She was a Hatfield
And I  a McCoy
It was just love beween
A girl and a boy

Our daddies grandaddies
And those from before
Might think us irreverant
To open that door

She lived two towns over
It was love at first sight....
We would slip out and meet
Every Sat. night
The neighbors all thought
It just wasn't right
But we were in love
And it wasn't our fight

Only two counties apart
She lived in West V
My home was Kentucky
The suitor was me

To us it was foolish
The feud was so old
Even though it was famous
From the tales that were told

She lived two towns over
It was love at first sight....
We would slip out and meet
Every Sat. night
The neighbors all thought
It just wasn't right
But we were in love
And it wasn't our fight


We'd meet after dark
At a barn down the line
We were not feuding people
For that night she was mine

We would run off together
After school was complete
We'd change both our names
We would be real discreet

She lived two towns over
It was love at first sight....
We would slip out and meet
Every Sat. night
The neighbors all thought
It just wasn't right
But we were in love
And it wasn't our fight

Our folks would reject us
And spoil our joy
Cause here was a Hatfield
With a real McCoy

For now, we'll be secret
Share our love cross the fence
And we'll wait till our kin folk
Wake up with some sense

Folksy blokes, like ya struttin’ ya thang
If you’ve come out of da Grand Ole Opry
But, won’t stay around for any old music sang
If it’s causing their head, to bob up and down and go all floppy
While rugged mountain men riding in some country rodeo
Can just step right up, to a Appalachia recording studio
Put down several tracks and become a worldwide pop star
They sing about hillbilly ways, while cogging or flatfooting from afar
Talking ‘bout wild hogs, gators, foxes & how so many more
Taste so great, using leftovers as bait & making real men roar
Old fables, told through pictures and patterns, upon knitted quilt
Even showing the feuding days of the Hatfields versus McCoys
From both sides of Tug Fork stream, with many unemployed  
Although Asa and Devil Anse, said, ‘they hadn’t much guilt’
All because of a judge and 5000 acres of unusable swamp land
Once owned, by a close kissin’ cousin named, Perry Cline
Who didn’t even get any blood on his hand
They started a war, that could’ve been stopped
By a bottle or two, of good ole mountain moon-shine
Both clans almost wiped out, if last man standing had accidentally dropped.

*** for tat only means that another generation seeks vengeance and war
Evening the score only means yet another must even the score
Just ask the palestinians and the israelis, just ask the tutsis and the hutus
Ask the protestants and the catholics, and the crips and the bloods
The hatfields and mccoys, too, were all about grudge
And what has it gotten us, where does it end?
Who is the enemy and who the friend?
I ask this because it seems clear to me
“Either you’re with us or against us” denies diversity
One man’s terrorist is another man’s hero
But you **** mine, I **** yours leaves a net gain of zero
And what about the children in whose faces war is fought?
What parentless future — or present — have they got?
And who stands to gain from perpetuating violence?
Who profits from the pain ... ... and the deafening silence?
Typically a handful of white men do, that’s who
It’s that top one percent, not you
A few families control the likes of halliburton, bechtel and g.e.
It’s their balance sheets that gain from the misery we see
Divide and conquer is their modus operandi, their mode of operation today,
Keep us fighting amongst ourselves and all blame ... is diverted away.

ever been a ***** or a ******?
i have. and other names
mostly given.

ever been a scapegoat?
i have. been a toy
to the hatfields and the mccoys.

any ink of brain leakage
taken to the sawbone
stitches over stitches
on my lips sewn by my own hands
the sands of time have passed, slow
as they can fall --

blood from rips goes on the walls
smear memories on the old ****
to make a little sense of the prison
in which i was living

make a little bit of sense of my enemies
apparently, i choose to ride the prisms
of a prison to the coffin, as i'm better use dead
but what kind of exit is a bullet to the head?

tell you, it's a mess, what it is

do you want to know something
I find outrageously funny
while culturally very different
Christians and Muslims are historically and philosophically
neighbors
like
you couldn’t get much closer
to the exact same belief system
so get along people
get over the colors of yourselves
you’re not so long lost siblings

around the time Hurricane Matthew was
tearing through Florida, it was 10:34pm in
Divide--

A Coors bottle pressed into your beard,
settled on your bottom lip in contemplation
a boyish reverie spun between us when you spoke
softly relaying the genealogy of the Hatfields & Mccoys,
Ole Ran'l, Devil Anse piping in, your accent seeps through
real Midwestern like--stops when you're on about prayer
trees and La Llorona


But I was deeply introspective,
heavily burdened by a Randy Travis song
how earlier that morning your fingers
had found their way around my hips--
        mine around your waistband, down your spine
        a helpless explorer driven across the mainland
       transversing shoulder blades, fascinated by chains
        around your neck, nooses, playthings or jewelry
         how around 3 am your gravely voice sought me
         out across a sea of torrid thoughts to ask if I was cold


yes. probably.


and when we start the decline, tripping lazily over moss clumps
dead grass, fallen trees, I storm and plow ahead because
when in doubt, race yourself.
Sheltered by the truck gate,
you've come up ahead and stand
in front of me, unassuming
both hands complacent--
so I ask you to kiss me
and there's a fiddle playin'
in my ears, a highway of
country streamin' through
my veins, or,
something
like that.

3 tragedies and a satyr play
          Hang on Sloopy
          Sloopy hang on!

I’ve traded simple treasures,
for a byte of Apple’s pleasures.
I'm in high speed hurry
to find high tech worries.
I’ve given up social innocence
for a world wide web stimulant.
I don’t talk or show emotions.
I just text with my emojis.
Photo albums have been replaced
with Dell’s memory data base.
Our kids can’t even sign their names,
yet we look the other way in shame.
Don’t want to strain or use your mind?
Just google it, and save some time.
Games and apps infest like pests.
Imaginations are laid to rest.
We don't compute or understand
if its not an email, text, or scanned.
Like a wild west tragedy,
the Gate’s Gang of technology
took our towns, our homes and schools...
and turned us into cyber fools.
We play the IPhone/Android wars
just like the Hatfields and McCoys.
I hope my laptop doesn't die,
before I can complete this rhyme.
I have to warn the world of dangers.
I'll be a wild west high tech Ranger!
Its time to open up our eyes
and let technology hang high!
So please without further ado...
free yourselves and say, "YAHOOOOO"!