#kentucky
There once was a man from Kentucky
Whose bathtime included a ducky,
A beerbong, a potgun,
Some whiskey, a shotgun,
And a spirited dolly named Chucky.
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC
Trickling water through a brook,
Down from the mountain and into a stream,
Gently carving into the land a tale,
A sad yet happy tune for all to hear.
Mountains to those not from here,
Hills to its inhabitants,
Safeguarding those who live here from the poisons of the modern world,
Locking away it's people in a small slice of time.
Moonshine is made here,
Where the big bucks wander,
A place where the turkey, elk, and illusive bobcat roam free,
Where the hawks, warblers, and grouse abound,
Bears trundle,
And hill folk dance and sing.
Jan 6, 2023
Jan 6, 2023 at 12:17 AM UTC
Draining sweat out of my mind on the black line
wondering how the hell did we get here???…
one minute it’s 5on5.
i’m on the JV squad beating varsity with ease.
intense energy arise.
next minute, coach is ****** has all of us on the line like soldiers. running in sections of groups of 3-4
varsity runs first
JV next
freshman third
whoever’s left just run last.
as we look at the scoreboard,
the death clock is set for one minute.
all we have to do is beat the clock
before time runs out,
otherwise we keep running.
a full-court “Kentucky Derby” sprint
and yet, we’ve been practicing for 7 hours
on a school night.
mentally exhausted
from homework due tomorrow.
physically in pain from the drills.
Coach yells: “NEXT GROUP!”
dam_. here we go.
Coach: “GO!”
tick, tick, tick
Oct 15, 2021
Oct 15, 2021 at 1:48 AM UTC
Somewhere off the highway
between over there and yonder ways
stands a little church on a gravel road
that took me home in my younger days.
As you pass grandmother's old place
where my ancestors found their stead
lays Uncle Pete's house in the woods
where reunions were held to break family bread.
It was at this place our stories were shared
as one generation met the one to come after
mournful old eyes glimpsed a jovial horizon
finding condolence in the future's young laughter.
It's here I learned the history of my inherited name
as I listened to the tales that ultimately lead to me
of how I'm related to this person who begat that one
or of those who served in the wars to keep us free.
As those stories were told I often found it strange
as the storyteller's gaze traced further down the trail
to where the gravel gave way to a dirt trodden path
that cut its way through Boone's forested dale.
Over the years I have often made this journey
out past the places of my childhood memory
down an old Kentucky road of gravel and dirt
that finds its end at our old family cemetery.
It is a place were serenity accompanies finality
a small clearing shadowed by surrounding trees
where each marble marks a loved one in peaceful rest
their names etched in stone and whispered in the breeze.
My grandmother and Uncle Pete now lie in its shade
and in their passing it's only here we meet as a family
but it's on this road that I learned who I truly am
and at its end lies both my history and my destiny.
© Joey Jones
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 10:58 PM UTC
no one cares what you do on your last day on earth
except everyone else left behind to carry the hurt
im not saying its a free pass to do evil
i only wish to do good onto people
so is passing away bittersweet?
happy for me and sad for thee?
or is that why we celebrate
we all knew along the way
that this was fate
each one is different
just a shade of memories
i cannot be insensitive
some are taken entirely to early
so does anyone truly care
what you do on your last day on earth?
embracing the next step of the cycle
as you enter a new birth
while everyone else is left
behind to carry the hurt
and im not saying its a free pass to do evil
i only want to do good unto people.
just something ive come to think on
as i drive through Kentucky feeling withdrawn
Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 8:05 PM UTC
I just love my old grandad.
He was born in Kentucky,
I think he has aged well.
He joins us at family parties.
He sits staight and tall
but rarely, if ever, says anything.
He brings warmth
and good cheer while he
quietly sits listening.
Sometimes I look for him
at the grocery store,
though I seldom see him there.
I just love my Old Grandad.
He is the head of the bourbon family.
Old Grandad.
Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey.
Feb 6, 2020
Feb 6, 2020 at 8:45 PM UTC
My old Kentucky home
Is a cold unlucky tomb
I live in between the trees
And those that say freeze
I'm down on my knees
As I beg and plead
I try to talk to a world disconnected
And discuss the problems I've detected
Instead I end up feeling dejected
In a state deemed defective
I feel rejected
A downside to living in the Kentucky wilderness
Is hearing animals dying in the distance
And there's nothing I can do about it
Critters whimpering and bones snapping
Barrels simmering and bullets capping
I hear it on the news
Or hear it in the woods
Beasts biting into the weak
******** exploiting the meek
They use their teeth
To play hide and seek
Under the luminous full moon
I hear the death of raccoons
These are the sounds
To which I'm bound
And when I think I've lost them
I start to hear possums
Which engenders fear
Like the mangled deer
Lying on the side of the road
Dead to a world it never knew
And its curiosity never grew
Until a car didn't mind driving through
We should pay attention to one another's problems
Even if we can't solve them
Even if it's painful
It should be our main goal
In a world that's being gloabalized
Location is beginning to matter less
Unless you live where a bomb is being dropped
Then it's up to those that live within crops
To pick up a mop
And help clean up this mess
Which is a lofty task I confess
But I live in a society
That determines the emotions inside of me
So instead of giving up and saying **** me
I'll do the best I can from Kentucky
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 9:13 AM UTC
i don't want to, but if i did
you would be there, in blue
jean overalls, no shirt, just skin
with your hair pulled back in a
Kentucky Wildcat baseball cap.
on the porch you would reign
with a cigarette between your teeth
& a piece of wood in your palm
whittling & whistling the night
away, the stars twinkling away.
i don't want to, but if i did
you would be there, in the morning
while i make a *** of coffee, black
like the coal dust lingering on
top of our sunrise kisses.
deep in the Appalachian range,
where the starlight becomes our
city lights, our home in a holler
calls to my heart, and i want nothing
more than to be held
in your arms.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 9:06 PM UTC
i'm coming Home
& i know it's wrong,
but all i can think,
"will i run into you?"
our Love is unrequited,
& always will be.
you can't accept my God,
& i can't accept your gender,
or lack of one? i don't know.
i'm coming Home
& i will drive
through the hollers & the hills
of E.Ky, if only for the hope
of seeing you, even briefly.
i still recall the many nights
sharing music notes & secret dreams,
yearning to feel each other, to share
the same breath & the same mattress.
i'm coming Home
& i know i won't contact you,
but my only wish is that you
would read this & come find me.
please find me.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
My name is Young Slug
and I write hip hop songs.
The lyrics sound as clear
as a lady slurping dongs.
Martin Luther King once told me
that my mother was a ****
So I whipped out a baseball bat,
and ****** him in the ****
I think he liked it too much,
cause he was moaning "colonel sanders,
stick it in my *** and make me dry like the flanders."
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
Driving through Kentucky.
Fields fragrant with summer flowers,
spring fast approaching.
En-route to meet the boys of previous
summers lounging in London streets, fields, and serpentine parks,
And, stairs leading down to unwelcoming basements; as is the British way.
Malls of America now act as labyrinths.
Where the hell can I park my car?
Again, I ask, where the **** can I park my car?
I don’t care.
I just won’t park my ******* car,
in this god-forsaken middle of the western U.S.
Louisville, better yet, Hicksville.
I pop another Vicodin to get rid of this ill,
Surviving bit by bit but drained incessantly until,
I am no longer near fill, in spirit or in gasoline, tangible but also metaphysical.
Someone plunge into my depressed psyche and drill, drill,
DRILL!
Hey waitress of my mind, may I please request the bill?
With a pocket full of Xanax and a duffel bag of boomers,
my pockets jingle, (click-clack) as the pills bounce around with
every step, treating addiction with more drugs appears
to be the current stance of the know nothing doctors across this greatest nation on God’s green earth.
Hey babe, “want to walk with me to the methadone clinic,”
It’s rainy out, cold rain, can you carry my umbrella?
I can’t miss my dose or I’ll get sick.
So again I ask
Babe?
Walk with me to the methadone clinic?
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 6:13 PM UTC
i think of kentucky when i think of love~
of who we were before
not because of him,
or what i what i thought was happening up above
i think about you standing there, in the library door
or about how intensely i stared at your floor when
i was working up the courage....
i think about how i missed him every single day
everything was grey
then you played your accordion
and it all went away
*kentucky has the greenest grass i've ever seen
~
i begged you away from the edge of the roof once.....
whiskey was heavy on your breath and
the world was heavy on your chest and
you sat next to me and
you didn't jump
i really thought you might....
it was one of the only times
i ever felt like a useful human being in this
whirling winding world of poetic energy
and compassionate synergy,
(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
so.... if talking you away from edges of roofs,
if warmly burrowing in your truths,
makes me feel like a useful human being in this
whirling winding world of self-inflicted lethargy
and romantic anarchy,
ok
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 1:29 AM UTC
I still can hear the drifting cars
and burnouts in my ears.
feels like it was just yesterday
where red lights lasted years
skies were full of rubber--smoked,
sun was cold and hot
a yesterday from months before
I couldn't have forgot
I feel your hand collapsing mine,
the jokes and many laughs
comradery amongst the rain,
perfume, cologne, race gas
I just had slipped up days before
and told you my heart fell
sun set and woke, so many jokes,
cars ran parallel.
a yesterday I won't forget,
you took my hands in yours
the sun hiding behind the clouds
few raindrops on our pores
while pistons move in cylinders
two cars line up somewhere
crankshafts like jacks in boxes,
and wind blows through our hair
you looked at me like time was lost
while friends sat watching speed
my heart beat faster than the
boosted car that I heard lead
surrounded by our favorite things
a few people that we knew
I saw a smile fill your eyes
when you said "I love you."
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
I know
the feelings she
stirs in my ***** when I
look at her are wrong 'cause she's my
sister
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
Bluegrass sprouts a brow,
When Kentucky’s one crow left;
Feign drawl and bourbon.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC
Driving through Louisville
in a driving rain storm
at dusk
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
It was a Sunday afternoon when I
went for an impromptu drive,
keeping my foot on the gas and snaking
among the one-ways and the
downtown traffic as I
made my way to the river.
I put the heat on
ever so slightly just so
I'd be warm enough to roll
the windows down and feel that
fresh spring air on my face.
I wore my retro hat backwards,
and my Raybans covered my eyes,
my cool demeanor and slouchy posture
in sync with the steady rhythm of the
90s hip hop booming through my
speakers.
I watched the sun as it made love to
the river's chop, and
I snuck a glance at the stolen kisses
the green grass shared with the
tall trees on the shoreline.
Beautiful yellow and purple buds
splattered the bushes like
Impressionism,
thick dabs of color that all blended
into a beautifully disorganized
vision of the season of
rebirth.
I sprouted wings and flew outside
my body as I inhaled
pollens and flower nectar,
as my skin reddened under the
bright sunlight,
my self got lost in the time and space
continuum that swallowed me
like ground swallowed up the last
traces of snow, replacing my ground
with the warmth and
rebirth that spring always brings
after a long winter.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
A man in a flower shop… What a sight! He doesn’t know what to do, how to pick, where to look. Too many colors! Too many choices! I’m not sure what she likes…
What a weakness it is, to be a man next to flowers… Something so fragile and so beautiful, it makes him look stagnant in a world of much flow.
Then, in walks F. Scott… What are you?! You look mighty fine by this Rose. Do the thorns disrupt you? Do the petals leave you longing?
I thought you had a thing for Kichijoten-- in her Temple; next to the Sakura blossoms of Japan…
My, my. You can’t be part of the Lost Generation; I think you’ve found your place! As I look for mine by the Cattails and fresh Dahlias…
Have you seen these bunches of Baby’s Breath?? Sincerity only costs $3.95; it’s much more expensive nowadays… They don’t even play Jazz music here… What are you doing here, Fitzgerald? I know you aren’t here for the Hyacinths…
Has someone slain your heart again? My heart was slain many times, but everything happens for a reason, right Francis??
I know you have a thing for Gold, come check out these Daisies…and brighten your day. Don’t fret. Don’t fear. Loosen your heart and let it be free. I’m here. And everything is okay.
The Daisies? Really? Awful choice… I was only kidding about those.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
There is a fork in the road
where I veered left to merge onto
I-65,
and I spotted the same
bilboard I look up at
every day on my commute to work,
but now it was at eye level,
and I thought to myself,
*well, I guess that's what we call
perspective.*
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
That summer was hotter than any of the others before. The county was dryer than it had ever been, and the kids more restless than years past. I was sitting on the front porch at my granddaddy’s, swinging slowly with the breeze that offered no relief from that God awful heat. I was in a little black sundress, which was hard to find because most people prefer pink or yellow or orange - anything but black during the summer. But you can’t wear pink or yellow or orange to a funeral. So there I sat, in my black sundress, black sun hat and black heels. I even had black sunglasses, but I opted for those on my own. I had no desire for every eye in Harlan to see me cry. The sunlight hurt my eyes anyway; I had one hell of a hangover. The night before was the first time I’d drunk anything but sweet tea or water in my life. My body did not take kindly to it. I was doing a lot of things my body did not take kindly to as of late, drinking being only one of the many vices I’d begun to partake in. “Come on girl, we best get a goin’. Ain’t gonna do to be late for this one.” Granddaddy offered me a hand and helped me up. The car ride there was silent, but I would catch him every once in a while glancing over at me to make sure I was “Keepin’ my **** together.” He knew about the drinking and had my hide for it. It was far too soon that I had to step out of the car and walk to the front row where your family sat. The rest of the day went by in a blur. Your momma hugging me. Your daddy shaking my hand. Your sisters clinging to the skirt of my dress. I don’t know when I started crying, just that the tears seemed like they had been there since the day I was born. The songs we sang were all wrong and the sky was too blue and the birds sang too loud. The wind blew too much and not enough, because if it had been enough it would have carried me far, far away from that place, but too much because it’s sigh sounded far, far too much like yours. I kept it together until that first handful of dirt hit the lid of that ****** box that was going to hold you for the rest of eternity. I remember being jealous because I wanted to be the one holding you, not that hole in the ground. When it was my turn to throw it in, I fell. I fell as hard as when I fell in love with you, except you weren’t there to catch me this time, you were too busy in entering into the arms of our Good Lord. So I kissed the dirt I held in my hand (when it finally stopped shaking) and threw it in, then I tried to throw myself in. But granddaddy caught me before I could get to you and they covered you up before I could claw my way in. It hasn’t been the same since you left; the air doesn’t smell near as sweet and the sun doesn’t burn near as bright. I haven’t had the heart to wash the mud off that dress yet and I’ve had too much heart to throw it away. You left me to live in a world full of contradictions, Darlin’. Left me to live a life that knocks me to the ground and waits for me to get back up, just so it can kick me in the teeth.
And, I suppose, in your absence, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC
I don't always like
(the taste of)
bourbon
but **** do I like
the way it can make me
feel;
that sting of warmth
as it slithers down your
esophagus,
and suddenly you know
all the best dance moves,
your voice hits smooth on
all the tunes,
your jeans hug ya just right,
and somehow the night
has become yours.
Too many bourbons and
**** I might get a little mean,
but just one or two
and I'm the most
proud-to-be-from-Louisville-
Kentucky girl you've ever
seen.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
New York ~ News
New Jersey ~ Beaches
California ~ Movies
Florida ~ Disney World
Kentucky ~ Chicken
Texas ~ People that can't fit in their cars
Connecticut ~ Lyme Disease
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC