Memaw & Pepaw ..Mason Dixon Saturday night,
Just sippin' muscadine wine by the Tennessee moonlight
Rockin' chairs...Zenith Black and White
Roy, Buck, Minnie Pearl a Hee Haw delight.

Crickets a chirpin' and a Frogs a croakin'
Toe tapin' rhythm's got em all in motion.
Corn fields swaying like a metronome
Watching those two dance to cotton eye Joe!

Sunday mornings best at the Church of Christ,
Me, I'm Thinkin' bout Memaws country gravy, my fav-o-rite!
Fried Chicken, taters, eggs sunny side right,
These are the memories I like to recite.

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 ..

Biscuit and sorghum syrup happy faces with Georgia peach butter and blackberry muffins , childhood favorites that tickle the palette !
For a bag of Fall persimmons , a handful of roasted pecans I would gladly cross the Alcovy River naked as a jaybird !
Rutabagas , turnips and cracklin cornbread would be my staple of choice if marooned on an island , a Frosty Root beer and mothers egg custard !
Peach ice cream and scuppernong jelly , fig preserves and tomato gravy !
Columbus grits and Claxton fruitcake , Vidalia onion rings , Elijay apples !
In my next life I relish the very thought of becoming a Cardinal , turned loose in a muscadine arbor ! The most heart stopping  , meanest scarecrow ever made would be no match for a wise old crow in a watermelon patch ! Mockingbird busy in a old plum tree , a honeybee in a clover field as far as the eye can see !

Curt morning Cardinal , thy gamut echoes the Pin Oak grove
Songs that travel the back country road
Scarlet harper 'neath the cane creek valley , trilling , wild berry , muscadine captaincy
Tenacious , agrarian , amusing wonder* ...

Flavors of blackberry ,
of muscadine and persimmon ,
of brine collecting at the trunk of
tall oaks
Flesh salted in wild abandon
Lovers feasting upon air ,
upon one another along the
marsh , the shrieks of conclusion
borne of March
Naked receiver , child of April
Call o'er cattail , sawgrass and -
Savannah dancer* ..

Our alabaster skeletons,
our framework of ancient spires
arching to the heavens and
hung with multicolored glass
sunlight pours through as visitors gasp
and kneel and besmirch and knock over
Muscadine,
the Eucharist and Time.

Marigolds twinkle in July's ******* ,
Turquoise butterflies , picture postcard weather ...
Morning dew cools latent heat , hitchhikers
gather on wet blue jeans ...

Agrarian summertime dreams , days of Strawberry
wine , brilliant stars that whispered cool nights ...
Muscadine harvest , fireworks at horizons edge , Roman candles and rocket lights whistled low piedmont refrains ...

Reflect on the flowers that highlight the Earth , the fire in a lovers heart ...
Bread upon the altar for poet and poetess that passed before my time ...
Pray for peace , hope eternal and love for all mankind ....
Place my remains upon a pyre fueled with yellow Pine .....
I pray that my ash and smoke , will ride upon the Eastern Wind .....
Over cotton field and pecan grove enroute to tranquil sea...To be carried over Blue Ridge Mountain , sorghum field and meandering creek ......
Over man made impoundments of West Point , Allatoona and Lanier .....
To Columbus and Albany , over peanut estate and cornfield , farmhouse , silo and pond......Through Apple orchard in Ellijay and peach orchard in Locust Grove ... Through grape , muscadine and scuppernong arbor in McDonough , Monroe and Braselton ....Over Panola , Kennesaw , Blood and Stone Mountain....Across Chattahoochee , Flint , Savannah , Alcovy and Ocmulgee Rivers ....To be born , grow , flourish and love.. To mourn and to pass ..Over Georgia ..  Forever !....

She smells the way my mothers hair smelled when I was a child; back when playing in my mother's hair brought me peace. She smells like the play house I made out of pine needles and hay bails. She feels like rain falling onto the deck my father fished from every evening. She sounds like his foot steps coming up behind me. When she holds my waist, her arms feel like the chains of the swing-set he built between the two pine trees in my back yard (firm and incapable of letting me fall). She tastes like blackberry and muscadine wine and jam and pie. She feels like sticky skin after hours of picking them from the woods behind the old shed. She reminds me of the beginning of fall and blooming lemons trees. She even smells like citrus. She's everything that's ever made me whole. She's what brings me peace. She reminds me what home is supposed to be. She's given me back everything I've loved and lost. She's everything to me and this is why.

Mid-morning aphrodisiacs
Captured in a paper sack
Prickly , briarwood coffers-
crackle in a sea of purple dreams ..
A curious maze of pure amazement
Dove in sweet refrains ..
Sing to laborious hours ...
Yodel the praises of God Almighty
The choirs of Heaven tremble-
tall canopies ..
Pine straw carpets
Tingling sunrays ..
Noontide relief and absolution ..
Fluent songbirds with tasteful elocution ..

Lightning , stars and muscadine wine
Counting 'Angels Fire ' by increasing moonlight
Rain cooled midnight , lonely , solo whippoorwills ,
fresh cut hayfields
Coyote calls , crying for the morn
Nervous new acquaintances , be of free will
and let your love soar ...

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 ....

Some say the lights that fly by my
window are cars
I say they're E.T's come from afar , navigating State Highways ,
plotting the eventual take over of Hill Country
byways
Counting every house , curiously watching the cattle ,
young colts in mock battle , a braying mule
at the Tilson's Farm , a turkey hen in feathered charms
Maybe they've discovered that dried up still on Camp Creek
Or run up on Papas liquor bottles behind the 'bee-keeps'
Checking out the jeans and bloomers on Mama's clothesline
Or drinking Uncle Preachers muscadine wine way before it's time* ..

I promised her
A G-Wagon and a Camaro SS
Had her thinkin that I was the best
And we gon make it out the hood.
I had promised her
That we gon build a business together
And... You know what?
**** this weather,
Its been raining all my life,

Hell,

"Baby you bout to be my wife."

I promised her a garden of sunkissed
Cayenne roses and
Crepe Myrtles,

Oh **** a graden of Crepe myrtles,
And an ****** from a drop of the finest wine
Fresh from a muscadine fruit.
I promised her the best time in our youth
And a sweet tooth,
She got a knack for sugar rushes
And blushes.

I promised her a gold and diamond pinky ring,
And a Mariachi Band
Dark purple amethyst stones
In her hands,
Laying down on a black sand beach.

Cause life's a beach,
But I gave her a tidal wave of lies..........

A storm is brewing,
And I found peace with ignoring her calls
For the past few days,
Getting lazy,
The air getting hazy
And maybe I'll hit her back when I'm ready.
Maybe I'll get her back when I'M steady,
Ready, willing and able.

She approached me,
"...I thought you said you don't like fables."
I said "Baby I read fairy tales growing up,
And my whole life has been a biography."
Because I feel like someone is writing down everything I do.
Even the love I had for you.
Never knew how to stay true,
But always stuck to myself,
Hell if it was possible,
Stuck to my wealth.

But try me,
Like James Brown to his "hands down."
That's my best friend.
Walk with me
Talk with me,
And watch how good I make you believe in my vanity.
Fall into my trap door,
You walk in on a cracked floor,
And when you fall thru,
I'll call you,
"The Queen of Stupidity"
Only because...
You really thought you was getting into me.

Dummy.

i saw the sunrise in mundelein and for the first time, i felt alive.
i plucked a muscadine from the vine, casting aside the rind;
my girl was surprised to find me in a different frame of mind.
she sighed, i hope you remain aligned.
i took her by my side and said, "i made up my mind".
i forgave myself for my past crimes and that was the last time
i brought up my past life.

© Matthew Harlovic

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 ...

I oft-recall the fume o'er -
Port lake
Egrets with the patience -
of Job
Lapping silver waters
Morning sun ever bright and bold
Harper tree frogs , smoky bogs , painted -
turtles on floating logs
Creations blue eyes at her -
surface
Wind dancers falling into -
the red earth , shores bedecked -
in dogwood , cattail , dandelion and
river birch
Brambles , feeder streams , nuthatch
and thrasher
Bluejays sing the praises of aromatic pineywoods -
high above their muscadine mansions
The crackle of gravel as I walk her shady , serpentine -
trails
The patter of wind seduced silver maples
The call and answer of sparrows along -
the barbed wire fence rail

A midst of humidity and heat
I walk bare foot through the scene
Barren muscadine vines cascade
All around my ankles
I can hear roaring in the distance
So let us walk towards that beacon

I come upon the sir
It holds its paw out,
I've never been one for handshakes
But this feels right
A sweet rendezvous
Dear peacekeeper of the woods,

Hello. May we meet again.
....... ................... .............. .. ........
Now, running through the ghettos
Picking up crumbs
Delusional
Convinced I am Robin Hood
And my people are birds
Come save the people with me
............. .   ............... ......................

I used to like the sound of spring
We sit under the muscadine
The flowers only bloom
We too
We too

I watched with youthful vision
Thinking this
Is why I'm living
And love was merely matephor
For life

I used to like the sound of spring
The wrens and in the citrus grove
The honeysuckles sweet
We too
We too

I felt in jubilation
Thinking this
Is my salvation
And hope was born with every sun
Will rise

I've read many a book since then
Suffered many a scar

I used to like the sound of spring
I used to