"ozarks" poems
Camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains
was the greatest day of my life
It was my birthday
I brought a suitcase
and my favorite dame
and hiked 2 miles UP^^^^^^^^
laughing all the way
UP ^^^^^in the Ozarks
Medics were shooting steroids in my ****
BUT, never been more in love
with a man who injects grief in my veins
Dwelling in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains
sensed his vibe
Yes, Jesus I feel you here
held en el Rio Grande con mis mejor amigos
drooling in the hot springs
Taos has called our names
********* the rocky sand that is below me
I find a coin from New Zealand,
in turn, losing my evil eye earring
an offering to spirit's stream
a pair of desert lizards
we desire to get frisky and be alone
we shine silver glitter under a moonlit glow
witches cackle and curanderos
hide behind coyote cries and cacti
looking to each other with faces expressing,
"What should do we do?"
I guess allow them to do their thing
humans need ceremonies too
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 1:36 AM UTC
homage to Wallace Stevens
I - My Focus pistoned up the rise
and all at once, the Rockies -
silhouettes against the western skies.
II - On the road to Boulder
a pleated ridge crawls north
like a blue whale bound for the open sea.
III - Appalachia's intoxicating verdure
never fails to induce in us
a certain mellowing of the spirit.
IV - You 'conquered' my North Face, did you?
Why, I should skewer your arrogant ***
like a holiday lamb culled for the sacrifice.
V - Lewis and Clark looked west
surveying the Bitterroots' frigid expanse.
Farewell Northwest Passage!
VI - Pueblos stranded on Enchanted Mesa -
their rock stairs crumbled to the valley floor.
Should they dive to their death or starve?
VII –Touristas at Big Bend Park
wonder at its pastel window -
its romantic haze a toxic gift
from stacks across the Rio Grande.
VIII – The once mighty Ozarks humbled by age,
dwarfed by the youthful Rockies.
Listen up, youngsters, your time will come!
IX – We de-bussed to seize the dolomites
with our hyper-kinetic shutters.
Pausing for a draught of Italian air,
I felt the whack of an Alpine snowball.
X - Before Oregon's crater had its lake,
the mountain scorched the village below.
Today its azure waters preach only serenity.
XI – Looking down from Shissler peak
to the golden meadow below
where the elk herd calmly grazes.
XII – Do mists veil the Blue Ridge Mountains
or are there really no mountains at all -
only clouds decked out in mountain attire?
XIII – They say that peaks more steep than Everest
soar up from the ocean floor.
Who will scale their sunken heights?
May 28, 2010 – Boulder Colorado
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
In the Boondocks of the Ozarks
Salty caramel smelt of August
Swathes stench of rotten trailer parks
Imprisons barren mid-west dust
Feral fevered kids a hunting
For to cool; shoot up, or drink
Arthritic railroad; tie and shunting
Ferrous old town wretched on the brink
Since the cease of mine and logging
Depletion of iron lead and zinc
Nag horse too dead for flogging
Folks futures draining down the sink
Some respite in the summer heat
RV’s; tourists and campers for trails
Like blackfly plague pick off the meat
Fly fast; escape as another harvest fails
Dark currents pepper darker mood
Intolerance grinds in the daily way
Resentment bread as only food
At someone’s door the blame shall lay
In the graveyard of the Ozarks
Rednecks dance on industry tombs
Burn brown smoke spice. Moonshine sparks
Oblivion; no life. Back to mothers' womb
©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
Bats arrived
In the Ozark hills
Lived among
The people
Taking a human body
As the sun went down
Some got drunk
On homemade whiskey
Passing out
Getting trapped
By the bright morning sunrise
Turning to mere dust
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC
Golden sand tickling your toes
Pebbles gleaming, glistening, slushing
When the tide comes back to shore.
Sand dunes hiding wildlife,
Multitudes of migratory birds,
Safely returning every year to
This beautiful, marshy paradise.
Skies so orange, pink and red,
An artists palette of natural art
Greet you at sunrise and sunset.
***** kippers, cod and plaice
Shrimps, cockles and whelks,
Mushy, minty peas and chips,
The show at the end of the pier.
The lifeboats and their hardy crew
Risking their lives to save others,
When visitors run into trouble
At the mercy of the cold North Sea.
Crumbling coastlines, cliff walks
And nature reserves full of the
Scent of wild garlic and herbs,
Norfolk lavender. Steam engines,
Fishing boats, river boats,
Paddling boats and cycles
Take you on journeys
Around the Broads or
Past the famous Castles.
Tigers and leopards peer
Through the bars of their
Zoo homes by the sea.
Easterly winds that bite your
Fingers as they whistle and
Howl through the City.
Guest houses closed for
The winter as you stroll
The lonely promenades
Breathing in the air.
Queen Bodicea, Normans,
Vikings and Romans all
Marched through this
Historical landscape
And yet we remain
Stalwart and strong
Proud of our heritage,
Our roots, our birthplace
There's only one place
Better than Norfolk,
And that's the
Beautiful Ozarks.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
we went to Little Blue
that summer in a bum'd car.
riding in extravagance
we couldn't afford.
camping in the Oklahoma ozarks,
we brought liquor. the two of us
drank a half-litre honey whiskey
and twenty-eight of thirty Pabsts.
your chick only nab'd two.
we were sunk from that point on.
i vomit'd behind the car, and
there were left retched handprints.
left were a phantom's handprints,
having been drown'd by their hedonism.
the bikers partied along
with us apart from us.
they ask'd to use our hatchet,
that's the way we met.
men share tools, and that was
the only instance of civility
for two days. we ran feral.
rip'd shirt to ribbons,
wrap'd them 'round a stick,
soak'd citronella,
commenced adventure.
returning,
two hours time gone;
returning,
scratch'd and bleeding;
returning,
we lit their paths with
torch burning a primal fire;
sleep,
pass'd out by fire in lounge chair.
been in this spot before,
knew to bring a quilt
and mine was the only one.
startled awake,
fire nothing more than nightlight embers.
raccoon, sitting upright,
stared from his high perch of a picnic table.
apple in paws, nibbling,
he mock'd and monitor'd.
i swiped at it with a stick,
missed. said **** it.
slept in the car that night.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 7:23 AM UTC
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Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
The L.O.Z.,
The place to be,
The party town of Missouri,
Is what I call home.
The hills of the Ozarks
House every known allergen, as
Well as families that are cooking
Something to be paranoid about.
This man made body of
Water holds the rumors of
Dead bodies and piranhas
That parents tell as wives tales.
The forever changing lanes
Of highway will lead you
To the same place; once
You're here, you'll never leave.
The rolling landscape is covered
In litter and overgrown weeds.
Crosses from car wreck casualties
Line the roads like misplaced bones.
Everyone that isn't from here
Thinks that this is paradise.
Everyone that lives here
Calls it the State of Misery.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
The corn stocks shocked across the field,
and pointing to the sky,
like Indian teepees in a row,
watched the world go by.
The distant hilltops wrap themselves in robes of smoky haze.
Trees leaves painted,
red and gold.
These Indian summer days.
Comments:
(Driving through the Ozarks when the leaves are changing...well you just can't beat the feeling, especially when you're 9 years old)
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
It was a 1905 steam engine passenger train ride
Through the vase landscape being wide
Old Marilyn who ran from West Virginia into the Ozarks
The train that took the name Marilyn from celebrity Marilyn Monroe
Old Marilyn who would run through Overlook Peak and refurbish at Thunder’s Retreat
Everyone from one community to another would see Old Marilyn’s puff of smoke and hear her horn
It would be a signal that “Old Marilyn is coming through”
The passengers enjoyed the scenery ride
It was sit back, and take it in your stride
Old Marilyn had even more history of its own
No one really would have known
Many Celebrities and even one President travelled on Old Marilyn
But Old Marilyn was history when she took the name
As train design changed, Old Marilyn was a name that didn’t remain
The changing of the times
The memory of Old Marilyn steaming around
One could still hear “All Aboard in anywhere bound”
Puff of smoke with the horn sound
Old Marilyn, you captured my heart
Your name will always be written on the chart
It was your history from the very start.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
Banjos clang out a rhythm and someone hoots on a whiskey jug. A washboard rattles and feet stomp on old boards. A fiddle winds up and echos down the hollow, corn simmers in a *** and biscuits are hot out of the stove. A harmonica whines like a train down empty tracks and a juice harp twangs. People dance and laugh as children run around. The sound of the Ozarks or the Blue Ridge cannot be mistaken for anything else. People of good spirits and a hard working nature come together you see. They celebrate life and caring for each other at a Bluegrass Jamboree.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC