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Cottonwood the summer snow
Spanish moss on light wind blows
The grass grows fast and life is slow
Lightning bugs our cinema show

Beale Street Memphis and New Orleans
Where your conversation topic “Are you with the Baptists or Presbyterians?”
Take you for real barbecue
Tiny places I’ve poured my heart into

Family owned coffee shops and downtown streets
Lyrics we scream in crowded backseats
The familiar scent of summer chlorine
Grandmother’s homemade sweet tea

Thick but sweet like honey, a southern accent sings
A porch swing hangs by boots and miscellaneous things
Hydrangea tips and cobbler recipes the women’s book club’s fuss
A piercing pinch from a mother's hand if she ever hears you cuss

Rivers and forests that hold my childhood
Moss soaked in fairies and knighthood
Fishing spots and four wheel drives
Sunset skies the color of your eyes

Run barefoot in tall “feather” grass
“Not-for-nighttime” narrow paths
White washed bricks older than the magnolias
Ladies with pearls, hairspray, and strollers

Football games with roaring joy
It’s an experience that makes you want to join
Red, black and white; 90 degrees
A mid-fall breeze, its nights like these

Spring Green Markets on a freshly cut lawn
Candles and jams and fresh kettle corn
Homecoming and Christmas parades you just can’t miss
Lights strung downtown in the winter

It doesn’t get much better than this...
I wrote this about my little small town I still like to call home. There’s a lot of it that also just represents my love and comfort of the south in general. There’s nothing else like it; it really doesn’t get much better than that and I truly believe that. The people around me that I love, remind me of home. People and home give me the same feeling and I truly believe that there’s a fine line to separate the two. You can travel anywhere in the world to exotic beaches and castles in Europe, but you’re never going to get that same feeling that you would in a small southern town...
Flint Holcomb Apr 17
The heat is becoming unbearable.
[average repair cost $488]
I'm manually cranking the window
[1998 Chevy S-10]
While Dad drives me to the store.

I'm craving Nutella
[Great Value Hazelnut Spread]
And pomegranates seeds.
[only one container without mold]
I hope Mom doesn't mind the price.

Turning 22 this year;
[also a model from 1998]
I hope to start on Testosterone
[again]
And maybe learn to drive
This was written in January 2020.
Zack Ripley Jul 2019
you say the cost of living keeps rising so people keep dying.
if that's true, then why should we bother trying?
growing up in small town usa,
the only opportunities for work are dangerous
and offer very little pay.
if you dont have thick skin,
you won't be able to make it through the day.
I need you to say that you believe I have a choice.
that you think people will listen to what i have to say
if i raise my voice.
I don't want to leave, but i know i can't stay.
if i want a chance to live, i'll need to live life my way
Zack Ripley Mar 6
I'm not here for the silver and gold.
I am here to find somebody to hold.
Someone to wrap their arms around me tight
And make me forget it's a cold winter night.
It's been ten years since you stole my heart.
Now look where we are.
We've come so far from the start.
As you lie with me, watching the fire glow,
I still can't believe I'm the one that you chose.
We were friends in a small town,
Then we became something more.
I can't believe i never knew it was you I was waiting for.
We were friends in a small town,
Then you said "I do."
Because of you, I believe that dreams can come true.
b e mccomb Apr 2019
have you ever looked
at a house and felt
a crippling pain that
you couldn’t go in it?

i have
every day i see my own
front porch
and every day i see the house
still in someone else’s name
but not for much longer

the first hurt is raw
ripping and searing
through my heart
and running into hot
cinnamon fire tears
burning my cheeks

the second hurt is dull
stinging like a
badly sharpened knife
over skin or knowing
what your birthday
present is but having
to wait while not
letting on you know

i grew accustomed to
the custom of becoming
myself in this house
but the walls i grew up in
grew inward too tightly
around me to choke me

and still i have
a pillow to bury my
face in at night
a shower to wash off
the day dust
a kitchen to stand in
when i’m feeling
a bit lost

but lost is the only
feeling i have
when i’m here
in this house

i don’t live here
anymore

i live on my feet
behind counters
through the parking lot
and up the sidewalk

slipping in before
the sun is up
and dragging out
when others are in bed

feeling small
on a dull afternoon
when i can only curl
up on the couch
to think
and wait

time in between
that’s now

time between shifts
and time between living
in my house
and finding my home

it’s not so much
the waiting game
it’s the feeling
that i’m alone

that nobody
wants me

so close and
yet so far
almost there
but stuck here

just keep
the worn floors clean
music playing
and make sure
the janky old doors
are locked at night

this is my town
this is my home now

this town will take
care of me

as i’m wandering through it
halfway homeless
copyright 4/219 by b. e. mccomb

the second the paperwork goes through i’m leaving for good
Chirayu Writer Oct 2018
Why I am drowning
Because I am letting me drown,

Why I am going into depression
Because I am letting me go in the depression

Why I am living in hell
Because I am letting myself to
live in the hell.

Everything is happening because
"I am letting"so it happens with me."
b e mccomb Oct 2018
oh the joys of idyllic
small town life in this
whitewashed village where
everyone knows everyone
and everyone knows
everyone’s business

where the groceries are
overpriced and the taxes
are high and everyone but
the wife knows he’s cheating

where everything is a scandal
and nobody will admit to knowing
anything but they’ll still talk
about it behind closed doors

there are supposedly prostitutes
on main street but i only ever see
the drunk and drugged out there
and if someone is single there is
someone determined
to find them a match

all and all a very pleasant
charming life we lead here
what with all the arrests
and the highway department
yammering away on things
and the way the tops of the semis
scrape the bottom of the
traffic lights on their way though

something charming about
the way the sides of the buildings
all need a good power washing
and there’s probably lots of
good clean arsenic in
the water supply

scenic
a most sleepy
little burg
they say

spend some time
with us and
you’ll find a community
you’ll find a home

you’ll also
find a thing or two
you’ll wish
you didn’t know
copyright 9/24/18 by b. e. mccomb
Gwilled Cheese Sep 2018
Hello Pop,
You said you liked a good story.
I'm no good at tellen stories, coz you were always the one that told'em and I was always the one that listened but,
I got one now.

Not a nice one.
None'a that feel good **** you see on TV.
But, it's a story
and I owe you one.

It's about you,
the bits you missed,
and me:
the not so good for a so called 'good kid'.
Not that many called me that
But,
then you went and did.

Made me think I couldn't be so bad.

Yet here I am.

Throwin stone's when I've got no one to hit.
Too bored to eat or sleep, just fucken spit.
Wishen that great god gave me someone to hit.

I'm a sick girl, ya know.
That's what they tell me.

Sick compared to those straight kids -
the pride of Glory Spring.
"Glory to God!" they all fucken sing
and even me who can’t speak good
can still recite that invisible,
unbearable
ditsy
dimpled
****.
He was your favourite story and everyone elses, after all.
Vicar Roy made sure of that.

Vicar Roy.
With his crinkly eyes
his toothy grin
the way he wouldn't blink when you challenged him.
God while god was hiding from the mess he made,
but God was doin’ nothen for me.
Ma saw that before you could.
She wanted me out,
She wanted me taken to a real city so they could study my head,
the way it worked.
The way my words never came
just a crooked grin.
But, even when the crayons became weapons
and the kittens went missen
The Vicar went and blessed me the same way.

Glory Spring, with its neat little rows of cottages and cabbage gardens,
so evenly cut.
Soft colours,
bright greens.
So good,
good,
good.
Then I came along.
Rabid,
urban wild
itchen for a stomach slit
goin' "Guts for you"
after "Treat or trick?"
setten haystacks on fire
tryen to find the pin
only to drop it on purpose.

Are you scared of me, Pa?
I think even God is scared of what he created.
That's why we never see him,
but I'm here now Pa.
You can't hide from me
and I gotta story of why you don't gotta no more.
Aa Harvey May 2018
“Fore!”


I live in a small town,
With the lights down,
In the back end of nowhere
And that is exactly where I am going.


I dress like a big clown,
In my small car.
My head looks through the sunroof
And all I can see is a city of stars.


I have spent a lifetime pretending,
That I am going to leave this place.
Everybody can see that I don’t really care.
My apathy only hides my truth; my life is such a waste.


As the rain drops fall onto my window,
I hear the distant memories.
They are calling to me like angels;
I can’t see where they are, but they are all around me.


So I reach out with one big shout!
Begging for protection, from myself.
My remedy is not seen, so I sink into a hole.
If I could find a way out,
I would find a way to make something of myself.


A collage of emotional scars,
That show that I have come so far.
The pavement my driveway,
I turn left into yesterday
And all I remember is the loss of it all;
The things we do are what we are.


I walk on the freeway.
The grass is green beneath my feet…

They shout “Fore!”…

My headphones do not rescue me.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
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