I see a rough hombre in my coffee
He's scarred from a ticket to hell -
but somehow lived to tell tall tales
Takes a lot of work to muster 250 pounds in a six
foot three frame
I'm doing pretty **** good for fifty three
I have to say*..

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

I titter at the thought of biological death -
for I have died emotionally many times* ..

The grass has temporarily affected my awareness
The memories remain , they walk into
colors of blue and green ,
red and white
Soon to be washed in sobriety
Black as the winter night*...

Crickets , sweet crickets
They ne'er skip a beat
O' Crickets , melodious crickets
Sing a whippersnapper to sleep

Rabbit tobacco is for smoking -
like Hereford bulls are for riding
Politicians stick to their promises -
like cheap paint on 'weathered wood siding*'

Moonlight pantomime , tempestuous appointments beg fruition , carnal figurines performing agin searing , thin ambient air in misted flesh
Parched lovers recompensed , wailing secret vows , clarity a slave to confusion , accentuation , shameless surrender* ....

Particles striking one another
Breaching , interacting , consuming ,
releasing
In color , in darkness
Haphazardly , in order
Harboring immortality
Defining microscopic realities
Passing , moving forward
Invisible
Indivisible*...

Choosing the path of least resistance , commanding the stormy sky of night
Coriolis's daughter at the curve of
the Earth , spinning magnetic time
from the center of mankind's turbulent
world* ......

A traitor cloaked in the cloth
of family is a monster indeed

I recall quite accurately the day that I died
I caught a mirthful conversation between sibling
and parent on how ugly I was
It was in April around two o'clock on a Saturday
Other children were playing
I chose to stay upstairs , confined to my bed
That very day the music claimed my head
It filtered the good and the bad
The sad turns to song
'The wrong' settled in my fingers
Digits struck strings , crimson melody left the body
The hate trapped in sound mercifully went away
It continues to do so to this very day* ..

O , what I would give for a Quarter Horse ,
to visit the lowland of Camp Creek , just the two of us
She would carry me o'er the terraces of misty Hill Country
We circumnavigate Port Lake , we cross lush estates , mingle
in blackberry rows and scuppernong arbors , stop by unnamed ,
unknown old barns on a lark , gallop along country roads till dark
O , what I could explore with a Quarter Horse , to pass the time
of day , just the two of us* ...

Pools of rainwater become utopian portals
Sunny sunshine is a quiet confidante from beneath the Weeping Willow
The sky illustrates by the minute with colors of silver , blue and gold
Bluebirds wrote a song for us
We lay wind-washed among fair field flowers
Afternoon mellow , whispered articulate -
modes of eternity , the miracle of love unfolding
The evening faces twilight as a beautiful bride
Swan song , Mourning dove ballads , mercurial
fading daytime* ....

Pray for magic
Pray out of sheer panic
For absolution
For a cease fire solution
For the end of Aleppo's ****** confusion
Find the benevolent God of everything
Tell his highness of indiscriminate killing
Whether they're praying on two feet or kneeling
Tell of mothers and children screaming
Tell the almighty of demons in the sky on a feeding frenzy

The old and the diseased have fallen
They're moving forward , on a carpet of needles
I lay among seedlings and sage grass ,
among the dead , among winter hay
In the throes of death , at the windy command ,
broken and bereft along the malignant forest I lay
Commanded by time do I lay
Bound for new birth woodland to lie in wait ,
Content , I will lay**–– ...

The marriage of sunshine and seawater
turned to bristling diamonds is a form of communication , a plea from an alien nation , a call for a congregation* ...

Old pictures , intrinsic keepsakes inside a silver box
No room for me inside , no place to stay and hide* ..

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* ...

Feeling borrowed , colorless
Thumbing through a Family Bible
Like pressed flowers , ancient stories
long forgotten
A black and white lady with a sad
expression , eyes that've lost their
direction
I wonder what she would say about 2016
The same thoughts I'd have on 2063
Did she write rhyme to keep her mind nimble
If rain was understanding was it ever enough to fill a thimble
Hopefully my picture will provide temporary diversion for a future family member

Concoctions of morning Blackstrap Molasses , Apple blossom honey
Afternoon Sugar Cane treat Sundays
Catfish feeder pond thrills
Stirring Bobwhite Quail wood line hideaways
Plentiful , native green grass runways
Kerosene lanterns , john boats o'er -
Black Crappie midnight waters
A thousand new songs rippled the moonlight -
causeways
Lakes melting into night
The warm , thick air of first light
Mockingbird chirrup , Killdeer call
August morning star convocations of -
Crape Myrtle with butterfly epiphanies

My pitiful world is painted with streaks of gray , with blackness
from tear drops in laden skylight , from clocks that freeze
time on bewildering , blue days
People are laughing at my infirmity , collecting cash
at my expense , mocking my every move , dilating
the past , bearing canine incisors and fangs , freezing me in my tracks* ....

I am a vehicle shackled to land yearning for the journey home
Through times open doors
Before windows of curiosity
At the base of galactic mountains
Within lights brilliant disclosure of love* ...

Gray day rooster
Alert and noble
Perched on a chestnut
Calling his flock to order ...

                                                            ­                                                       Ramblin' ole mule , braying in -
the briars
Grazing in the smoke of the -
new morning fire ...

Curious Mister Billy , tromping through the fodder
His cowbell echoes in the dew kissed holler* ...

The Crows will soon cackle after confiding in
a Myna Bird* ....

Night concertos under the starlight hush , across the squash colored valley of moonlit Indian paintbrush
Of twilight ceilings that bear a million freshly painted , Milky Way wishes
Songs of the piedmont tinder- brush , delivered by mercurial , curious midnight Thrush

I've such pronounced sadness -
during the holidays
I pray the winter season-
will quickly fade away* ....

As I fly through galactic congregations -
will I become static on the receiver of -
an alien nation
A race consumed in the thought of
extraterrestrials , a tiny blip recorded
at a radar station
I would fly into their greatest population
center , meet their leaders , address their
teachers , baffle their scholars and brief
their doctors
Leave them with a poem from Whitman ,
a song from the Beatles , tales of oceans ,
mountains and country hamlets complete
with tiny , smiling stick figures
Drawings of lakes , bluebirds , skyscrapers and city lanes
Green grass , blue sky and flowered plains* ...

Black and white television was a world
all its own , easy to walk away from ,
devoid of the color red quite common in
'68 , protesters beaten on the streets , men
of peace slain pursuing their dream , straw huts
set ablaze , the flash of cannon and martyrdom , annihilation
Blood was the same color as asphalt
The starving people of the world were addressed-
right after they were photographed
We were different from all the other countries
So we were taught* ...

All my connections are dry
Just like bugs working street lights in vain
Arms folded over my chest hoping to -
slow my angry heart
A script without a thespian to play the part
The candle succumbing , drowning in
liquid wax
Mind under four sided attack
Boxcars without engines lie dead on the tracks* ....

Just as snow is doomed in the heated light of day
The ******* is in peril with flooding rain
When screen porches collect flying roaches
just before the storm approaches you will know
Red grip impressions on tender wrist ,
writing objective poetry with a pain killer twist
You will know before I go
You will know* ....

The becalming music of night
Glittering sailboats amidst glorious starlight

When offered chocolate grab as much
as one hand can hold
Drink fine liquor till it's all gone
Bask in sunshine all day until it hops over the
horizon
Eat the dewberries of summer without
reservation , make room for good cheese ,
good wine and hot buttered bread on every
occasion
Sample the perfume of every rose in the garden
Take hot baths with Peppermint tea and shortbread
cookies , do it with music blaring , do it often* ...

The yard dotted with private ponds begat from Summer rain
Each pool a Universe filled with life we've yet to -
discover or even comprehend* ....

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* ...

I scored thirty two points playing basketball while you were drunk ! I'm sure your only infatuation was more 120 proof poison !  I was merely a teenage punk ! Money spent on food , clothing , medicine plus other useless junk when alcohol was the Golden Bull , a tonic to obliterate the duties of a father , something you never could get enough of , a liquid that took precedence over every other item in your view of the world ! You bled the checkbook dry every week , slaughtered the spirit of your children over something to drink ! Rocking in your chair , grandkids treating you like a God , you ran your own children into the ground ! Alcohol is a weakness , not a sickness , who could reach for a wolf then wonder why they've been bitten ?

O , the weight of thy recompense
In battle with brawny hardwoods ,
sovereign of twilight seas , invoking
ghost in the house of love , the mercy
of Old World Gods from resplendent kingdoms
Lantern of the midnight harvest
Celestial , storied , jaundice provider* ....

Clip clop go rain drops from rooftops
Splashing into clear pools in a
foggy window backdrop
Willow parasols drip drop -
Monday morning rain
Draw a smiling Sun on a window pane* .

The moths were drunk on barrel fire
Automatic hand- held engines sent death on lasers
I prayed for the gift of invisibility
When the doors of hell erupted I watched
myself fire involuntarily* ...

We are the afternoon wilted curcurbits  , leaves drawn and froward ,
pining for evening thundershowers , emboldened , tempting a watery death with blind ambition
Yet ,  we are also creativity trapped in religious admonition
Miracles discombobulated , manipulated
Named , taught , placed on a board with our heads facing the floor
Following a pre-plotted map with the robotic horde* ...

Song Filled Hour ....

Counterattack whilst the pang of defeat is greatest* ...

A shot or two of Cinnamon Whiskey and sometimes
a third can enlighten the view of a
cold , hard world
The steady beat of a Maple rocker with a
chaw of Bloodhound tobacco stokes a fire
in the very soul of this ******* of bones
The night songs of Tree frogs and field crickets
Evening snacks of 'Red hots' and biscuits
Wild blackberry and Turkey fig jelly ,
'White Dirt' once a year and sweet 'Rock candy'* ...

Everyone continued to laugh at me
There was no place to hide with no way to leave
the "protected environment"
I prayed that the Principal , the Teacher and
the instigators would die
To this day I wonder if my supplications
were ever applied* .....

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

I'm the little boy watching John Wayne movies
working on a Charms lollypop
I'm the five year old playing "Vietnam" with
a stick running along a creek in the back yard
I'm Neil Armstrong , Jimi Hendrix and Charles Manson
The Smothers Brothers , Dark Shadows and Captain Kangaroo
The iconic smiling face , the peace sign and the Farrah Fawcett t-shirt
Watergate , the Flintstones and Mr Ed
I'm Skylab , the men on the moon and 911
I'm Obama , Carter , Nixon and Reagan
I'm a pipe wrench working on the American Dream
A water **** passed among friends
A gung-** service member
A fifty year old mess
A Mad magazine , an ever changing book explaining taxes ,
disability and the future loss of medical insurance
I'm better left alone most days , eyes locked forward at twenty feet tending to problems such as tall grass , ***** windows , tarnished brass
A mailbox in need of paint , fire ant mounds , dead leaves scattered along the ground* ...

The music of the Republic blares out of tune , it wreaks
of the sewer , politics and Hollywood penned with immoral , ****** ink allure
Assembly line product lacking imagination , based on aggravation
Tinged with savagery , we're back in Rome today crying
for death at the Coliseum , waiting for the "Star" to fire his rounds
Waiting for an accident as the race cars circle about
Wired to the machine with our transmitters shoved in our faces
Rewriting our history , swimming with the crocodiles then becoming
shocked as to why we've been bitten
The basic rules of morality are being rewritten
We are cornering 'the lion' of demarcation this very moment pretending it's a kitten* ...

I traverse the dense pinewood by rote
Through wiry entanglements
Crossing red dirt roads
Engaged to no one , respectful to every
briar , berry and stone
Filled with the music of forest rain
Rummaging fauna , damp floor fora
of bird , sweet breath of multitudinous
country flora , roebuck and windswept
question , hardwood umbrella stops along
the way in timely , unshaken order
Content in where I belong
To close the circle for awhile and belong* ...

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*...

A birds-eye view of Hill Country bound
for my celestial reservation will most
certainly create unbridled hesitation* ...

Each drop of rain has been programmed with
exact coordinates from which to strike land
The direction of the wind rehearsed from a
remote corner of Earth
The sun signs off daily on lucky parcels that will bask in its
love
Every wrinkle in the mirror planned in advance
A lavatory faucet stream explosion where it meets
porcelain
Small rivers hurdle down cabinets retrieving dust ,
bound for trim moulding , another universe now forming
The trimmed end of a hair lying on the floor , the residents are attempting to contact the opposite end for answers , for surety of purpose , to prove they're not alone