This panic attack reveals voice and reason left unfiltered ,
a paper airplane relentlessly returning to start  , a disturbed fire ant mound
out of control , a wounded , naked criminal at large
The laden collapse of one cloud in August ,
a broken wing defenseless in the unforgiving forest
A persimmon left for naught , a green apple left to rot
Muted betrayed of mime , a poem forever devoid of rhyme

Eat your liver young man
People are starving overseas
Swallow your Castor oil ,
the less fortunate are succumbing -
to disease
Say your prayers in case God -
takes you by morning
Clean your room , their are people -
homeless
Take your jacket or you'll catch pneumonia
Study your lessons so you'll makes 'lots of money'

Took a cherry blunt hit with yellowed fingers
The song writing sensibility lingered
Poured black coffee and wrote a tune on being comfortable at night
How a bad tooth kept me down
Teenage greasy haired full blown depression
Guitar in hand or within reach obsession
Chain smoking , acrid breath
Strumming through ashtrays to build a cigarette
Hiding in rooms
Scurrying away from crowds
Always the subject
Self medicated loner
Writing poetry then burning it
Having a friend then ruining it* ...

The guitar will make you feel clairvoyant , cocksure &
holy one day then reduce you to conniving , dumbfounded-
& thieving the next ...

It's noon in a postcard town
Pedestrians gather on tidy city squares
All I can do is stare
I've nothing to offer save for a song
A tough performance before a bitter throng
Most people need nothing but a beat
Like this monotonous street
Where heartless people haphazardly meet
Walking head down , focused on their feet
They've no time for meaningful lyrics
It's a sad time for music among these urban cynics* ..

A blue meridian gulf sunset lifts the veil of Venus beside a pearl Moon
Red beacons search far out to sea with amber harbor lights panning the white , wailing , crystalline oceanside , revealing her nighttime ferocity* ...

If this stein could talk
A bevy of tales t'would ne'er-
balk
Pouring like a cold beer in the dog-days
of August
A hot , black coffee in Novembers frost ...
Gluhwein with a cinnamon stick
Cornbread and milk for a -
hard working hick
Holding Cherokee roses
Green onions tickling our noses
Cool water from an old fashioned well
Remembering March's 'yellow bells' ...

At the Roseberry Farm arbor where
Rhode Island Reds continually determine
the pecking order
Where spearpoint spurred roosters -
do honest battle in the name of the governed
A place where the continuity of the flock , respect ,
dignity and grace are treasured
The well being of all measured
Where the reign of Kings are subject to the congregations
pleasure* ...

The Hickory's are beautiful when they're dying
Living stained glass windows are born , prosper
then they gracefully comply
Giving fractured souls a sturdy hold , a clue on
growing old , a message to live ones life colorful and bold* ...

Split oak kindling , honey roasted pecans and eggnog .Walnuts , gingerbread and fruit baskets ..  Horehound and butterscotch candy... Egg Custard , hot black coffee and homemade vanilla milkshakes...German chocolate cake and divinity ...Thanksgiving and Christmas are wonderful times indeed !...

When the Georgia Bulldogs win my overall mood
is lighter , the afternoon sun shines brighter
New stars appear in the night sky
The smile on my face won't go away -
no matter how hard I try* ..

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 ..

Call me the crow that caught his -
reflection
Tapping the glass with heightening -
aggression
Warning a newcomer to flee at once
'Tis a curious blackbird with the face -
of a dunce ..

Today can be our Christmas , our eve of Thanksgiving
I see a maiden with a crown of mistletoe
Bearing gifts , wearing a gown of spider silk
Barefooted impressions upon known passages
My lady sashays in a persistent daydream ,  
lighting the outdoor candelabra of desire
A bonfire outstanding , a pyre of nightmarish
sacrifice she implores , a sword that strikes without
impunity , a goblet of raspberry brandy , porcelain ,
sensuous , quivering desire waiting to be quenched
I am the commanded , the longing , the bereft , froward ,
the left
Culled mouth , undeserving , culpable yet unstoppable
Seduction gorged upon , collecting on the corners of trembling lips ,
pooling at the neck and shoulders , collecting upon my chest ,
smeared o'er alabaster breast , heaving , tribulation , simultaneous
cries into night* ..

Content on Peppermint Island ...
Where dark blue , liquid candy seas support
divinity boats , a winking Sun with
a bubblegum tug bringing caramel
popcorn to port
Dragonflies and hummingbirds dancing
figure-eights
Smiling Palm trees laden with coconut
bars tower o'er Xanadu village filled with content -
townsfolk and Kool-Aid Lakes
Where acoustic guitars grow on trees in the Gardenia
filled wind
Where the town bells chime songs of love
Morning , Noon and evening* ....

Dead grass crunches beneath our feet
Wild onion rules the breeze
Winter arbors lay exposed and barren
Gravel roads are hard packed , abandoned
Capricious Blackbirds hold their power line
perch , day runs quiet across the frozen earth* ..

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

Thank you Tyler for your endless work
Despite your lot on this cruel earth
For a smile and your attention to detail
For a quest to please your customers without
fail* ...

A King for a spell on silken -
sheets
Up early to greet the commoners -
on dead end streets
Off to the loo in -
a whirling dream ,
only to awaken as a
worker bee ,
relieving himself behind
an oak tree
A midnight sip of champagne ?
Yet these digits no nothing but -
frequent callous and pain
Rocks need to be moved from here to there
Ditches to be dug
Cleaning chimneys , shoveling dung
Smoke filled air , city schemes
Poor Old sleepless me .....

Poor Miss Ramona seen the devil and ran out of breath , she screamed in confusion as she fell to her death , she'll be looking in your window come cool weather if you fail to get to sleep , you'll get a maniacal , glaring image the likes you've ne'er ever dreamed
The wise-man shan't be cracking a window in the month of November
Nor leaving lit candle for it'll only tempt her
Best be preparing for sleep at sundown , paying the constable to keep a lookout
Dousin' yer fire , addin' extra quilt , stuffin' ears with cotton with a second shot o' sleeping cider
Latchin' ones door smart 'n ketch'n up on yer Bible* ...

Sharecropper's breaking the ****** land ..The braying mule at Dawn ,
the cool cascading fall line waters , the steady tolling of the iron bell at Dusk ..
The pull of the ferryman over her inland waterways , the roar of the locomotive to points south , fragrant tobacco and smoke houses , the burning of Winter fields ..
Skies filled with the doves of September , the black bears of Appalachia , the gulls of Jekyll , Cumberland and Tybee Island ..
The turned , fertile medium refreshing the sturdy October air , of diesel
motor , horse drawn cart and wooden barrow .
Late December frost lays thick along coffee-colored roadsides , the tapping of steel shoes across aged , buckling asphalt .. Winter songbirds congregate around late afternoon icy runoff , sun beams break the grip of afternoon fog ...

The Angels clasp candles on Summer nights
They implore salvation in twilight flight* ....

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* ...

We are drawn into the light from birth till the day we die , from the placating influence of our morning Sun to the reassurance of the Moon at night.. To kaleidoscopic stars that beckon at twilight to the advent of rainbows as storm clouds subside ..
The out pouring of the soul by the fireside , the twinkle in a child's eye ...
The audacity of lightning in the midnight hour , the reflective diamonds in each wave rushing to the shore ..
From the brilliant orbs of the fireflies in June to the Northern Lights at the precipice of Earth..

Today a tree , tomorrow a bluebird
Later becoming an Elm ,
a pelican out to sea
I was once tall grass
Growing tall in the gulf breeze ,
warmed in Georgia sun , my friend
was a Boxelder , we sought the
shelter of navy blue sky windows
I fell in love with a heron sailing from
east to west , my passion was to be the afternoon
moon or a magical Willow at rest
My dad was a cardinal , my mother was the nurturing waters
of Indian creeks , my siblings were the blackberries of
July , grandmother a doe , grandfather a raven
Death is merely a transition
Life is forever* ..

At the collision of timothy and zoysia , where Crape Myrtles reveal their late morning luster , where luminosity and cloud continually sketch , color and reinvent open pastures , individuality forever fading , leaving sadness at the afternoon approach then gone
Hours without occupation , warmth and windsong  
Tethered , embittered and hidden*...

The dividing line is no paycheck for two weeks ,
three nights without food , four days of worry in a dark
house , five months of one's dignity systematically stripped
down , six hours into a Winter night sleeping on the ground* ...

Feeling the percussive tones of my guitar
occupied with clouds , rain drops on
hedges , dust on window ledges
A wet glass reminder on a magazine
Brown leaves carried away in a breeze
People I've met then come to regret
The pernicious ways of family
The altruistic behavior of Randy* ....

Blistering asphalt , chemical burnt
eyes with two tiny clouds in the Northern
sky
A hundred degrees on a concrete island
with choking exhaust , hoping not to get rammed
by hurried people that really don't give a ****
Rushing with debit cards to grab whatever
the robots are pushing at the local 'bazaar'
Picking through cans , trolling vegetables
Sparrows have made their way in to watch
We must look quite 'bizarre' indeed* ....

If the uncalled-for retort of a politician involves any portion of
their resume you can be assured that their soliloquy is a lie ...

Say a prayer for happiness each night by the light of the Maytime Moon and Mother Nature will answer you with the fireflies of June*...

Powerful Oaks nurture glistening orbs , curtain call of the Muses ,  prequel of effervescent , diurnal joy amongst their brethren with abundant ****** melodies ! The Angels of Harmony , melodist of Zion , proclaim from the East ! The woodland duet , song of Brown Thrasher and Chickadee , the acoustical miracles of the Heavenly host , brilliant a cappella voices with thunderous volume , first chair instrumentalist within the symphony of Dawn

An existentialist farm boy with a severe case
of insomnia
Ratting 'round his kitchen in danger of
a *******
Happy with his honey and his biscuits
His chocolate milk and his Whitman* .....

Bloodshot eyes .. Shaving camo paint off five days of beard .. Exhaustion ..
A hot breakfast one time beneath a poncho ..Coming home ..

Juicy Fruit chewing gum , wren singing
Saturday , cool day tromping buck trail ,
whitetail byways
Over red hillside , wild onions grow tall over frosted -
scenery , eagerly encircling lakesides
natural machinery
Pausing by a stump to watch -
a "Hartford" jumped
Geese on the move on a course to the moon
Herons holding still to get their fill ,
'Grays' scampering from Cottonwood
to  Sycamore , Swamp bunnies breaking
on the cattail shores* ...

Iridescent wind sailors , bursting Silver Maples  
Wild Daises caressing red clay trails
Yellow Locust are submariners diving then reappearing  in freebooter informality
Dragonflies are strafing the Crimson valley
I find precious fuchsia bearers in sunlit strained vision
Wren song to nurture my condition
Rainwater clinging to Sycamore Trees
Musicality ... Connection .. Solidarity

Digging a hole to
create a pond for -
beauty and amusement
Digging a hole to cement
a footing for a museum of -
Randolph's trinkets and -
books
Digging a foxhole to battle
the government
A hole to house my remains
A hole to constrain the flames -
of a pyre filled with treatises of capitalism -
and democracy turned demonic
A hole to conceal firewater and
other 'medicinal tonics'
Digging a hole just to pass the day
A hole growing deeper in every way* ...

A legal pad with copious notes , dates
and chicken scratch
A room filled with diplomas ,
whatnots and balderdash
Here I sit in 2017
The minds boil has become inflamed
The second child declared insane
Clutching white flesh in the midst -
of the fall
Blank stares , nervous ticks and quite abnormal
Silly grins and childish games
The afternoon thespian now fully engaged
Tugging at his lip , wiping his brow ,
rolling brown eyes , wearing a frown
A punctual ghost to pander my folly
A toast to the woe begotten , the disillusioned -
and the melancholy* ..

Gray smears ,  borne of tears upon fresh painted blackness ,
collecting on sideburns and hairlines                                            Melancholy images of time in naked , telling
permanence
Red flowers in acrid rain , eyes that fade to pink reflections
in muttered backgrounds , mute attempts for help
wasted , blue day barbarians that lie in wait , behind false images
of green an gold , silver with yellow meeting amber in vain
Pain receiving color
Odor fighting turbulence
Cool air upon wrinkled , quickened skin* ...

Misty morning tranquility ..
Tell of your prequel to daylight if you please ,
Soothe the weeping skies , keeping the March storm at bay
Culling the colorful , fragrant flowers as a gift upon my table ,
Exposing the facade of nighttime , the western winds that reveal the day .
An eager cloud lowered to Earth , to paint natures palette in a most curious way ..

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* ...

Speak , preach , sing o'er the valley
O' tabitha hardwoods
With stately pines reaching for the heavens ,
Cast thy likeness across the placid waters , beside -                                           wire-grass boulevards , along the morning                                                             ploughland , 'neath red maple carpets , sycamore
narrow and Appalachian hillside* ...

Walking a serpentine trail
Golden leaves fall in wind fueled -
simultaneous release , a crag above
the creek offered her lover a choice seat
Skipping flint-stones downstream
The early morning masterpiece was a sweet dream
Bluegill performed underwater ballet -
for an audience of one
Soft shelled turtles clung to frozen -
driftwood in search of new day sun
She is freedom
Free to meander all obstacles in search -
of the heavenly sea
I am her apprentice
Held in dubious physicality

Thoughts are warbling
Continuous
Sleep is not an option
Harmony demands recognition
To be scored
Without end* ...

Magenta clover fairways
Southbound airplanes
Forest green cover shading -
old lovers
Crows speak of the return to summer
with cobalt canopies , jasmine perfume ,
the afternoon call of orioles , crying doves , whitetail
mothers , late night shooting stars and morning dew crystalline cover*...

A red traveller with a daybreak conclusion
Sing for darkness replaced with blue
Carry the news of gardens laced in morning dew
Signal the approach of salvation from the east
Announce the warmth of silver and gold's return
from the tallest proximity* ...

Old houses play mind games at night
Fans , clocks and creaking Pine floors
Rattling pipes , Squirrels in the attic ,
wind shut screen doors
Tin roofs on rainy nights bring hypnotic
rest , shutters , however , unlatched on a stormy
eve can stand you straight up in the bed
Old barn cats hissing , Hoot owls in nearby trees  ,
Coyotes singing to the Moon , June bugs hitting
windows and Rabbit dogs barking at midnight Deer
Dripping faucets , ice makers , Rhode Island Red
roosters and that fool warming up his Harley at
six a.m. , morning paper skipping across the driveway
followed by the march of the school buses at seven bells ,
It's no wonder I'm crazy as Hell

The intense , creative nature of the planet
**** sapiens are merely a forgotten message in the ocean sand erased by high tide
As we freely partake of her offerings she will most likely ignore us
If we continually damage Mother Earths window -
to the heavens she will drown us

Give me a cold , crisp cranberry juice with -
a Gulf of Mexico evening view
Mary Ellen's hand in mine
A moment to treasure for all time* ...

The pecan fell from the tree then rolled to a stop , it's new home was between the roots and the rocks
Twas a sheltered , one of a kind bit of nutmeat
this odd pecan , trapped between becoming a meal
or buried in leaf cover , crushed by the hoof of wild
hogs or miraculously skipped over
To lay introverted among ones peers is really no
life at all
To float aimlessly on calm waters going nowhere
or to risk the waterfall leading one to places unknown
O how I wish my parents could have been tall trees
by the creek shore* ....