1

It was one of those clear,sharp.mustless days
        That summer and man delight in.
Never had Heaven seemed quite so high,
Never had earth seemed quite so green,
Never had the world seemed quite so clean
Or sky so nigh.
        And I heard the Deity’s voice in

  The sun’s warm rays,
        And the white cloud’s intricate maze,
And the blue sky’s beautiful sheen.

         2

I looked to the heavens and saw him there,—
        A black speck downward drifting,
Nearer and nearer he steadily sailed,
Nearer and nearer he slid through space,
In an unending aerial race,
       This sailor who hailed
       From the Clime of the Clouds.—Ever shifting,

  On billows of air
        And the blue sky seemed never so fair,
And the rest of the world kept pace.

         3

On the white of his head the sun flashed bright;
        And he battled the wind with wide pinions,
Clearer and clearer the gale whistled loud,
Clearer and clearer he came into view,—
Bigger and blacker against the blue.
        Then a dragon of cloud
        Gathering all its minions
            Rushed to the fight,
        And swallowed him up in a bite;
And the sky lay empty clear through.

         4

Long I watched.   And at last afar
        Caught sight of a speck in the vastness;
Ever smaller,ever decreasing,
Ever drifting,drifting awayInto the endless realms of day;
        Finally ceasing.
        So into Heaven’s vast fastness
           Vanished that bar
Of black,as a fluttering star
Goes out while still on its way.

         5

So I lost him.   But I shall always see
            In my mind
The warm,yellow sun,and the ether free;
The vista’s sky,and the white cloud trailing,
        Trailing behind,—
And below the young earth’s summer-green arbors,
And on high the eagle,—sailing,sailing
        Into far skies and unknown harbors

Endearing is the moon tonight
and through its silver glow,
She whispers secrets of the things
that only she could know.

Of lover's trysts on summer nights
of kisses ‘neath her smile,
Of secret murmurs begging "friends"
to stay a little while.

Of sweet caresses cherished
in the fog of memories,
Of moonlit walks in arbors sweet
'neath swaying groves of trees,

Of shadows cast by clasping hands
of hearts that feel desire,
and unrequited love
               that feels like death
                              from friendly fire.

Of promises in passion made,
with no chance to fulfill,
Of loneliness, of happiness,
of parting's bitter pill,

She whispers of the romance,
of the love that's hot and cold,
Like love that loses passion
but sustains us getting old.

She passes in the evening sky
and frolics with the stars,
And leaves this mortal on the porch
to mend life’s wounded scars.

Yet, never does she realize,
the secrets that she'd shared,
Are common knowledge
                         here on earth,
where love has all ensnared.

she exists now in a dream state
unaware of the horror and the passage of time
wind rushes through broken panes
moaning mournfully
floors creak and door hinges speak
announcing her presence
this was her house
once a place of light and love
full of family and friends
cotillions resonating with music and dance
and lively conversation
a grand kitchen to prepare the feasts
of pheasant under glass
a gazebo for laughing in the rain
arbors for moonlit meetings with owls
a pond for lilies and croaking frogs
gardens for picking her favorite peonies
a nursery for her children
all this now nothing but ruins
from happiness to a home for bugs and bats
crawling with silverfish, centipedes and black widows
shrouded in cobwebs
drowning in dust
suffocating in stench of rotting wood and desolation
decorated with 100 year old bloodstains
she never saw her killer
never saw the spurting of her arteries
never heard her children’s screams and death rales
she sees her house as it was
and every night she roams the rooms
calling her children’s names in long, haunting whispers

Some man unworthy to be possessor
Of old or new love, himself being false or weak,
Thought his pain and shame would be lesser
If on womankind he might his anger wreak,
And thence a law did grow,
One might but one man know;
But are other creatures so?

Are Sun, Moon, or Stars by law forbidden
To smile where they list, or lend away their light?
Are birds divorced, or are they chidden
If they leave their mate, or lie abroad a-night?
Beasts do no jointures lose
Though they new lovers choose,
But we are made worse than those.

Who e’er rigged fair ship to lie in harbours
And not to seek new lands, or not to deal withal?
Or built fair houses, set trees, and arbors,
Only to lock up, or else to let them fall?
Good is not good unless
A thousand it possess,
But dost waste with greediness.

There are colors yet unknown in my finite view of Earth , artistic wonders undiscovered , to this day quite alone .. Geometric shapes where Sweetgum trees silhouette the majestic Dawn .. Enchantment with every turn go I , to study my religion by day , collect my thoughts and observations by night .. To interplay among life undiscovered  , to revel someday in its happenstance ... The weathered profiles of a million botanicals unknown or forgotten . An ocean whose riddles remain unsolved , seventy percent of our precious world where exploration has barely scratched the surface .. Dark , rainy afternoons reconfigured with burst of light , the surface of oceans ever mysterious , highlighted by the Moon on hazy nights .. I flew over Moccasin Creek to sample fresh water and take in mountain greenery ..Walked the treetops of the Oconee Forest to witness the floor of the woodlands as a squirrel , crow or eagle ..Slithered along the Georgia clay like a Black Racer , cautiously studied each image before me with the curiosity of a Red fox .. Enthralled with the Savannah Dancers of Tybee Island , precious gulls , blue ***** and brown pelicans .. Welcome every change of season , Dark pine thickets tell of death and renewal ...

                                                          II­
Jagged , blue grass approaches , green straw tops , quiet
cinnamon needle oceans connected by silver streak spider webbing ..
Warm winds divide earthen cover , lifeless termite ridden forefathers lay in testament to bitter destruction ... Our Noon star nourishes bold , sylvan seedlings , beneath her languishing February predicament however ... Grassy field roads lay locked in period of service , daylight path corrections , marble land buoy sentries within thistle , dandelion and Sawgrass .. Gold , knee high cover caresses , reaching skyward beside the field road , lying forgotten , left to the mercy of kudzu , marble and granite .. Scrags reclaim rusted encroachments , tin in battle with the tepid wail of afternoon wind as stick pines mimic the Appalachians , gently roll toward the awaiting lavender blue horizon ... As pasture returns to woodlands , blanketed in hues of brown with forest echoes , carry whispered voices into tomorrow ... Lively crows live to tell their wintry tale , resting among scuttled pulp wood entanglements , to be born again , covered in the pity of lingering broom sage ...                                                              ­                                                  

                                                        III    ­                                                                 ­Across the edge of twilight where soft lavender hues lay at
rest atop her riparian horizon .. Dandelion blooms pepper the
red clay embankments , lone bucks survey brown fields of harvested
corn ..Mourning doves cry for the end of day , wild hogs lay tracks at the rivers edge . Toms sing of their loneliness  , persimmons lay bitter along country lanes , the meat of Chestnut not harvested , the final years of tall , stately Pecans go shamefully unnoticed .. Barbed wire divisions etch Winter burned pasture , Morgans and Appaloosas graze the fertile , ambrosial green narrows .. Manmade pools dot the Crescent lady , cattle ditches appear along creeks and rivers holding Rock bass , Shell ******* , Yellowbellies and Bluegills ferociously hunting the waters surface , Alligator Snappers and Mudcats work the turbulent bottoms ... Hayfields , peach and muscadine arbors flourish , boiled peanuts and sorghum syrup , collards and sweet potatoes ...Blackberry , grape , watermelon and okra ..Water oaks have taken command of the front yard ,  moss and honeysuckle line fence rows , flowing patches of wild grass and snake berry , rocks from Cotton Indian Creeks line hand built flower beds and walkways .. Rhode Island Reds , Buff Orpington's and White Leghorns work these plantations . Sassafras and dewberry , wild plum and rabbit tobaccos . Gardenia , Crape Myrtle , Magnolia , Pine and Chestnut trees  flourish to this day .. The Old Bridge behind Millers Mill still visible , what stories this elder pass could tell before the confluence of the Indian Creeks .. Crayfish , Bream , Largemouth bass , Crappie , Yellow perch and Flathead catfish ! The tale of the Crescent lady lives forever and ever ..

Playing her parchment moon
Precosia comes
along a watery path of laurels and crystal lights.
The starless silence, fleeing
from her rhythmic tambourine,
falls where the sea whips and sings,
his night filled with silvery swarms.
High atop the mountain peaks
the sentinels are weeping;
they guard the tall white towers
of the English consulate.
And gypsies of the water
for their pleasure *****
little castles of conch shells
and arbors of greening pine.

Playing her parchment moon
Precosia comes.
The wind sees her and rises,
the wind that never slumbers.
Naked Saint Christopher swells,
watching the girl as he plays
with tongues of celestial bells
on an invisible bagpipe.

Gypsy, let me lift your skift
and have a look at you.
Open in my ancient fingers
the blue rose of your womb.

Precosia throws the tambourine
and runs away in terror.
But the virile wind pursues her
with his breahing and burning sword.

The sea darkens and roars,
while the olive trees turn pale.
The flutes of darkness sound,
and a muted gong of the snow.

Precosia, run, Precosia!
Of the green wind will catch you!
Precosia, run, Precosia!
And look how fast he comes!
A satyr of low-born stars
with their long and glistening tongues.

Precosia, filled with fear
now makes her way to that house
beyond the tall green pines
where the English consul lives.

Alarmed by the anguished cries,
three riflemen come running,
their black capes tightly drawn,
and berets down over their brow.

The Englishman gives the gypsy
a glass of tepid milk
and a shot of Holland gin
which Precosia does not drink.

And while she tells them, weeping,
of her strange adventure,
the wind furiously gnashes
against the slate roof tiles.

.

I choose to breathe for every breath is free
Calmly bound of tempted drizzled fears
Slow dancing on the desperate dying wind
Placing endless hope against the flow

This does come
beyond iron gates of broken trances
to sing
undying wishes upon deaf ears

Fractured in meanings and senses known,
these wrinkles form a favored mask
Donned in apprehension of a wilted feeling
Sleek and slender, along a poisoned vine they grow

Challenging
in endless streams of sorted need
Stead fast
with chains of charmed tethered truth

Cartoon headstones with scribbled crayon names
cast darker shadows beneath the edges of sanity
Ripped and tattered these empty voices scream
my name in echoes bearing nothing more than seen

As I cry
my tears sprout wings and flee from my face
I fall to my knees
finding only the jagged earth to rest

Desires cling to the massive arbors of life
Dreams falter along a winding creviced cliff
Nothing laughs like the air upon my sorrowed face
and I choose to breathe for every breath is free

Draw hither golden blade , brother to sassafras and veronica
Purveyor of delicate , sanguine architects in pastoral visage
Of ebony cloth cooling evergreen shadows within -  
Rosin incense , spearmint infused morning dew seasoning
o'er felled timber escarpments , Summer rain infusions of
petit , lavender violet corsage and August whimsy
Petrichor , Persimmon Clover bouquets , juvenile , song filled
brook-sides , poetic diamond studded sandbars , Chattahoochee
Crayfish , Shellcracker , Blue Heron land of Creek and Cherokee
fathers
Of Towaliga , Bear , Moccasin , Indian streams
Emerald swept low country isles , songbird arbors , peridot waterways
beside whitewashed shoreline* ...

Powdered Sugar Daydreams

All time becomes invisible, ceasing to matter
as this place in all its magic and wonder
blooms upon the gardens of our imagination
playing like birds on a sky of opal blue, wandering streets of old

Where rising suns on aqua horizons shift,
singing of a new day which is happily part of the prior,
extending beyond any view offered along the rocky shoreline,
as we stroll on delta desires and riverboat reveries

Brick paved streets, uneven but smoothly polished greet us,
a sidewalk table, warm cuppa, green on white awning shade,
sweet treats beneath wings of powdered sugar and tender kisses
within the eyes of all passing, and we without a care

Music fills the square with harmony in our heart beats,
a three piece jazz ensemble plays melodic romance
while your hand, your fingers, tightly holding mine
and I feel your pulse tap out the rhythm of our days

Jasmine arbors bound by geranium breezes
invite us to be one, as love springs forth
in cool waters from passion’s fountain of forever
and we daydream together eternally

THE GARDEN OF ACCEPTANCE

Shadows are my friends these days.
Nobody can see me crying in the dark.
While the others lie around in the sun
I seek out somber arbors in the park.
The muted light of leaves and limbs
Caress the aches within my heart
And whisper to me to just relax
And let the healing grieving start.

Sometimes I hear some music there
Playing so softly in my inner soul.
I hope to find the inner strength
To think I might someday be whole
Instead of this half a person here
Who doesn’t even notice a sunrise
That spends its multicolor glory
Like a painted cathedral for my eyes.

If people pass and I notice them
They don’t serve to make me sad
Seeing them so happy together
Being contented or even a bit glad,
Because I am here in this serenity
I include them in my private reverie.
The message that life goes on does
Brings restful meditation to me.

But, mostly it’s the natural things;
The birds and the variegated leaves,
The flowers, and cool green lawns
That soothe, and comfort and please.
They slowly help me to realize
That the world in not all about me.
We have to let our sadness fall behind
To truly understand how to be free.

Brent Kincaid
4/3/2015

plots of land that dance in spasms
slam dancing
bed frames with slots of wood
parallel lines on the oud
should i bother
with all this fruit
i choose to rot a while
in style of course
so much nonsense
this is truly *******
a store bought chemical wedding
a slow decline into nothing
ship me your wisdom
and i’ll fly you to the moon
we’re departing sooner than you thought
you dream until noon
selves are made from solitude
i command you to commune with your soul
solid is a word
worlds are frozen in dreams
after the apocalypse
there is ice cream for supper
among the rubber and the forest
there is a carpet of grasses and herbs
left to dry in the dehydrator
upon the lowest setting i am making
the bed and taking my shirt off
stores demand consumption
yet in purchasing you are corrupted
assumptions of negligence
thread our hearts with your effulgence
i sense you are suffering
forever there is a differential
a disintegration of the essential
once upon a time i spoke in rhythm
made sense and could suspend judgement
now there are no more words
only thoughts
when the thoughts end nothing will be left
i’ll be suspended
like a balloon or a parachute
like a woman who seeks to become president
can you show me evidence that we are not asleep
the blossoming rose
has stolen my clothes and returned our damages
shelves of shadows on hungry tiptoes
i seek necessity in your eyebrows
streaks of lightning shape your features
i see incandescence throughout your water
you are a natural teacher
seeking meaning for the most high
blessings upon the eternal
in splendor the triumphant allegory
crowns thy falsehood victorious over demons
we dwell in the arbors of willows
as complacent shadows fall upon
the rubied lips of all of our relationships

Evergreen soldiers at the whim of Alraus
I've had a recurrent dream of the enlisted warriors
abandoning their post , occupying the fertile grassland
in a chess type move to gain control
Free of shade , of root-bound thirst , of choking
moss gathering unchallenged in overpopulated arbors
A celebration courtesy of the Robin Knights , the Chickadee troubadours ,
the Cardinal gentlemen at the Court of Queen Chestnut
Slash , sugar , loblolly and white oak
Persimmon , hickory , honey locust and dogwood
The myrrh of gardenia , magnolia , honeysuckle and tea rose
Earthen red clay , white sand , black loam and kaolin
Grasshopper cellist , cricket flautist , a chuckling crow with a
Spanish guitar
The toad trombones , a bluebird violin solo , a mockingbird reads
a touching poem that even sways the worker ants into a brief pause
The Old Forest becomes pasture and the grassland young woodland
The dove cue the night , the katydids croon to the moon ,
the bullfrogs 'pooka-dooka' and the lovers swoon* ...

Up the hills, past villas, small groves and arbors.  And by the Duomo, which, I swear, moved into our path no matter where we went.  The fifteenth century refuses to yield.

That giant rival, Milan, now resembles Hartford: large and gaunt. Rome, thief of the renaissance, remembers Mussolini and Berlusconi more than Leo X, who yet lives in Florence, returned to his Medici home.

Florence is the butter of civilization’s milk; nourishment of the flesh churned by hand.  The art, the food, the social structure, even the soccer sated in turned, sweet cream.

Fresh oil, fresh wine.  Old recipes.  The bread remains salt free. The tripe looks ancient.  The streets forever too narrow.

Enclosed by arbors of armor - Celery trees
But once lightning struck, one split like a banana
This violent wind moves leaves like meteors
Spiders cling to their structured creations
Feet sink like quicksand in a swamp
You let the earth’s tears heal your grief which made you wild and ravenous
It falls like the nauseating thud of a body but keeps falling until you marvel and turn yourself inside out
It falls like a fleet of soldiers dropping from a parachute cloud
It transforms the rotten into Einsteins
It puts a spark in your *****
The blinding shield of water makes your mind zig-zag between moist and dry places
Up and down the twisted staircase and up and down again
Nostalgia kills but you forget rare flavors of memories
In the storm, you learn to breathe
A burning heart is cooled and cleansed
Sorrow returns only when the sun shines in
And you find yourself a wet dog surrounded by tiger lilies

Still Thin Canvas Walls
What good thing could come from such humble surroundings it’s nothing like the original tabernacle
Made from badger skins but the battle rages in modern life the wounded lie in great tragic sprawls just
Add your city’s name that will suffice wounds of alcohol, ***, drugs, bitter was the fight but the
Conclusion was already cast men and women are highly susceptible to these diseases there isn’t a
Natural antidote quickly wariness robs all strength the fallen lie strewn in the most pitiful scenes to even
Raise their head takes great effort what about the great mortared churches that stand in grandness on
So many blocks in America the already saved and righteous go there effortlessly but a war takes mobility
You have to go to the front lines be abreast of the battle line conditions one day the battle rages fiercely
Then the next clear across town the enemy strikes if transfusions are the single most necessary act in
Natural battles then so is it in the spiritual battles only the blood can clean and doctor the wounds and
Bring complete healing prayerful condemnation of that life and refusing to participate any more then
Going down in pure cleansing baptismal waters will usher you to the birthing place of the final solution
As a creation born of the spirit you will never again be over run you can feel and know temptation but
Always a way of escape arrives in the nick of time you now are the spiritual medical team assigned to
Walk among the wounded comfort and show them the way out of the most extreme circumstances
Tell them from knowing personal experience defeat no longer will rule them with a most cruel tyranny
Now they stand at the portal of freedom where richest life ever flows outward until the bright eternal
Day is revealed. Talk if you will at times and speak with a tinge of pride that causes you to practice a
Little Disdain for brush arbors tents and those humbler days but out of them mighty revival flames
Consumed entrenched strong holds of sin that resisted all other efforts to eradicate them Look upon the
Empty field a lone tent stands seemingly so thin and fragile if you could see what the devils see. They
See those they have enslaved walking bent and bowed all that registers on their faces is bitter
Disappointment they had such dreams the highest ideals they walked with their heads in the cloud but
During these tremendous high times something very base was setting traps to remove you far from
Those Cherished dreams lust for drink lust of *** that has nothing to do with love and tenderness that is
To be shared between a man and women or lust for things can bring people to spiritual wastelands
And when your power ebbs away you hear what you hope is the sound of a helping hand but the lowest
And cruelest enemies use this time and place a their choice hunting grounds these bonds are secured
By human default they have no escape fighting is the same as quick sand the harder you fight the
Deeper and quicker you sink but as in natural war the artillery has spotters with powerful glass they
Pinpoint weakness and the targets that best will serve your side it is so in the spirit but here it is the
Searcher that goes forth he looks deeply and with the most knowing sight he sees those that truly want
And will change he calls to those who are free and they rush in with the weapons that are credited with
Tearing down strongholds of the enemy there is no greater joy found than they who have been set free
To walk without guilt and shame and the dread of future judgment is gone you now eagerly await your
Change that will bring to your eternal home and all longing will be forever satisfied.

We want heroes,
stars, emperors,
and sun kings
to lead us out
of Darkness.

We want
Mommy & Daddy
to make
the hurt go away.

But what can I give?
I'm just a bit player
like David says
in the pilot
of a new sitcom on
the Comedy Channel.

At first, I make whole
my career a foot
like Wesley's child.

One day, I pull myself
up with a thousand hands
twirling, connecting
in dendritic arbors.

I stand at last bare
face against Absurd face,
naked as a rolling Stone.

Ween will mend inertia
with a flair, only a care or attribute
in conglomeration can reticulate their spin
and thus their ardor abound
in meadow by a brook then
will allude a castle if white sand
will morph butter and
may implore horizon  
to only stake catalog
with green arbors there
yet magnitude of the nation
largely reactionary in latitude again.

An elderly , regional dame in a pretty lavender and white flannel coat checks her mailbox with the help of a metallic walker ... Her yard remains meticulously coifed and maintained just like the persnickety , perfect hairstyle she's worn for the last fifteen years ...
A stunning , curled cotton mane with impeccable , multi -colored dresses for church on Wednesday and Sunday , the Queen of a small town in middle , rural Georgia ..
Her castle is a sixties period brick ranch with beautiful Hostas and Tulips on all four corners ... Cherokee roses and Azaleas , Honey Locust and well kept Concord Grape arbors ..
A gas light stands guard by the front door , her prized chihuahua patrols the front of the estate from a kitchen window ..
On Spring days she waves from her white rocker on the front porch ..
Early Summer mornings she can be found tending her flowers , giving the grass a brief shower , reading her Bible beneath the carport and chatting with family and friends on the telephone ....

Sorghum Fall , October blue windfelt opera
of curious Winter tapping November's hardwood door
Days of colorful wishes falling to Earth
They meet in oakwood harbors , perform
in the crystal sunrise ballet , pie pans
ring in crabapple arbors , withered corn songs
crackle exquisitely , they echo o'er hayfield terrace ,
red , brown and golden forest
Hillandale , windballad allegories , butterscotch fields
suing for frosted cover
Warm cabin firewood symphonies , cider and cinnamon
Hereford morning bawl , early wren catcalls
Oak chair and fescue pillow* ....

And I choose to breathe


And I choose to breathe for every breath is free
Calmly bound of tempted drizzled fears
Slow dancing on the desperate dying wind
Placing endless hope against the flow

This does come
beyond iron gates of broken trances
to sing
undying wishes upon the deaf ears

Fractured in meanings and senses known,
these wrinkles form a flavored mask
Donned in apprehension of a wilted feeling
Sleek and slender, along a poisoned vine they grow

Challenging
in endless streams of sorted need
Stead fast
with chains of charmed tethered truth

Cartoon headstones with scribbled crayon’d names
cast darker shadows beneath the edges of sanity
Ripped and tattered these empty voices scream
my name in echoes bearing nothing more than seen

As I cry
my tears sprout wings and flee from my face
to my knees
finding only the jagged earth to rest

Desires cling to the massive arbors of life
Dreams falter along a winding creviced cliff
Nothing laughs like the air upon my sorrowed face
and I choose to breathe for every breath is free

Rain. Quenching summer’s green thirst, flaking hills rust. Pitted iron. Old bone beeches, alabaster reaching finger trunks and damp obsidian spines round crowns bronzed, pebbled umber arbors released, fluttering mast patina of carotenoids and iron browned and burnished from months of sun. Golden feathers molt from stands of birches, aluminum wire ghosts. First hard frost smokes up from the cinnamon stick curls of cherry leaves,
     and stainless pines in scrap metal hills.

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* ..

I believe in the tower bells
They strike the hour without fail
They echo through hill country sunny dales
Through pecan arbors and woodland trails
On moonlit avenues
O'er the lakeside bayous
To the chorus of a thousand blackbirds
Through nightfalls wind chatter , twist and turns

Red roses train in the shadow of a summer rain
Through red clay trails
Along white fence rails
Into Magnolia arbors
Across manicured fields of glistening marble* ..

There is a place
It is heaven and it is hell
The place inside my head
Where no one can reach me there

I can imagine butterflies
I can imagine dragons
I can see me as the princess of Albion
Or see me fed to the Lions

With books, in my head I imagine
A world with fairies and armors
Garden with daisies and arbors

With pain, in my head I imagine
A world with cries and tears
Rivers of lies and fears

If I find myself sliding into my head
With a frown on my face, and a heart that aches
Do pull me back
As the dangerous den to be
Is a place, called my head

Khayrsouf|Aplacecalledmyhead

Let's carve
beautiful arbors
Then set them
ablaze
And watch them
burn to the ground

Let's build
intricate machines
Then break them
apart
And count all
their little pieces

Let's write
clever rhymes
Then erase them
away
And stare at
the blank page

Let's paint
mystic scenes
Then water them
awash
And then feel
the wet blur

a tickle of the river rumbles on by
tearing apart stones that tempt languor
the whisper of the flame echos beside
shattering the enforced calm of night
the ripple of battle knits the sky
predator and prey embark in love
the sarcasm of nature building the framework
of piecemeal eternity entrenched in freedom
the cyclical angle of come and go
pout and moan with ardor
as the arbors bend and root
and with this sickening contradiction
this beautiful atrocity
life laughs at the weak, stamps out the strong
and heaves a shiver of mere satisfaction

Joyously we would meander through the peach groves in the month
of April ... A hundred blossoms on every tree , simple everyday beauty as far as my young eyes could see ..
Grape arbors under diligent care , wisteria filled the cool morning air ..
The morning dew , wind blew life into rolling hillsides , Springs new calves played tag in the afternoon sunshine ..
Guineas always longing for new places to forage , piglets in the henhouse , Brown rooster wing to the ground , dancing a warning !
Noon heat and four o'clock showers , the church bell in town struck
every hour ..
Bethel Church would come alive on Sundays , joyous hymns that echoed through the country ..

I yearn for latter-day retreat along the reverent hallways of the South River hollows
Along dewberry arbors , beside the Walnut Tree light encrypted fallows
To afternoon Black Angus calling the day to close  
For silhouetted properties atop lavender valleys , gravel driveways meandering back to home
The high Moons certain visage reflecting across the olive waters , country lanes splitting evergreen forest ..

The dark purple muscadine arbors of July forever bring
joy and laughter at times , powder blue dreams in a simple , curious
frame of mind , **** moments of bliss , fresh cut green alleyways coupled with the smoke of lit field periphery .. Wild plum trees flourished , these red delights are forever cherished .. Collecting the bounty at Dusk with paper bags , eating our fill on the front porch , continuous hand to mouth till our tummies were full , practically never getting enough ...Concord grapes were most abundant , Nana would make a tasty juice concoction to have in the Winter , the sweet taste of Summer made available for us in cool November ...Blackberries filled the rural roadside around the first of July , cool mornings with straw hat and boots to fend off the briars , surrounded by beautiful songbirds seeking the same sweet prizes ....

In 'Natalie' , wildflower speckled August
Herons sail portals of sky blue as Cinnamon -
butterflies farm lush scuppernong arbors
Redtailed Kings patrol their sun-laced piedmont sheriffdom engulfed in songbird tune and Sugar Pine perfume* ....

Sing, beloved, blessed, with boldness!
Sing to the causes of life and love,
Sing to the hoary stars above;
Such grace to bestow our promise!

Not without misery, pain, or woe,
Sing to the blackness and make it unso!
Sing to the absence of memory, time,
Sing to the love, the rhythm, the rhyme!

Sing, my beloved, to countless regrets;
Sing to the face of cold harbor chills;
Sing beneath arbors of turbulent skies;
Sing above witness, without claim distilled!
Sing to the freedom, that which we find,
Kept off and distant, no notion of time,
No more hubristic than a solemn man’s rhyme,
No more than a mystic foretelling sublime.
Sing above apathy, sing above pain,
Sing beneath empathy, lowly with shame,
Sing at the level of the beggar and call
That solitary banter which draws us all.

Along the white sugar river bend
Dew kissed fields of clover set ablaze -
in midmorning sunshine
July arbors teeming with concord grape ,
scuppernong and muscadine
Whitewashed farmsteads , aromatic ploughlands ,
red clay shoulders girdling country byways
The cackle of curious guineas , of bay hounds and
gray geese
The clap of breeze driven mirrored cattle-
ponds
The splash of shellcracker , bluegill , yellowbellies
and bull frogs
Land of a million daylight colors  
Woodland groves sprinkled in piedmont -
blues , in golden stippled brushstrokes across antebellum -
oak and majestic pines ...