset brushes the morning black and gray
Frozen in herringbone horizons ..
Lifeless grass dappled in shadow
Brown leaf vortices
Aged hardwood and windswept -
duck ponds , killdeer and wild geese quietly call
Perusing the land of the dead from every angle , hilltop to
depression , marble bench to mausoleum
Every date , every unique bronze plate , verse , military branch and
belief , every flowered motif
Memorial gardens teach , I have the sensation of their ghost standing just beyond my reach

Traffic light refraction , glass store fronts pan
the main avenue
***** , bluesy , defeated people in line for liquor ,
beer , milk and lottery tickets
Navy skies grow red to the West , streetwise
pigeons work overfilled dumpsters and city cans
Bus stops return workers from Atlanta , the-
local grocery methodically stripped of its inventory ,
children playing games on side streets beneath working-
yellow lamplight ..
Fire trucks fly by , no one even bothers to look up or wonder why
Porch lights irradiate the Westside , amber hues build -
over the interstate , cars travel South , bottlenecked in the race for home ..

An empty pop bottle filled with ants
A Fall tomato plant blooming as if its children
even have a chance
A cigarette pack book marker in a Gideon Bible
Bits of blue sky laden with thunderheads
Shellshocked warrior discerning life from death
Shoot me while I sleep so the checks will continue
Remove my face from evils menu
Throw the oxycontin into the lake
To mingle with mud in a watery grave
Call me Wednesday longing for Thursday
Two a.m. contemplative over the dawn
Refuse strewn by wild dogs
Forage did I in hopes of sanity as do the midnight hogs

Fall has arrived in Georgia with many colors across mountain and meadow... Harvest Moon , inciting imaginations of both adult and child , reaping Summer garden , Autumnal Equinox ,  preparing , waking at Dawn , the paseo of sunbeam and Angel touching the Eastern Star , at Seventh House of Libra on a cool Autumn morning ...She is the season of partnership , cool mornings and recognition of many blessings bestowed upon this Earth ! .............

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 ..

The battle of wind and rain , October offers her sword in defeat
November , declared victorious , graciously accepts her prize
Morning star bears witness to frost covered valley , painted woodland
Hickory smoke laying at treetop level , the poetic rustle of brown field

Mechanical locomotion , smell of diesel , goose grease and oil
Farm tractors secure the fields of Autumn
The evening Sun hides late afternoon cloud cover on the other side
of the horizon ...
Brilliant orange Moon portends the end of day with her new journey
skyward .

Autumn gels come to life with November
Sun , with a bluesy sky , with Sycamore mannequins
Red shapes parachuting into brown , cool weather
grass
I'm wearing my brown hooded coat once again
Reading bubble gum cartoons perched on a granite
retaining wall , Mother calling her kids to lunch
Leaving black Hush Puppies at the front door
Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches , butterscotch
pudding , midday naps
Awakened by the swirling wind of Fall , with cobalt blue canopy and
hardwood giants* ...

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

Farm hands , securing free access  through pine thicket, with chainsaw , shovel  and swing blade , hand driving steel post into Georgia red clay tempered by unforgiving heat , rolling barbed wire , cowherds in precision running taut lines with come -a-long tool , tractor winch and post hammer , surveying favorable routes and relocation of Angus and Herefored , Brahma and Charolais ...Leather gloves ,cowboy hats , sunglasses , denim jeans and flannels shirts deflect a hellish Sun directly overhead as Summers project moves forward , not for pay , nay , but as a rite of passage , teenagers assuming the role of young men securing the bond of Father and Son , family tradition , and honor , respect and love for the land .....

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* ...

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 ...

Free access abated , vanguard of livestock , implements , man-made
and curt delivering instant justice to all ages , separating foolhardy  and the wise .... I've chewed an smoked tobacco , chased hens , brought snakes into the house and threw crabapples into the pig pen but the punishment for said offenses will never compare to the reprimand I received when I peed on the electric fence !

Bluejays conduct the morning opera-
in 'Hill Country Winter'
Shivering wrens on rooftop tin
Tattletale robins , chortling pekins &
fluffy hens tap a do-se-do dance in the-
southern wind ...
Bell cows & coonhounds , cackling murders
atop quaking oaks..
Hickory smoke following the red dirt road ..
A chugging , clanging tractor with a heavy load ...

Period homesteads line Peppercorn Road , meticulous working farms of corn , cotton and sorghum cultivars , rugged gravel drives cut into dried , red clay ditches , Charleston architecture cooling her Summer residents . Double story barns with white washed brick silos , picket fences and blue ribbon cattle .. Sturdy Pole barns shelters surrounded in shamrock clover , the clanging of cowbells as Dairy cows return from her glistening fields ... Catfish feeding frenzies over field corn and evening mayflies , gas porch lights illuminate the family garden with activity in Summer well into night , Crowder peas and Fordhook butter beans , Okra and Butter peas harvested free of Red wasp and Bumblebees as opposed to hungry mosquitos , red chiggers and Crane flies ... Silver washtubs on hot , humid nights , the instant relief of cool well water relieving the pang of harvest .. The creaky screen door and porch ceiling fans , white rockers and good books ...Mason jars filled with sweet tea , hearts filled with adventure and young eyes with sleep .. Coonhounds sing to the ever rising gold Moon .. All was well .. All was most certainly well ...

If you ever want to teach a young buck discipline-
have him hold a nail with one hand against a maple block while -hammering it with the other ....

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 ....

Off to the loo with the morning paper , the news of the day , his morning constitution . These silly , weak people , like spoiled little children , why pollute good hot coffee with cream and sugar ? Day is for sweat , labor and toil , not to malinger and forebode like a slothful buffoon ! Carve hard rock like master sculptor , punch the clock like a Union steel worker !
  Cut Maple with axe like a tireless lumberjack , plow thirty acres with a mule like Daddy did ! Shovel coal like the Kentucky coal miner , labor at sea like Georgia shrimper ! Lights out at eight o'clock , wake up at five ! Red hots , biscuit , jam and black coffee . Fresh , full , stoked and alive !

I was once a pedestrian on Fayetteville
Highway , on a midnight jaunt down a dark
byway
With the North Star to reconnoiter my
trail
Struggling to get home fast
Destined to catch hell
Puppy love reared the head of Medusa
as the band played My Sharona
My date made it hard to think -
as I primped in front of the sink
The weight of a psychotic heart was a heavy load so I made a break for the open road
Wet grass doused my white jeans , my silk shirt reflected
moon beams , a killdeer chuckled at my quandary
Yet better to be alone than sorry*...

I was awakened early one morning to witness the marriage of Winter and Chinook wind ! A sorrowful child conceived ! The pang of birth  . A daughter began to wail outside my window ! 'Twas February , jealous , in search of her lover March , shrieking , calling turbulent , gusty winds from the western horizon ! Thor laughing out loud , shooting bolts of lightning across the wind racked treetops , mischievous Loki cackling , dancing a jig to the song of her broken heart  ! She cried for many hours , tears running down our drive , collecting beneath the trees , turning the creek into a mighty river at sunrise ! Call me February from this day forward ! A flame seeking audience under the sea of regret , naked with a rose in one hand , drifting with great caution across the galaxy . Weeping , longing for the impossible , set adrift , alone from the very first day I can remember . Misunderstood , sadness followed by joyful creativity , sequestered , beat into submission with hurtful words , seeking the month of my rapture , love and concurrence with my creator !

Cherubs morph into morning -
songbirds
Black angus return to low country -
fields in thunderous herds
In the midst of gray , laden February
clouds the 'Morning Star' bows before -
Ra
Ravens scamper through the treetops
Ra paints the woodlands , the valley , the
'creekdale' and the tin rooftops
Melodic springs doth awaken ...                                                              ­     Submissive curt winter bows before the springtide maiden

White sky , singing chimes
Peeking sunshine , blackberry wine
Familiar folks , parlor guitar on a porch
A curious mind that loves to travel
as the day unravels
A bit of cheese , a game of Scrabble
Rhythmic rockers , good natured babble
Hearty friendships , sure in the saddle* ..

Where dowitchers pan the surf with wonder
and mirth as shells continually dot the sand ,
beside the voicing of angels where waves
crest , within the breath of Poseidon at lands end* ..

Listening to the Cardboard Empire with -
gray day rain pools , shadow figurine -
ancestors trapped in dusky tree lines
Irreverent city banter , ideals shifting
right of center , selfish , twelve coated
worthless brick entities
Working the wishing well for pennies
Finding home with a cart
Walking back to start* ......

Deliver me from the folly of jealous men . From the mirth of mischievous demons that long to traduce and besmirch , remove all thought of appeasement toward the rancorous and ill intended serpents that crawl the Earth . Shelter me from the disingenuous , the naysayers of good intent and those that portend lies as benefaction , seeking my friendship through groundless merit and frivolous actions ..
Guide my feet across the perilous river of treachery toward my fellow man , directing my ears to the benefits of silence , gravitate my persona into the light of Dharma ..
Bind my arms from receiving poisonous bounty , render my tongue stillborn to boastful atrocity ..
Sharpen my eyes in the confusion of night , grace the helm of life's vehicle with the Angelic aura of pure white light* ..

Her charms are wine and bread bestowed upon a ravenous man , weathered hands capable of wickedness having received their porcelain salvation  , strands of perfumed silk kindle a passionate immediacy , a bonfire called into night skies with embers in search of eternity ..