come choked up bled up fed up folks
and drink my robust brew my sweet Catawba
no, my sauterene or rock and rye
brush that musty blue off your cog stained collar
and stay a while
pay a while
two beers later when your tongue seethes dry
try my salt savored fish, my baked bean surprise
tilt your nostrils and inhale my dried herring
my free lunched ties really please the eyes
I’ll saturate your wet drawn gobs
like sand slips through sieves  
teasing you by my strategic arrayed feast
until dollars are quenched out
by watering tongues that then dry the eyes
so come stand social where men may be men
enter through my wood swinging shut
-tered realm
and slug down your ticking inhibitions
gobble up this wonderful enterprise
and leave with that coat savored
by the mixed smell of sawdust, alcohol and cigars
hell, there’s no manners here
and class only exists in tolerance
for it feeds a fine exchange for a parcel of wage
to forget that day you bonded your body to your lady’s gaze
to forget the rascals of tots that teeth at you feet
to forgot the boss that tills your knees
so lets play mirror medley choose your poison
and chose it quick
this may be the Poor Man’s Retreat
but pocket less men make me tick

Catawba, said the bird,
it grows like the mighty Canadians
and is perfect for teas
say what?
Like shrivled little ants on logs
the water left our bodies
sweat and evaporation
hard work made such events occur
toiling away
night and day
doing that **** we do
which is......
anyway.
One time I saw the sun come up
it sprang, so to speak
and on the peak of that afternoon
it fell down
but there was no moon
nope
just a blackness without stars
or light
just had to feel around with hands and sounds and smells
felt like an animal
heightend and feral
good time to be unseen
who knows what the birds would have thought
they were real animals
we were just the blinded re-enactors stumbling around
even though everything was as it had always been

Spinning silver , silken sweaters with -
my catawba brethren , foresting oakwood estates
beside red fox companions , in witness of white-tail herds ,
compelling frigid streams of yellow perch and shellcracker , lemongrass sun hued byways engulfed in dewdrop prisms reign atop pattern encrusted red clay earth
In memory of morning , of the caterwauling Alabama easterlies ,
of vagabond waterbirds that sail frost laden , bucolic scenery

I wrote a story about April , she thanked me with a
yellow butterfly trimmed in black .. A Catawba worm
busy spinning webs , determined seedlings adrift just above the tall green grass .. I should write a poem for June at the beginning of May , of fanciful
flowers and fluffy chicks , homemade vanilla ice cream with cinnamon sticks . Blue candy sky with a marshmallow cloud , a laughing frog ,
a summer day of boating on a faraway pond ..

i may never have
spain or france
but i’ll always have
this

sun bleached
pavement of rt 89
that crawls its way
through tiny towns
over hills
and around
haze kissed
blue water

a tickle
of crisp
cider

wine
swirling
splashing

it all pools together
in my head
terms and types and
flavors

spontaneously fermented
ambient yeast

funky orange wine
geodesic concrete

ducks and geese
and state regulations

i want to take notes
pour drops on
the page
absorb every
milliliter of
information

hold it in my hand
and squeeze
until streams of
honey and pear
citrus and ginger
and every other
golden
unattainable ideal
run through
my hands

until the cold weather climate
native pink catawba
fermenting inside me
turns into something more
than the sum of its
component parts

saying i want it
doesn’t even begin
to cover it
it’s not just want

it's an ache
and the
ache is lust
impure and sticky
trapping itself between
my fingers

the ache is greed
green and trailing
the ache is desire
blue and rolling
the ache is passion
blood red and dripping

the ache
sinks itself
into my skull
like a nail

the antidote
is the very
thing that
caused it

pain and comfort
are both the same
and they come
in an opaque bottle
with a label that says
"made in new york"

so was i
and when i die
i hope i come back
as a cat
on an old man’s
patio or the echo in
a cavernously empty
tasting room

the sediment in
the bottom of your glass
the urge to try
something new

i don’t know what
my future holds
but i know
i’ll always have

this moment
moss on rocks that
have never had a
chance to dry out
water pouring out
of a pipe
in the side of a hill
into my insulated cup
the coldest
purest
most delicious
beverage my
this day
has to offer

i don’t know what
my future holds
but something tells me
i’ll be okay

and i may not have
spain or france
but i’ll always have
today

Just a little bit of Heaven from a time just bare remembered,
My Carolina homeland twixt the mountains and the sea

Home of the Catawba, the Wando, and the Winya, the Sewee, and the Cooso, the Hook and Cherokee.

A paradise of wildlife, too numerous to mention, the Bob Cat and the gator, the home of Whitetail deer.

From the Blue Ridge in the Piedmont, to the vast Atlantic Ocean with the rolling greens, the stands of pine and swamplands caught between.  

Just a little bit of Heaven from a time just bare remembered,
My Carolina homeland twixt the mountains and the sea

A place of history making from the early 1650s, through the War of Independence to shake the British yoke.

The War of Abolition for the rights of Southern freedom that left this ground the final resting place of men in Southern gray.

Not a place of grandiosity but genteel decorum, we still teach our kids the decency of conventionality.

Stand when a lady enters, don’t you dare fall into gaucheness, show respect if its respect you want and always say yes Ma’am and Sir.


Just a little bit of Heaven from a time just bare remembered,
My Carolina homeland twixt the mountains and the sea

My time on earth grows short now; I’ll soon be taken homeward, to a better place I have been told across the glassy sea.

To a place of peace and joy, of eternal sunshine, a place of satisfaction located in eternity.

And as my mind turns inward; in final preparation; one thought prevails my thinking as I ponder all these things.

Though I still have many questions, there is one thing I am sure of; about this place of rest that’s on the other side.

It will be a replication of the little bit of Heaven; that was my Carolina homeland twixt the mountains and the sea
  
May 02 2018 Dr. Benjamin B. Driggers
Dr. Driggers is originally from Williamsburg County SC