"piedmont" poems
complexity
is your beauty
simplicity
your mystery
interdependence
sustains you
once upon a time
we dipped bowls
into your waters
and brought up
draughts of life
now
Skipjacks go
fathoms deep
into endless
depletion
charting
entangled
dead zones
broadening
into a sea of
inertness
your delicate
eco-essence tips
toward oblivion
effluvia farmers
layer mechanized
blankets of
nitrates on your
sunset shores
weaving
green tendrils
of algae blooms
strangling the
entanglements
of all links in
your miraculous
food chain
the EPA
proscribes
a Jenny Craig
pollution diet
to halt the
slaughter in
oxygen
challenged
dead zones
where rockfish
are garroted,
oysters get drilled
by screwworms
and azure tinted
soft shell *****
dance soft
shoe taps
lifting a tinny
chorus of sad
Piedmont Blues
the flat-lining
watersheds
voiceless
warnings
tremble
rocking the
purged nests of
screaming ospreys
in vocal protest
of a sinking
Tangier Isle
anointing it’s
tombstones
of unvisited
cemeteries with
multicolored
guano
fitting
alkaline
tributes
to the lost
inhabitants
and forgotten
languages
sinking into the
brine of gray
brackish tides
Delmarva’s fine
intra-continental
balance skewed
by the oozing
industrial swill
of Frank Perdue
chicken farms
ruling the roost of
sanctioned sustainability
tinging clear watersheds
of finger lakes
set in splints to
repair dislocations
and complex
compound fractures
that may never heal
again
Music Selection:
Taj Mahal: Fishin Blues
jbm
Oakland
6/7/12
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
*Frolicking 'Gray's' across golden seas
of Dawn fescue , easing collective thoughts pining
for morningtide rescue
Wild Daises committed to the ever rising
July sunlight , iridescent Hummers circling the piedmont
furrows , tickled Crows burst into laughter in mid-flight
Cardinals and Chickadees relay their gift of self
High above the diamond studded hillside shelf* ....
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 10:03 AM UTC
I saw you last year this time
I can't believe I was the last person of my family to see you
I can't believe I never saw the letter
I can't believe your belt was your last way out
I can't believe the way I cried at your funeral
I can't believe that I chain smoked outside
and saw so many of my mothers and fathers
as they all hunched over to cry
I just remember loving you dearly
watching you dance for sobriety
and win
and I remember the photos of mom in her old salon
your hair was so big
well, that was the 80s
and I'm sad I didn't live it with you
I can't believe I was the last person to see you
I can't believe you killed yourself
I still can't believe it
So I'll visit your tree in Piedmont Park
and think of all the things I can believe
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 9:44 AM UTC
There was a time in Europe long ago
When no man died for freedom anywhere,
But England’s lion leaping from its lair
Laid hands on the oppressor! it was so
While England could a great Republic show.
Witness the men of Piedmont, chiefest care
Of Cromwell, when with impotent despair
The Pontiff in his painted portico
Trembled before our stern ambassadors.
How comes it then that from such high estate
We have thus fallen, save that Luxury
With barren merchandise piles up the gate
Where noble thoughts and deeds should enter by:
Else might we still be Milton’s heritors.
1.4k
*Honeysuckle carrier churning the spring-
river caladium
Easterly shear delight beyond Dresden blue visage
Windy dream mermaid sea , Brown Pelican motion
Harper Chickadees stirring Pineapple sage-
banks of thought
Tempered , smitten , physical piedmont devotion
Pisciform schooners roaming wits damask ocean*
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
*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* ...
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 3:29 PM UTC
*The Wurlins sweeten muscadines on the vine , gather morning dew
in Petunia buckets , hollow out acorns to carry their Clover honey lunches
They ride June bugs by the light of the Moon
Entice Tree frogs to strike up a tune
Make Huckleberry wine and Sassafras brandy
Pecan coffee and Honeysuckle candy*....
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
Cascading , omnipotent life water of Cherokee and Creek ,forged in granite , red clay, confident tributary and commensal partner of damselfly , alligator turtle and heron ..
Mature , altruistic bounty brought unto industrious native people , turbulent tributary of the Piedmont .. Mother of the fertile southern crescent !.......
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
*Bucolic piedmont woodland avenues , where rain clouds touch the hillside after welcome showers have passed
Where pungent fields of green native wild grass connect ones place
with his past
Red-tailed Hawk sentries stand guard o'er Loblolly Pine forest
Contemplative Blue Herons work scenic marshland unnoticed
Land of Pink Dogwood , Cane and blackberry thicket
Of riparian wonders , foggy cattle- worn bottom land , lake dancers that twirl morning side West Point , Lanier and Oconee inlets
To rural lanes colored with the blessings of home* .....
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
*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* ...
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
Ince St. Child
by Michael R. Burch
When she was a child
in a dark forest of fear,
imagination cast its strange light
into secret places,
scattering traces
of illumination so bright,
years later, they might suddenly reappear,
their light undefiled.
When she was young,
the shafted light of her dreams
shone on her uplifted face
as she prayed;
though she strayed
into a night fallen like mildewed lace
shrouding the forest of screams,
her faith led her home.
Now she is old
and the light that was flame
is a slow-dying ember . . .
What she felt then
she would explain;
she would if she could only remember
that forest of shame,
faith beaten like gold.
Published by Piedmont Literary Review, Songs of Innocence, Romantics Quarterly and Poetry Life & Times. This is an unusual poem that I wrote in my late teens or early twenties, and it took me some time to figure out who the elderly woman was. She was a victim of childhood ****** hence the title I eventually chose. Keywords/Tags: child, abuse, ****** fear, night, faith, prayer, screams, shame, beaten
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 4:12 AM UTC
*Kinetic waves of sweet water blessings , steaming blacktop
thoroughfares , trickling from gutter caps , rushing from downspouts , tapping my bedroom window like a childhood friend calling me to venture out
Petrichor melodies , Sun glistening Red Tip hedges
Wetted , diamond zoysia gardens
Culling roadside berries with cool naked
feet , with operatic fantasia rumbles the ubiquitous ' Thunder Roll ' , Blackbird gaggles resume their familiar treetop chorus in the ebony sky retreat of the afternoon Chattahoochee Summer heat* .......
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
One summer evening some friends and I went to Piedmont park in Atlanta Georgia to "see" Ray Charles and to hear him perform.
There were so many people, and it was so crowded that people were raising all kinds of hell. They were yelling over the music for others to sit down because they couldn't see Ray Charles playing the piano.
This totally infuriated me!
I was 20 years old and ready to stand up for ol' Ray Charles up there, even though he was well equipped to take up for himself!
He stopped mid-song because of all the commotion. When he did, I screamed at the top of my voice; "why don't ya'll all just sit down, Shut Up and LISTEN to him?!" He can't SEE any of you, DO ya'll think THAT stops HIM from making beautiful music for us?"
The crowd was totally quiet!
Everyone EXCEPT Ray Charles, that is!
He let out a great big smile and said ;"Right on Baby........Not seein' never stopped MY show!"
At that moment I felt such pride, embarrassment, and joy that I could not do anything but stand there and be mesmerized by Ray Charles, the man.... His music... And his words......
Here it is 16 years later.
After watching his movie. I have learned something new about myself through Mr.Ray Charles once more.
I am like the man, not the legend, in that I too was born with many disabilities. I was not even expected to live through birth, now after cheating death six times, I finally realize that through my mother's guidance and the will that she instilled in me, I did live! And what a life it has been!
Only now though, that my mom is gone from here, do I realize that while trying so hard to hide my pain, to overcome obstacles, and become more than she imagined, I crippled myself.
I crippled myself just as Mr. Ray Charles did, in order to hide his guilt for something thing that he had no control over during his childhood.
We went down the very same road....
Medicating the pain of life through ****** addiction and self destruction.
Oh how nice it feels to sit next to myself and see that little girl who did not know anything else to do........
It feels good to understand. And to forgive........
I love you Mama.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
The piedmont basks in the glow
of yet another morning star rising.
Robins join in with a chorus of warblers,
chipmunks chase tails,
herons sift through the sand,
and the dew veil is lifted.
O My Sweet Lord,
it's great to be alive
in this sacred land.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 6:03 AM UTC
Wisteria perfumes the morning vale as piedmont sunshine accentuates oak grove dales The knell of dawn church bells travel while azalea , hibiscus an begonia color a town square guarded by black granite warriors...
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 8:16 PM UTC
Country boy you haven't lived till you see the lights on Peachtree Street..
I could say the same thing about the fireflies on a July evening ,
The Buckhead nights on the north side of Atlanta ,
The solitude with your maker on the Chattahoochee River ..
A baseball game at Turner Field on a May afternoon ,
a flock of Wild turkey's against the setting Sun in June ..
Piedmont Park and the Botanical Garden ,
Wood Ducks feeding on a quiet , country pond in late August ..
People watching at a outdoor cafe in Midtown ,
Meditating amongst the Tall Pines with no one around ..
The High Museum and the Downtown nights ,
The morning call of Crows with the first glimmer of sunlight ..
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 7:33 PM UTC
Observance
by Michael R. Burch
Here the hills are old and rolling
casually in their old age;
on the horizon youthful mountains
bathe themselves in windblown fountains . . .
By dying leaves and falling raindrops,
I have traced time's starts and stops,
and I have known the years to pass
almost unnoticed, whispering through treetops . . .
For here the valleys fill with sunlight
to the brim, then empty again,
and it seems that only I notice
how the years flood out, and in . . .
This is an early poem that made me feel like a “real poet.” I remember writing it in the break room of the McDonald's where I worked as a high school student. I believe that was at age 17. "Observance" was originally published by Nebo as "Reckoning." It was later published by Tucumcari Literary Review, Piedmont Literary Review, Verses, Romantics Quarterly, the anthology There is Something in the Autumn, and Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: hills, mountains, valleys, time, seasons, years, fall, leaves, flood, cycle, horizon, brim, rim
Mar 24, 2020
Mar 24, 2020 at 9:55 PM UTC
the skinny beggar man
stands across the street
his hands open for lack of words
his knees and words falter-- stutter
next to him
a middle-aged lady
impatiently presses the crosswalk button
every day that I'm here
I see him. greeting
pleading, thanking
leaving, head hanging
and repeating
just for loose change
today he is wearing a shirt that
in big gothic letters
reads "royalty"
and I smile.
he is.
he is the king of frantic hellos
he is the king of pointy, unkempt hair
he is the king of politely harassing
he is the king of asking for what you can spare
he is the king of your reluctance, your refusal
he is the king of disappointed gestures
he is the king of gracefully moving on
he is the king of Piedmont Avenue
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC
Indigo ceilings that shroud juniper and shamrock greens ,
Quiet country roads engrave fields of sorghum and hay , a bejeweled rolling piedmont in full Autumn splendor .. Orange sunsets embrace migrating waterfowl performing life melodies , Bobwhite quail and Killdeer profess the close of day ..
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
*There's a saga in every direction
Stories to be told , a lesson languishing -
o'er tilled countryside and dirt road
Smokehouses , immaculate small towns
Sorghum presses , Pecan groves , Loblolly Crowns
May Robin carols , topwater Bream slice the surface of
brook fed glass ponds , Whippoorwill's , Pileated Knights worshipping the given Dawn*
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
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 ...
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
Oconee's throwing reflections at Dusk
Heavenly Monarch orange fields with -
Dove and Wood Duck silhouettes
Autumn , cool dreamscapes christened by -
the Evening Star , shadow boat anglers and -
lamp lit docks
The smoky breath of lakeside cabins
Intrinsic , moonlight interpretations -
over the piedmont treetops
The clap of olive turbid water against her granite -
embankments , voices echo over watery nighttime
level , schools of shad decorate and skim the surface
Carolina blue bows to ebony star filled October night
Dark plains teeming with starlight imagination
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
I consider myself indebted to incalculable probability , allotted a brief stint upon this miracle dubbed Earth..
Blessed with eyes that perceive far beyond abstract form and color , pupils that recognize each human emotion , casual glance or smile aimed in my direction .. Ears that detect the intricacy of classical compositions , miraculously discern laughter from tattered speech , a cry of joy from a call for help ..
The aroma of raging conflagrations distinguished from chimney smoke , hot meals or Pine forest from honeysuckle and rose petal .
A plethora of gustatory charms committed to memory .. Wisteria within the tempestuous breeze , a kiss on the cheek , butterscotch ***** to a spot of tea ..
Arms that have cradled grandchildren , plowed Spring fields till sundown , crossed cool Piedmont streams , cut firewood and all manner of farm labors . Laden with Summer harvest , performing guitar melodies on late Summer evenings ..
Recording my observations with the eye of a poet , from the invocation of mankind's document , a penned treatise of my beloved Georgia ..
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
*I thought of May briefly with her clay vases of portulaca ever spreading
Cut grass lending fair fragrance to
daydreams , bare feet treading cold , hidden
streams
The call and answer of whippoorwills
Evening Whitetails gracing green clover hills
To lie mure in evergreens
Swaddled in piedmont fantasy*..
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
*The crying sky with heavy afternoon crystal
drops of heartache tickling
sweetgrass mingled with newfound sunshine
With piedmont wine forming perfect pools ,
ushering streams to awaiting seas
A place to bathe for romantics like me
A home for springtide antics ,
for polka dot bullfrogs , singing daisies ,
red grass blankets and apple tree sergeants
Windemere spiderlings , crooning wood larks ,
hereford dancers crossing purple clover parks* ..
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 6:59 PM UTC