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

Verum quaerimus, studiose poetica in hoc situ
Ubi autem poetas
Ubi est artificiose conscripto

In 'Natalie' , wildflower speckled August
Herons sail portals of sky blue as Cinnamon -
butterflies farm lush scuppernong arbors
Redtailed Kings patrol their sun-laced piedmont sheriffdom engulfed in songbird tune and Sugar Pine perfume* ....

Carefully repairing a last cigarette at midnight
Fumbling , searching through an ashtray tonight
Drunk with yellow stained fingertips , stale tobacco
breath .. Smoking butts from the stinking trash can on this
hard luck night .. A table full of liquor and no cigarettes tonight ..

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 ..

A bench neath a pin oak
A black tea with an old bloke
A chance to call upon the old -
and the forgotten
A vow , secured with a handshake ,
to meet more often ...

A rickety swing without a rider
A sad rocking horse with no one to try her
A young couple clinging to each -
other
A mother , a father , a sister and a -
brother ...

A vendor selling snow cones
The lonely toiling with their -
cell phones
Gray and white pigeons making -
a living
A timeless love at it's very beginning ...

A toddler blowing bubbles
Every sphere in a windswept -
struggle
Traipsing the grass with colored balloons
Wild and free on a Saturday afternoon ...

The sky is blue white swirl toothpaste
The afternoon sun has a glowing smile on it's face
Backcountry radiates from gold to forest
green , wind dancers cheer and ruminate over
a living , breathing scene
A butterfly is bound for points east , blackbirds
whisk the windsong dreams
Angus herds booga-lah-dooga-lah the stair step
meadow , a tickled Titmouse chirps in the October shadow

The conversations are light , informal
an good natured
The chat remains ensconced by death however
No clever remarks could ever thwart the end
The unknown , the proverbial 'waiting just around the
bend' old friend Death
A gathering of well dressed family , laughter ,
recollections , children running , tears ,
a chat with the Pastor , sometimes even a few clandestine beers
We sign the book , offer choice words ,
stare at our watches then silently depart -
when we learn what time the interment starts
Juggling life , work and death
We become 'old hat' with death
Till we take in our own final breath* ....

There's pine clinging to the breeze ,
The scrabble and babble of "easties"-
in the trees ..
A chorus of windbound ravens ..
All Hail ! The security of my warm winter haven ...
A frozen bell
A cockleshell
Two milk cans
Wind racked pie pans
A Farmers Almanac ,
a glass-top table half full-
of nick-knacks , this and-
thats , whatever and 'what on
earth's , the accoutrements of the blessed aged-
and the soon to be interred .. A once mighty sunflower scratches-
the porch screen ...
Thus , my steadfast , collective account of rural daydreams ..

Shooting the mistletoe ...
The rhythm of boots trampling-
frozen sod & early morning snow ..
The song of braying hounds & clacking shells
Frost laden brown grass & town bells ...
Smoke filled dales
Familiar trails
Split oak , collard rows & burn barrels ..
Barbed wire fences lined with Winter sparrows ...

Koo soo whew , koo soo whew ,
trawrr weet trawrr weet
Piddy shew piddy shew
Treat treat **** --throo heet throo heet
Pwoo troo pwoo troo reet
pwoo troo pwii troo reet
Trigger trigger trigger neat ,
trigger trigger trigger neat
Whipp poor will  whip poor will
Wheww wha wheww , wheww wha wheww* ...

I whistled a jig while hoofing a pea gravel trail , in earshot of a tail fin on still waters ,
the chirp of a wren traveling the -
morning forest
Pinecones stair stepping the bough
Patient dove held fast neath tympanic thunderheads
Morning cardinals dressed in red
Seedlings flurried to their cool clay berth  
Ballads of sylvan mirth and Mother Earth
A katydid saws a fiddle
A tickled toad taps time
Maw Heron renders a figure eight
The ' honkers 'are headed home like they're -
running late ..

Champagne seas , beachside dreams
Silver plovers and pelican brothers working -
the musical shore
Young people occupied with white sands  , sunshine occupied with emerald waters , white clouds caressing the gulf ..  Old folks in love* ...

The knell of a late January breeze
The ghost of winter trapped among
the evergreens
Spirits swirl and pivot , scribble picots
on red clay floors
Tin claps time in the pre-dawn hour
Hounds bray confused in the windblown
morn
Sparrow shuffle from hardwood to rusted
field as wild geese fly into the promise of February sun* ..

The Proposal :                                                                ­                          
Make a list to stay relevant or-
make a list for the hell of it
Make a list for the gardener-
Jot a note to invoke ones dharma
Scribble a list for the trip to Florida
Pencil in a note to whitewash your karma
Take a feathered quill & record the days drama ...

A cobra without fangs makes a wonderful pet ,
Traverse the melancholy world in a silver jet
Scoop the hope of the crystal sea in a trawlers net
Whip Beelzebub into an obedient admirer
Order the hardwoods for your funeral pyre ..

Epilogue:
Transit the lay of the wicked world
Explore the thicket deeper as your destiny-
is unfurled ..
Collecting memories in a croaker-sack
The weight of the unforgiving earth on a weakening back ...

Red winged blackbirds gather by the hundreds , like a few honest men and women , running for public office . Most blackbirds have someplace to be , far removed from publicity ..Incumbent Vultures pick up rotted flesh beneath them , fly in circles , pinpoint their next meal .!..Blackbirds focus on their survival , flying quickly South to avoid potential hardship ...Rarely do the two come together , Vultures voraciously feed , scoff at the Winter ! .Blackbirds leave droppings as they retreat ...Vultures defecate where they feed !..Scream selfishly picking a carcass ...Leaving nothing but bones and gristle ! Are blackbirds and vultures birds of a feather ? Does the sighting of one portend arrival of the other ? Beware , be mindful of the blackbirds of Fall , for the Vultures have a mind to consume them all !

I once caught a Winter Dancer from the corner -
of my young , mischievous eye
A spirit wrapped in red , gold and brown garments performing -
against the morning sky
She rattled loose tin
Racked steely chimes
Commanding .. Conniving..
Determined ..Driving ..
Sheets whipping on the clothesline
Hens flying ..
Rabbit dogs whining ...
Hay captured along the fencerow
A quick step march with rattling corn ..
Novembers chilly , early do-se-do ..
A tongue tied raven succumbed to her charms
He made for the sun in her invisible arms
Dancing acorns , whistling sage
They whirled in response to Winters --
wicked ways ...

A vow to bask in the wisdom of Betelgeuse , free of physical Earths bridle , discoveries chalice brimmed ad infinitum* ....

I decided on a morning walk around Port Lake
To grab a moment , to let it soar , commit something to ink , a cool thought pursuit through the yearling pine links only to find my reflection pulling hijinks ..."Go away you ******* so I can think* !"

As a young man at life's crossroad several occupations were within my abilities including medicine ,  law , astronaut , mathematician  or even a Kentucky Colonel for that matter , but the aptitude required to be a Pecan Farmer flew high above my mentality at the time and continues to this very day ..............

The best restaurant in town shares a building with a gas station
off the 85 exit ramp
The pace on Main street has been reduced to a crawl , cars drive through
with no one stopping , period store front brick buildings with no one shopping
Three tire shops within fifty yards of each other , a dilapidated
grocery and three liquor stores , city workers **** eating
the park while children play on swings , paper mingled with grass cuttings
blows North in the heated breeze
Neighbors are growing old , locked in routines , 'getting by' and
forever vigilant from porch swings
Young people waiting at bus stops , faraway removed from town ,
locked in daydreams , hellbent for tomorrow* .....

dove coo on cue
a bullfrog alerts
a cattle pond of the rising -
moon
brown scrub dancers on
whippoorwill nights
brittle autumn broom sage
silver sylvan Picasso's

Beer bellied Romeos stepping up to the ****** trough so their three inch piece of manhood can stand up , wives in line two picking up Xanax for the month to remove all memory of Studs ****** inclination ..Morbidly obese people jamming garbage into their buggies with a case of Diet Coke on top to avoid excess sugar ? Suits with their cell phones pressed against their ears , getting the Tuesday night grocery list sorted out , wishing they could be anywhere else but here ! Fifteen cash registers , three open , twenty people waiting their turn....A bank conveniently located here to get the cash , to buy the trash , that makes you ill , got to get " the pills " from the friendly pharmacist running the drug mill here in Grocery We Got it All Heaven for cattle , looking like their in line to be branded people like you and I , checking off a list , loading our metal wagons , in our own little world , bombarded by marketing ne'er do wells , stacking high dollar items where a child looks directly at them ! Every **** item in the store is apparently discounted ! Save ! Save ! Save is printed everywhere ! Nobody's being saved here for sure !..Later ..

A true musicians cause of death should be his instrument ...

Mercurial , lonely Sandpiper , combing the watery shores
Invested in the day , without regard to a stormy afternoon , strolling the sandy , familiar edge foraged by her ancestors with diligent , quiet reserve , a living lesson to be learned* ...

Some nights my bed is cool grass
The stippled ceiling is a thousand palm-
trees , the ceiling fan is a seaside windmill busy-
with an island breeze ...

A loners trail is slowly washed away ,
yet sometimes even the private have their
holiday
Bare feet covered in warm sand , dressed
for sheer comfort , walking the edge of
blue ocean with no place to be
Picturesque sea , gathering gulls , sailing brown
pelicans , forever horizon , white sugar revelry
Clarity returning in waves , morning cloud canopies
corrected in brash , cresting sunshine

A Jack *** chortles at it's own reflection
Morning frogs join the odd celebration
October Pines scrub in quickening , windy
salvos , Autumn curt Sun battles wispy cloud cover
in a spirited game of recognition
Amberdeen beeves on the morning call
Steel buckets , log chain , tie wire and tin ,
tick treble notes in the pursed Fall breath
Scarecrows come alive , Gods hand painted-
leaves begin to shine
Shine piedmont morn
Shine in cool , new day virtuosity
Commanding the heart of your native , grateful son*....

All Hallows Eve for a child was pop corn ***** , hot apple cider by the bonfire ! Roasting marshmallows , trick or treating , listening to tall tales on cool October evenings ! Caramel apples , pumpkin seeds roasted in the oven , hay rides , county fairs and ***** houses ! Hide an seek in Granny's cornfield , spin the bottle , blind man's bluff !  One potato two potato , tag in the yard , red light green light , blowing bubbles and kick ball !

I yearn for latter-day retreat along the reverent hallways of the South River hollows
Along dewberry arbors , beside the Walnut Tree light encrypted fallows
To afternoon Black Angus calling the day to close  
For silhouetted properties atop lavender valleys , gravel driveways meandering back to home
The high Moons certain visage reflecting across the olive waters , country lanes splitting evergreen forest ..

Along the white sugar river bend
Dew kissed fields of clover set ablaze -
in midmorning sunshine
July arbors teeming with concord grape ,
scuppernong and muscadine
Whitewashed farmsteads , aromatic ploughlands ,
red clay shoulders girdling country byways
The cackle of curious guineas , of bay hounds and
gray geese
The clap of breeze driven mirrored cattle-
ponds
The splash of shellcracker , bluegill , yellowbellies
and bull frogs
Land of a million daylight colors  
Woodland groves sprinkled in piedmont -
blues , in golden stippled brushstrokes across antebellum -
oak and majestic pines ...

South River morning melody , miraculous and intimate , refrain from cheapening her song with the human voice nor manmade instrument , for this is music of a purity and degree we cannot comprehend* ..

From late June into September , perpetual hot weather , her bounty increasing with each passing day , harvest reluctant , painful , ,inflicting rash , whelp and sting , staple of southern cuisine , native to Mother Africa , brought by enslaved peoples at Eastern shore , across Georgia eliciting painful reminders to dark days , pod to Croaker sack , plant -to -plant and row -upon- row !.........

Kelleytown's lowlands are steaming
from thirty second showers on the
hour , enough to settle the dust but
ne'er even close to removing this flannel
shirt protecting my hide from a Sun
way high , picking okra growing larger by
the minute fighting thick air and heat
bad enough to cook an egg outdoors on
a flat iron skillet
Wasp working the tops , 'Skeeters' down low
Pod rash running up both wrist with ten more
rows to go* ....

Old barns with 'See Rock City' painted
on clapboard sides
'White washed' antique 'Smokehouses' with hand dug Water-wells are monuments celebrating another time
Pole barns with RC Cola thermometers -
and Red Man chewing tobacco signs , tin -
roofs and dirt floors with hay lofts and -
old John Deere tractors inside

If dilapidated barns could speak a dire warning they would teach
Hard Winters and meager survival , the mattock , the stubborn mule and the King James Bible ..Tending fields long before sunrise , the smoke of field fires well into night , gathering to the clang of morning cattle , the prattle of laying hens , tolling of chain , the call of the anvil .. Drops of well water forming ripples
Do waves continue forever , do they return someday to reconnect with
their maker , wood buildings become footnotes in history physically entombed in past thought turned to laden misery , the farm has changed since we slipped away , now old barns seem to search for a master like a canine stray , Oaks are now devoid of their cover  , roots struggling for their freedom today , windswept leaves forging legions
An attempt to secure the forest floor , pinestraw , bracht , needle and twig called to war
Annihilated by the decomposers borne of wind , rain and soil
The breakdown of her subjects at the sword of power , the butchers of freewill and reason doth carouse  
Withered , stained monuments are collecting moss , crumbling like old barns and field houses* ...

Hello farm bell
A little past your prime
A bit of rust around the edges
Once a beloved , necessary
tool of the ploughland
Now buried in the ravages of -
neglect and time
You still stand tall however , rain or shine ,
collecting snow in January , sweltering
in July
Your tolling brought a family together
Alerted a determined farmer of -
approaching stormy weather
Provided a backdrop for -
many a family photo
You hold a special place in my heart
I just wanted you to know* ...

The Old Gray Owl is telling on someone tonight !
A pole cat or a stray bloodhound , a wild hog running around !
The Crescent Moon is laughing with delight ,
cause the Old Gray Owl is callin' out tonight !

Refreshed beneath a rattling fan
The same white house from my
favorite window , the same old trees , the same old window reflecting the same old me
An east wind tells of someones supper a half mile away , red tips
and brown sugar fescue hypnotically sway , the same old trails on another slow moving Sunday* ..

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

Am I the turn table playing your favorite 45 ?  No , call me the stack of pennies on the arm that kept the record from skipping !                                 I am certainly not the eight track player , or the tape itself , call me the match book that kept it from wavering  and distorting the sound ...........
Might you be the cassette pragmatic one ? No ! Sadly , I'm the teenager that could splice the tape back together but barely walk , high on blond Lebanese !

Focused my concentration on a barred window
hoping it would move , thought too hard about
my family hoping they might be moved
Borrowed a dictionary to pass the time
So sad that my thoughts didn't seem to rhyme
On my way to intensive care with Atlanta
in the window , incessantly medicated the
entire month of June , cuffed to a stretch with
no poem in my head , left for dead by the head
of the anguish for which I bled
My home , now a plexiglass window , condensation free
without pen or pencil , no finger can write prose
to calm my days , opting for a bathroom mirror to
explain myself away

Night is like love
Short , mysterious , enchanting
then troubling
Emotions boiling , better judgement
destroyed
You'll wear many mask
You'll practice hellos in mirrors
Practice any questions she's liable to
give you
Then it's over and done
She's moved on to a different thespian
Everyday turns into Monday with
nobody there , your the jester before your
ravenous , blood thirsty friends again
How could she not care , how dare her
pompous calculation , thievery , malicious
***** in pony tails and a yellow dress
I miss her so , our three days of going steady
all for naught , she led me around school like a working
dog then walked
Night is just like being alone
Eaten to the bone , one penny left for
the wishing well that we most certainly
will throw , maybe tonight , maybe even tomorrow*...

Farm house windows have been boarded up , dilapidated outbuildings , abandoned water well , farm tractor , implements rusted over . Kudzu has blanketed the garden spot , farm bell lies on the ground , silo in need of paint , repairs ..Clover dominates a fertile pasture , once home for many abundant harvest ! Corn , soy bean and sorghum , sweet potato and collards .. Oak trees , well over a hundred years old with twenty years of unchecked leaf debris beneath them . Apple , pear and peach trees are barren .. A once sturdy white picket fence now unkempt  , frail with rusted barbed wire and nails .. The afternoon train still comes through each afternoon . I can imagine that very train taking the harvest produced by this old farm to market . Macon , Augusta or Albany ? A planter is taking a break beneath a Pecan tree with a bucket of cold well water and a ladle , plug of tobacco , and a daydream or two ! The afternoon train delivers the news of the world , a Farmers almanac , Sears and Roebuck catalogue , corn cake for the rabbit dogs , hog feed from a mill in Columbus , thread and quilt patches for Mother . Off it goes , cloud of steam rising above the mighty engine  , the whistle echoing across cotton fields for many a mile ! The link between city and farm , before electricity , telegraph or telephone . The old Georgia my great grandparents knew . Fruitful Summer harvest , painfully cold Winters laboring , scratching out a meager living and at times barely surviving ! I can still hear the crack of leather , braying of mule , firewood being stacked , horses , cattle and the rooster breaking the silence of night , sunrise announcing the new day to a hard working family plus every hamlet along the way ! .

Gravel roads suffer when they're paved
The character of a dirt byway is violently stripped away
A slow drive cutting through the brush with songbirds
to either side , a few precious moments with the woodland
fauna on a scenic ride
Old roads in Hill Country are becoming a thing of the past
Tis a shame that these old trails won't last* ...

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 ..

Repentant in the muddy waters
Circuitry of crystal exposure and
sandy bottom
Becoming one with Cotton Indian Creek
The olive cool link longing for an ocean
to call her own
River Birch mother what human frailty
thou hast borne witness of
Terrapin brothers what do you patiently
wait for
Collage of cirrus sky warning , Gibbous Moon
address
A Blue Heron to share my loneliness* ...

The colors of the world have been
put aside for now , seasons of hope
lay bewildered somehow , joy introduced
to sadness , frantic calls for assurance are
not being answered , the spirit of love
lies abandoned* .....

Racing thoughts along the Atlantic alabaster , sea green -connection , sundown obscuring the curve of the earth
Wondering why gulls prefer the shore as Ghost ***** -
scurry for their awaiting sandy berths
Seaweed filled foam reaching the end of its destination ,
driftwood skeletons shadow white sand westerly creation
Venus sits alone in 'Sailor delight red sky' , North Star forever bright
Tonight a beacon light pans the open waters ,
A peculiar turquoise , emerald summer night collage

Sunlit , steaming , cracked parking lots in between Friday rains , dumpster drains form acrid , putrid pools , rank reminders carried into open windowed non air condition dwellings , children play in sprinkling rain for relief , city trolleys crash watery asphalt depressions ,
homeless shelter neath the awnings of boarded storefronts , cyclone fence -barbed
wire runs in every direction , emergency vehicles , taxis , suburbanites head for
their destinations
Men light one cigarette with another
Women repass with their neighbors from front porches
A forgotten district filled with quiet desperation* ....