bayou baby

She comes from the swamplands
Back in the mangrove
Back where the stories say
Magic runs wild
The devil plays host
And all who visit must stay

Witches and Zombies
Together by night
Gators and Snakes there as well
The river, it changes
Cut you off in a flash
And then you end up in hell

Hair as black as Kentucky Coal
And eyes green as the sea
She's the witch queen of the swamp to most
But, she's a Bayou Baby to me
Born out of the magic's world
Where the mystic world runs free
She's the witch queen of the swamp to most
But, she's a Bayou Baby to me

She comes to town
to get supplies
That's where I saw her first
I followed close
Back to the swamp
And saw her do her worst

A simple boat
A single lamp
An oarsmen, long, long dead
A different route
Through water black
To a place where most folks dread

Hair as black as Kentucky Coal
And eyes green as the sea
She's the witch queen of the swamp to most
But, she's a Bayou Baby to me
Born out of the magic's world
Where the mystic world runs free
She's the witch queen of the swamp to most
But, she's a Bayou Baby to me

She saw me
And I looked back
She knew that I would follow
She slowed down
Her travel home
And she trapped me in the hollow

I never told
Another soul
Of who I go to see
I travel out
At night alone
My Bayou Baby waits for me


Hair as black as Kentucky Coal
And eyes green as the sea
She's the witch queen of the swamp to most
But, she's a Bayou Baby to me
Born out of the magic's world
Where the mystic world runs free
She's the witch queen of the swamp to most
But, she's a Bayou Baby to me

Once upon a time,
there was a prince,
the prince of all the VASHs,
aka Vampire Angel Super Humans.
He lived amongst them,
cherished by all his subjects.

He had everything but what he needed,
he had the good looks,
the "L" skills,
the girls,
the money.

What he longed for was
his parents to help guide him through the wonders of the world,
a girl to treasure and be by his side.

But his parents were gone,
and no girl had a heart as golden as his.

One day, as he trekked through the swamplands with his trusty horse,
he came across a peculiar little girl.
She wasn't much to look,
dark hair, large brown eyes, button nose.
He walked up to her and asked,
"Hello, miss. Might I ask what you are doing here on this splendid day?"
"SHHH!!!"
He stared at this bizarre, short thing and listened.
All he heard were the wings of the dragonflies,
the fluttering, haggard breaths from the girl,
the chirping of the cicadas.

She collapsed.

"Milady!" he caught her in a french dip, right before she fell into the mud.
He carried her over to his mighty stead and carried her home to his castle. There, he brought her to the infirmary and stayed there as the doctors tended to her. Luckily, she had just fainted. What a peculiar thing.

She gasped, and sat upright, looking around.
"Where am I?" she whispered, and turned to the prince, wide eyed.
She fainted again. The prince shook her, calling desperately, "Milady! Milady!" and finally she woke up.

She shook her head and ran out the door.
He caught up with her down the hallway, she wasn't a very good runner.
He cornered her, and leaned in to ask her, unintentionally very sexily,
"Are you okay...? Why did you faint?"

She just looked away, terrified, her eyes round, her face painted red with blush.
"I... I... saw you and was... astounded that you, the prince, was talking to me, and that you were so... dashing..." she stuttered under her breath, and looked up, straight into his cerulean eyes.
He blushed, a bloom of crimson sprinting across his face.
She looked away.

They remained in that awkward position of him with his arms cornering her to the wall, she trying to meld into the wall, for a couple more moments, until the young flabbergasted prince realized what he was doing and let go.
She scurried away and the prince shook his head.

What was he thinking, getting mesmerized by her?
He didn't even know her.
But yet...his heart pounded.
Or rather what was supposed to be his heart.

He walked to his bedroom, locked the door,
and went to sleep dreaming of Ms. Peculiar.

The next day he awoke,
showered,
the girl still running through his mind,
and went to breakfast.
As he sat down,
a servant asked him,
"What would you like to drink this lovely morning, your majesty?"
He looked up, startled, to see the girl he was thinking about all night standing before him, in the traditional ****** maid outfit, blushing, hiding behind her hair, looking at her shoes.
"I would like some orange juice, and some of you please." he replied, realized what he said, abruptly stood up, and walked out of the dining hall.
She stood there, in shock and turned slowly back to the kitchen.

The next meal,
he walked into the dining hall again as if nothing happened.
"What would you like to have to drink for lunch today, your majesty?"
The girl. She was still here.
"Water. Just water. And, I would like to talk to you after lunch, if you would mind."
She was startled, but she nodded and walked away.

After lunch, he fetched her and brought her outside the dining hall.
"Miss, what is your name?"
"Alice, your majesty."
"Alice, would you like to accompany on my adventures? And please, do just call me Cole."
"As you wish, your majesty."
"But do you wish to accompany me? Please, it's Cole."
"I do. Thank you, Co... Cole." she bows deeply, waiting to be dismissed.
"Do you like nature?" She looks up, startled.
"I do, very much."
"I remember you staring at the cattails yesterday. I hope you do forgive me for startling you yesterday."
"No problem, Cole. I shall see you tomorrow?"
"Certainly, I will find you." She scurries away, and unknowingly to him, her heart is pounding, and as she rounds the corners, she presses against the wall, trying to stop blushing, to stop smiling and the drumming in her chest. She peeks around the corner to see him looking longingly back in her direction. They make eye contact, and she quickly hides. He blushes and walks briskly away before he can do something else to embarrass himself even further.

The next day, he jumps out of bed,
Refreshed and awaken by the thought of
Her.
He eagerly gulps up a quick, hearty breakfast and finds Alice with a call of a servant.

"Shall we leave mademoiselle?" He bows and kisses her hand. She blushes, nods quickly, and they walk side by side out of the castle and into the woods, both on horse. She trots slowly behind him, taking in the scenery as he takes in her, her practical clothing,  tough leather boots, tied hair.
"What are you looking at?" She self conciously looks down at her frayed old clothing.
"I'm just looking at the beauty in front of me."
She looks up, startled. He looks ahead and continues down. For the rest of the day, the two talk, about aimless things at first, but soon began to open up to each other.

She longed for him, but he was a prince, it was forbidden.
He longed for her, but she was a maid, it was forbidden.

By the end of the day, both knew each other very well, like old friends, but both yearned to learn even more. Both were shy.
Days like this continued for months on end,
They never ran out of things to talk about, things were so easy between them.

Then one day,
The prince made a picnic.
It was basic, just ordinary peasant food,
Layed out on a blanket
In the magical meadow they discovered not too long ago.

They sat down to eat,
Them afterwards,
Layed on their backs in the grass,
Watching the clouds pass overhead.
When they got up,
There were little shards of grass in her hair
And he laughed.
She looked around,
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing, you just look really cute with all that grass in your hair. Here, let me help you out with that..." he brushed the grass out of hair and tucked her soft hair behind her ear. He slowly brought his hand from her ear to her chin, followning her jawline, gently, delicately cupping her chin, bringing her face closer to his, brushing his lips on hers, ever so faintly.
He opened his eyes, looked at her.
She stared back at him, smiled a little bit,
Surprised them both by leaning in to kiss him full on,
just a bit more passionately,
and he felt the playful smile he had come to love play across her lips.
They melted into each other,
And for a couple more hours,
They lay side by side, hands entwined,
Looking at stars, quietly taking in each others love.
It was a nice kind of quiet.

When it was time to leave, they kissed sweetly goodnight
Both wanting to be with each other,
Both waiting for time to pass so they could be together again.

And time did pass.
Maybe not quick enough,
But it passed.

At court, everyone argued,
Saying a prince should never be with a maid!
But his mind was made and there was nothing anyone could do to change it.
He didn't try to change her,
Nor did she try to change him.
After a month of trying in vain,
Everyone gave up, and let the two lovers be in peace.

After a year of
Loving each other,
Always being there,
Cole took her to the same meadow again,
The very meadow they kissed for the first time in.
The same day,
The same picnic.
But this time,
Once they got up,
He brushed away all the grass from her hair,
And got down on one knee.

"Alice. We have spent the last year together, and I actually lived for once. I have never felt so alive until now, nor have I ever felt so much in love with a girl as I have with you. From the moment I saw you in the swamp, I knew you were something special. I loved you then, and I love you more still today. I don't think I'd ever be happy without you in my life... so I want you to make me the happiest man alive, and be here with me on all the journey life brings, I want you to be with me always, so I can always protect you and cherish you. I love you. Will... will you marry me?"
Before he was even able to withdraw a ring, she kissed him fiercely.
"Of course I will, you dummy!"

And they lived happily ever after.
The end.

by: William A. Marshall


I stepped off the world
today,
off the broken streets
that winter has damaged
and municipal assessments
off the political gluttons
and performative marks
off the know-it-alls
and wild dogs roving around
with their ****
noses in the air
it’s not pretty
they cover what they don’t know
so that they look good
I head back down the dark hallway
to get a more primitive angle
off of privileged confidence
they are vulnerable
basic caretakers pursuing opulent corsages
to free them from their anxious quotas
and ******* rules
telling me how to wipe my ***
and how to use baby wipes
jointly acting like they run things
from their phony utilitarian bus stop
and cutting-edge applications
their personal band plays a cheerful tune
in the background
as they search for a bigger
advantage and more likes
even though we all share the same horror
youth is about mistakes
and making money
and choices with one eye here and now
the other eye on prevalent professions
students and maintenance men
bureaucratic puppets and academics
farmers and auditors
sales greasers and coaches
writers and board members
somewhere they end up there
carrying a liability
and it creates a vibration in my foxhole
but right in here baby
deep down within me
inside my tomb
I transfer to a silent
place away from
rambling rotting fungus
I step off of it
not always methodically
and then back into faults
and louse packs
I can only assume my rock
that sits in my hole immobile
next to the ****** candy wipes
unless I push it up ontic peaks
nonbeing begins to doubt me
and grips part of you so don’t
think that it doesn’t
I cut it with my knife
obliquely
finding unfortunate contagions
and courage down in the vault of silence
it is there or it isn’t
it is what keeps my will interested
far from the ones moving rashly
without it you would leap from bridges
through minefields I remember
a certain detachment
an uneven and sick progression
paperwork and a number with
a D affixed to its file
the ceiling became the nightly norm
this plastic vacuum-packed
wedding gown made of white silk
made weird noises
in the back of my closet
like it was weeping
the kind of dress
only worn once
it smelled like her that closet
retelling me each time
I opened the private door
making fake crinkling sounds
an icon of pure young tenderness
love expense and faith
eventually cooked and burned  
but it is too early
those individuals that gloat in pictures
and dream about their prince
they are busy playing with
their hair and organic shoulder bags
driving around in furnished cars
the uncorrupted ones
constant courses to come and
subsequent interviews
nailed skintight dresses
soon to be colored sweet red
with danger competing
well you had better feel lucky
because when you plunge into
future swamplands
incompetence and repayment
of what to do with it
and how then to
fill up your cup
without spilling it
all over your soul
don’t tell me how
to live my **** life
now is your time
to reason and shake imperfection
interruptions
over and over
those that listen to your intrusiveness
false performances in chic coffee shops
it is not sustainable there
but you play the part to maintain
your chair in the cooperative
you will miss it
neglecting real evil
because you were talking too much
maintaining your image
Bradbury whispers
from the counter,
“You can't make people listen
they have to come round in
their own time wondering
what happened and why
the world blew up around them
it can't last.”
and numbness above nightly cocktails
distracted dub tracks
ultimately attending
hectic personnel meetings
in drenched swamps
spinning with heartless ***** jobs
unconcerned about safe comforts
two things balance them out
people and things
all part of it out there in the world
and they approach like a train
suffering shocks
unemotional images in chambers
some actually never return
from the beatings
but this isn’t the end
this is a commencement
for me
the forecast is water-resistant
they hurry snatching their
body spray and shower gel
on mirrored reflections
that scowl back at them
all alone there
in their glass steeple
family photos
thinking they have nurtured something
more than endless gossip
and ****** strains
much more important now
bent into independence
pausing with the approaching sunrise
as it splashes powerfully
inside their speculations
pride doesn’t care
if you think you are not puffed-up
at all you are
who in the hell are you kidding?
nothing to cling to
essential oilskins and manuscripts
credit problems
and autobiographical *** packed expressions
corner office windows
and diplomas
behind high-back chairs
trying to copy Sunday magazine’s
hottest statement
to fill up their life
a reminder just who the comics are
but it does not register
until that day
when it becomes intolerably vile
beneath wreckage
and burnt ruins
they find his
caring donation
clinched in the saviors grasp
jutting through burning garrisons
there is no truth more senior
than this truth here and now
but they can’t all be imparted
in this culturally planned folklore
I see them
when I am walking away
from the insulated bubble
down the street
like recruits in boot camp
and zealously rich parents
who send their youngsters
with luggage and loans
nearby like idols
salesman explaining things
as they nod like they are approving something
perhaps autonomy
from fathers and mothers
who stand with them astutely contemplating
the whole arrangement
they stare at the marble floor
I observe the run-through
the glittery entertainment
and documented departments
for happy pilgrims
who are insulated
for now

the last blue summer i dripped
               sulfur from a bottom lip
               you found an eyelash
                in your cheerios
and we danced
all winter
                into the next blue summer
                  then it was rhubarb and honey
      The First Man came to stab
           his tongue in my mouth
             i,
the very silk sheet of femininity
         let him puncture inside with the chewed
            embittered nails
this is a girl in holy conversion
           she convulses at the right times
           for dramatic effect
                     the blood on the bed is as christ
                      a symbol of sacrifice
         back when men played gods
and i let them

The Second Men
            are numerous skin lesions
             diseases from stepping in the wrong
                 swamplands
         they smell always of
            peppercorn or gin&tonic;
                     their ***** sense a tenderness inside
                      like dogs they sniff it out
                to bury it with the one large hand
       that wraps around the throat every
       time
       that same ******* line
                  you like it rough you little **** like it rough
    i am on my back on the bed
           that rocks from him ******* into
           my girlhood
                            i think of what my mother said when she found
                     the box of condoms i keep with me
                     "i would just hope these men care about you."
she doesn't understand
          these delicate men look for women to care
           about them
in the lily morning
          they want to get breakfast
                             text me their problems
                i'm the man on the sidewalk
              curling my lips into each other at their texts
"what are you doing tonight?"
           "hey haven't heard from you for a while"
   "hi :)"

I am on my back in bed
              wondering if I can hail a cab from delancey St
               while he licks and ***** at my **** and I feel nothing
               but I play the parts
I know my lines
                and the Second Men could have done well in the spotlight
                only they wanted a girl and by then I was decidely
       not human

The Men
                     can smell it
                      when you've been taken before
           a goodbye kiss on the cheek i grant
             in a moment of kindness
             and it becomes his tongue in my mouth
i am paralyzed in honesty
in the remaining threads of the docile sweetness
                mom says it is feminine to be kind
              that it is not a weakness
I think of this again when I am on all fours
                        hair pulled back by his hands
                  I think of it when the door closes and the other he
              wouldn't take no for an answer
how many times did I tell myself
I wanted this?
                              every time

The Dream Men
                   take me in my bed
                   in the house with grapevines and white shutters
         they stuff their hands down my throat
          they **** me from all sides
I spend the dream trying to scream
                and when I wake it is always sunny outside so I never feel
                 good about crying

Moms at the foot of my sadness
                              brush my hair braid it
                        we are in flower fields with magnets
             painted lilac and baby pink
                              im stomping around in the garden they hush me
              quiet
                              we are born into these love traps
                     these delicate sentiments
                     tricked to think we are heiress to sloppy emotion
        but the women ring the rags
     pluck the tomatos off the plants
                        the men see ghosts and weep
                          into their coffee
                  weep on the shoulders of their women
         who lie on their backs in bed
                         wait for it to be over

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts
I don't like it I don't like this
Did you come? Yes I came
Yes it's all taken care of
Is that blood? Are you okay?
Sorry I forgot I'm on the last day
You sure? Yeah It was great
I want to go again
Ok Baby


The Women
                 taste different
                   feel safer
                              their histories and mine are reflective
          they know what it means to be taken
         but their hands
                       do not hurt enough
                        don't leave behind blisters
                        i begin to come into someone else
                 never satisfied enough
                  to settle
                  to build a home



            
          Men and their history of abusing women
          Me and my history of being abused
We'll never understand each other
We'll never love each other either




The Men have taken
                everything from my Women
                my Grandmother barren
                 my Mother so close to death
             I was born into the locked
             door
             The history of Women who stayed
                   tender and delicate


I am tired of being taken

Yes it's time
time for me to
spiral up into new magnetic forces
a whirlpool of energies
They draw me to them
beckon me
with enticing whispers:
"Come closer"
and bit by bit
I am lured
to that river of
multi-hued edges
listening to the wild rapids
my heart beating with them
My eyes search
For the shy animals within the rushes
and I spot a golden eye, a whisker
As if bewitched,
I stumble forward
lovingly guided
by my own inner wilderness
no resistance
for
I am just where I want to be
in this river of colors
its currents rushing through me
refreshing all of the dark inner corners
pouring through my pores
reviving dead skin
my organs welcoming rejuvenation
one by one by one
I walk slowly
to relish
the coolness
let my fingers drift in the clarity
let my mind cleanse and be cleansed
from those metallic acids that stung
like salt in a wound
past poisons unweave themselves
from my karma like lanterns released
into a vibrant dusk
O River
Purify me
Drench me in sweet, liquid sparkle
Make me shimmer again from deep within
Draw out my dusty melancholy
And release it into your mellow,
                               rhythmic ebb and flow
Let me ride your mellifluous tides
Let my swamplands rise up
                                        and glow
in the sacred dance of darkness
of light
of sensuality
I am ready to dive in
I am ready to get
totally
         and completely
wet

Take me down
The leaves grow upside down
Where the breathe leaves a puff
The drinks soothe me
And my scattering mind is at ease

Down in New Orleans
The ghosts and queens of spirits that fill the shadow
Stand by and you will see: swamplands where the spirits will rise

Listen as the willow weeps its blues on to your shoulder
The humidity sweat drips on your head as a droplet of chaos
The buzzing as a shock in silence of noise to distract the pain

Noise fills the empty caves and hollow trunks hold the empty souls
Behind your head is a dancing spirit
One drinking
Another dancing
Another smoking
Many partying

Many suffering
Unreleased from ties and pain
The pain many are tied to down in New Orleans

Do not let growing up in the streets define you as a person?
You are older now and don’t need to talk the street talk and slangs.
Educate yourself to what you can be, not what you was.
I do not want to be defined as a street **** or a ghetto rat
But as a person who has learned to talk properly and has
Left the streets to the streets.
Because I do not have a college degree does not mean
That I am an illiterate; it just means that I did not pursue my education.
No one has to be defined as low class, trash, or ignorant.
Because you are born in the hills does not make you a hillbilly!
Or born in the swamplands does not make you a swamp rat!
Titles have always been given to every ethnic group, such as
The Hispanics was spicks, the Irish – miks , the Italians as wops
Or guinies and the blacks as ******* and so on down the line.
If you are one who likes to use titles on others, then there is
Only one title that you can use.
“HUMAN BEINGS” which classifies everyone.
I want you to stand proud, because you are a HUMAN BEING
Made by GOD, and he doesn’t make garbage.
Learn your own self-respect and others will respect you!  DON’T BE DEFINED!

You have me
           between
a polished rock
     and a hard place
like up against
the fridge
         or perhaps the wall
and if these swamplands
get any damper
I might
have to change
         the protocol
The humidity is rising
hot and wet, today, they say
it's best to proceed carefully
lest the steam fogs
up the way
Soon these swamps
will give way to jungle
for the heat is just too deep
I'm trying to fight it off
roasting slowly in my sleep
The calefaction is just too much
it drives me to distraction
like a fire in the brush
igniting lust for satisfaction
As for me
             I'm going swimming
in the nearest
lake or creek
my skin is
already dripping
so bring your love
                  to fix the leak

This rainforest of longing
    could break me at the seams
but when you show me your bare essence
the butter turns to cream
Oh ****
I am so between that hard place
and the rock we talked about
It's making me quite crazy
But let there be no doubt:
I need this tender conflagration            
even if my head
          stays in a spin
This frenzied circle
will go on and on
until the first blush
of skin
       on skin

Deciduous frost crawls up between my toes
My feet sink in the deep mire
I pull my left foot out and the right sinks
Finding something solid
The cold consumes my left leg
Chilled and raw in the open air

my pocket   has     one nickel    &      Mason's has     a dime;
    a   transient,   red rubber ball ping-ponging  deep  faith with    & for  
        carnival             trash   is what    falls from the
raccoon's mouth    past three;      the      midnight   tour, troupe, &
    egret     have plucked    my eyes out     before    petit dejeuner    
         &    have all booked     residence    with   lush   vagabonds from
   some oasis    on the     curb of Suburbia,   the ottoman wet       where
        lore      slumps the backs of the        fairest;   where,  
  beyond     equanimity   there  boons & beckons  
            tightropes,   slacked tension;     and where     folklore  swells
     arteries       like   King Cake;    the  swamplands  have my    pocket
            picked;   pock-marked    truants    (BOY)    fiddling in fours
  during    school hours,   cakey     margarine  spread all
       over      their    legs         as they      eat grilled cheese and
become,      ****,
           in the    ambrosian   daylight fogged out with    figgy shade
   by thick,   carpet-fondling    curtains, sagging with secondhand soot.

A night that begeth ghastly thrill
A darkness, all-encompass, nature filled
A chuckle swept my home through heavenstill
A devil sat there upon a windowsill
The shriek that creature made would drill
The echo reaching nearby mill,
The swamplands, gallows and the hills
The terror pulsed my body like a winter chill

I read once somewhere that putting your hands under cold water will take away the desire to commit suicide and I don't know how many times I've run to the taps in my house and turned the faucet on full blast just because I needed relief ASAP. It's 2017 and I can hardly believes it even though there's only one month left in the year and my favorite color is black again like my undeniably exotic hair. I don't like being exotic but I have no choice but to accept the label. The sunshine here feels sweeter than it did on the edge of swamplands filled with alligators and frogs that might become someone's dinner. Here, people wouldn't be caught dead eating half the stuff on the menu where we were just two short years ago. Two years used to feel like a long time, but now it feels like an instant. I thought I would never grow up but then I started seeing my mother in the bathroom mirror and the little girl I used to see went away. Autumn will always be my favorite season, I'm sure. It's the most poetic one, and anyone who wants to challenge that is free to but I feel that it is. I'm going from bilingual to trilingual slowly but surely and I have good reason to never want to speak any language again but I won't let a guy take that from me. Not languages. I'm the kind of girl who can write an essay in a day and get an A on it but I'm also the kind that occasionally chases squirrels and cats and other small fuzzy creatures and forgets about everything else so you can make what you want of that. It's probably a miracle this hasn't gotten me in trouble yet. It's drizzling lightly and I'm wrapped in a hand-me-down that I'm not handing back up again. This warm shawl is mine, and any returns will be Borrowing. I never thought I would get used to the sound of anger but I never thought a lot of things would happen like they did. Humans don't know anything. Our knowledge is an illusion and it's going to shatter one day, like all illusions do but we like to have control, right? I don't even have to ask. I don't even have to know you to know that. It's just instinctual. Nobody really knows anything about tomorrow-we can plan, we can plan.... But it's not in our hands. It's amazing when someone you had forgotten remembers you but it's even better when you forget someone you didn't want to remember. I drift between remembering and not- the pain I once thought was needless had a method to it, and our ups and downs were curated with love. When I say our, I don't mean one or two people. I mean our. That word is collective. I don't believe someone like someone I don't know and won't mention could be like they attempt to, but I said I wouldn't say anything and I won't. I'd rather listen to rain, anyway. Ten years from now- I won't mention you either-because I am glad to be away from those chains of expectation and disappointment. And, because I owe it to myself to say It's alright. I can walk without crutches.

Behind the smiles
are wilted goodbyes
things that never saw the light.
Whatever couldn't escape
is trapped within me
and my dark mysterious lagoons.

500 slashes mark the light skin
black lips smile in a friendly way
I say hello to you, old friends.

I thought I left these woods,
I'd cleaned myself up
brushed the dirt off
and rose from the muddy grounds.
But then again, maybe not.

I ran as fast as I could
and made it pretty far
so I thought I was out completely,
though I guess I was terribly wrong.

I thought I'd seen the sun rise finally today,
but it was nothing but it's light passing through all these trees.
One day if I try hard enough I'll be rewarded with a full view.

In reality it really was just the daytime, for a while
though I missed it after years of roaming the night restlessly
then falling asleep much too early.

The long awaited sunset arrived soon after I fought with myself to try living,
and it was the most marvelous, beautiful thing.
Until once again I relapsed,
I gave up,
and fell all the way down to the darkest hole.

Trudging along in horror filled swamplands
possibly worse than it was before,
with each and every shadow an old fear returning in me,
witnessing every sound, each movement
I'm frozen
caught with the markings on my wrist after it all
because I thought the blood would've took it away.
Since the red coming from inside slipping down and resting smeared among the color of my skin calmed me temporarily,
and the tears that came with it felt healthy,
I was reminded of a sunrise I'd once witnessed days long ago passed.
Will I ever learn that if i let it,
the happiness could last?
Maybe that'll be the time I stop looking forward,
moving backwards,
to another 'mistaken' relapse.

Call me hope.
Before we turn to goblins
Internal monsters.
Rummaging and mustering
Through marshes
In the swamplands.
Talking in demonic
Prophecies
And rocking monstrous
******* mosh pits.
It's a gathering of college kids
With bottles tucked
Amongst the ballsweat.
And the scent of
Problems in my nostrils
Smell like monastary
Organs in this gospel


Run for the record.
I check. Devils
On the daily.
I make impeccable
Choices.
Whisper **** no.
Yes. Or maybe
Till the grave that
Has my name
Is strewn with canadian daisies.
I'll be gladly.
Calling shots
Like chicken pox.
Itch on a baby...
You *******
Chachi looking
Lady
Just try to
Disobey me.
I'll be there to drag
You in the flames
*** hell cant keep
On waiting.
That's the apomorphic nature
Of the
hellions
We been raising
One day their just a baby
Next. Their giving
Helpless old ladies
Rabies.
I said. Hell cant keep
On waiting baby
Break a leg
You ******* ancient *****

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