i dont remember the day i began despising my existence  
i do know i showed little resistance  
bidding adieu to the remnants of my innocence  
knowing my farewell wasn't a coincidence  
  
cause i want to feel a bullet make its way to my brain  
i want my limbs to blacken, lying broken, in freezing snowy-rain  
i just want the pleasure of peace after pain  
i need no funeral or name  
  
let my weary body rot it the spot it was lain  
cause all in all, it's all the same  
people may drown or burst into flames  
yet everyone leaves just like they came  
  
when my head hangs high up some sweetgum tree  
and my body dangles lifelessly-then ill be free  
so please let be whatever's left of me  
as my blood will water the sweetgum seeds

short legs
patched jeans
kicking leaves
piled to my knees

remembering color
living in sea salt pines
leaves little to imagine
of autumn rhymes

sweetgum sourwood birch
sycamore and dogwood
apple leaves beneath the plum tree
ash hickory maple and oak
mountains afire in Tennessee

eyes closed
smell of smoke-
kicking leaves
to the wind.

r ~ 9/16/14

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 ..

His *****-white sneakers tied in double knots
three strides down the sidewalk and he knows they are too small
He didn’t know that your feet could get fatter too but
oh that’s right
Emily’s feet had grown with each pregnancy
People tell him that’s a lot of kids
Four - no ****
He was on the track team in high school but he’s the wrong size now
Right size?
It’s women on billboards
oiled like seals
lips puckered to meet the side of a ***** bottle
in this city and every city in America
Emily had managed to stay fit and what a miracle that was
She is one of those women
who looks good - healthy
in her element even
with a runny-nosed child on her hip
and three hours of sleep
and no makeup
and snot smeared on the shoulder of her black tshirt
Flower of a woman
People ask him how does she do it?
By his male friends he’s told how lucky he is
but that wasn’t the word he was thinking of

He is working up a sweat now
He feels each foot land on the pavement with his whole body
He watches small dogs lift their legs, demurely
They relieve themselves on statues on the Comm Ave Mall
He feels like the figment of someone else’s imagination
He sees trees he could identify when he was a botany major
before he traded his VW for a minivan
Sweetgum, green ash, maple, linden, zelkova, Japanese pagoda
that one’s an elm
even his six-year-old knows what an elm is
New synapses formed
Genus and species replaced by numbers, meaningless
They only mean something if his client is getting paid
One day a paycheck, a bottle of champagne
Another
stress, Netflix for entertainment
He’s left his iphone on the kitchen counter
No missed calls or new text messages
No music on this run
Unfiltered thoughts where Led Zeppelin should be
He remembers next week is Lulu’s birthday
Peaches and cream little girl
who is never seen without bruises on her knobby bird’s legs
Kat, older, malleable, chose ballet
Lulu insists on football
She wants to get ***** and tackle boys
The first day of practice he was mildly horrified
when he realized she is the only female in the league
He loves watching the other teams’ faces when they learn they just played a girl
because it is impossible to tell under all the padding
until Lulu pulls off her helmet at the end of the game
slow motion
as she walks off the field
shaking out honey-colored hair
throwing a wink at her rivals
Players use last names only by some unspoken rule
But not her
she is still his Lulu
her closet filled with princess dresses and football jerseys

Fickle Silver Maples lie forlorn in the -
stillness of Noon , melancholy belles that change -
their sullen tune by the belated , crosswind steamy Georgia afternoon
Dandelion sprinkled prairie of home , bordered in thick , red clay
trenches , kudzu covered period homesteads , Spring peach
and pecan orchards drenched in wild , unabated orchid and coneflower
Sweetgum cones rattle in nightfalls cooling breeze without respite , riverstone retaining walls , whitewashed barns and gravel drives , Bantam hens perch Live Oak branches along flint , cobblestone pathways

Lady bugs dancing in the breeze .. Red , yellow leaves shuffle beneath tall trees ..
Gray squirrel singing high above , wary crows bathing in the pond..
Wild turkey's running for cover , mourning dove's dine on cornfield leftovers ..
Orpington hen announcing her newest delivery , busy beavers chipping on Sweetgum and Hickory ...
Farm boys in the hayfield , sipping on hard cider , Grandpa on the tractor , chewing Red Man tobacco ..
Granny's making dumplings , a stewing hen in the kettle , cows are coming home from the riverside meadows ..
 Four leaf clover and dewberries , brown cane at the end of the dale .. A ladle full of cool water from Uncle John's well ...

Back home,
The roads blend into the hills
Across long stretches of countryside,
Twisting and turning,
Amidst sweetgum and southern pine woodland,

Blue wildflowers and dandelions
Decorate our fields and backyards
That make sweet snacks
And wishes
When you spread it’s feathery parachutes,

The summit of Shades mountain
Elevates our historic town,
Above former native territory
And the outlying railroads
That carry steel out of Birmingham,

And hearing the distant trains call of arrival
Over the vast stretch of woods below,
Accents the whispering trees
And calms my soul,

The affections of home
Remain bittersweet,
But my absence and return
Have unearthed in me,
Where I belong

Art is a child slinging paint off a brush on canvas ! Happy faces colored with chalk on the driveway ! Water color sunflowers on a bedroom wall , hearts and flowers wrote with an innocent finger in dust on a car hood ! Playing with their food , thinking about tomorrow , borrowing Dads pocket knife , carving first relationships into a Sweetgum Tree ! Get well cards written with crayons ! A sunny scene drawn by a precious little dreamer on a frosted window !

In a beautiful brown cardigan clutching each rocker arm , whispering a hymn to herself , smiling as Earths canvas , painted by Persimmon , Sweetgum , Oak in rapid escape before her . First sunlight upon brown blade .. A matriarchs recollections , good will and nurture released just as the leaves before her ...Red for uncompromising , passionate love . Brown for a tender touch . Yellow for honor regardless of duress ! Green for Harvest , family and tending garden .. Well planned rows , tilled , harrowed a year and one day , situated seedlings devoid of ****  , rock or encumbrance followed by Fall harvest . On a Winter day I watched a Maple leaf fall from the canopy , lighting upon her grave , assuring me that love will remain the same , seeking frosted moor , ethereal , soaring , within reach , ready to be called upon ! . Eternal ...

Homemade Bluebird house's of varying color and shape
Lovely butterflies hand painted by 'Angels' dot the landscape
Red Wasp warm themselves on proud , Sun drenched shrubbery
Daffodils and Sweetgum Trees , the banter of Cardinal and Blue Jay ,
Wood Ducks flying over a world of discovery ..
Carpenter bees do challenge , a green lizard seizing a few winks on a wrought iron bannister .. A pink flowering Plum tree with a performing Carolina Wren , a brown Praying Mantis on a window screen ..
Lady Bugs riding warm breezes , Natures abundant annuities , every step a golden opportunity ..

Black and gold narrows , regal sunlight
donned in gloaming ocean blue crown
Eventides Mourning Dove soliloquy , perchance
to rest in Heavenly fields of Clover and Cherokee
Rose bouquet , neath the Sweetgum bough along
accustomed , dusky lanes* ....

My forest
written December 28th, 2020

My forest is the 2 trees
outside my front window

the overstory of my forest
is a prickly ball tree
research says
it is a chestnut or sweetgum tree

the overstory is tall and hearty
giving generous shade in the summer
and raining prickly *****
on the yard in the fall

the understory of my forest
is a dogwood
that blooms gloriously each spring
as it reaches from under the prickly ball tree
for the sun it's greedy sibling hogs

there are forests (and poems)
much more expansive than mine
built more complexly
more often talked about
photographed, written about

but this little 2 tree forest
has been my company
for 20 years now

they are my trees (and my words)
and they are precious to me.

I would wade the calling circumstance before me , free of pagan
resistance .. To describe my color blue , the music of the lake , the calm
of the morning field ..
Raging fires of love , the yield of passion , musics hidden calling ,
echoes across frozen woodland that cry in supplication ..
Black shapes on white media foster ...I am the seagull dancing for
his next meal once more ... Yellow bell salutations , the crow that told the Jay
that called out across the wailing , waiting world , with the Noon cry of repetitive thought and due candor .. Moss atop dead Pine , familiar with it's lot in this life .. The end lying in every direction , hue of birthing green and silver blue resurrection ..
Tall white Pines tickle laughing skies , brown resignation tugging
a struggling mind to the West free , cool March afternoon ....
Sweetgum cones locked in deaths final embrace , their last gaze
unknown . Still as the day , surrounded in life's music , the love of
warm wind , the call of bush berry with each new growth of the coming
Spring .. The white reflective glow down quiet roadways , O' to forever seek such analogy for descriptive written means ....

10/15/2015

down by the ravine twisted woods,
By boxelder and sweetgum,
a timber rattler in the field over,

you say "those are dangerous"

"Mhm" all I mumble, stifling in the memorial of that sticky sunny summer in the forest

you say sooner or later
"Barely is enough sometimes"

I want to be in a town renowned for its evening-
crickets , front porch laughter & lightning bugs
For fish fries and shade tree mechanics
For kids playing games beneath streetlights
Friendly constables , helpful neighbors & church-
bells , iron kettle flower pots , walking the rails ,
I need to separate the dirt from the chaff ,
to draw the cool aromatic smoke of dried-
tobacco , the kernel from the cob , earth from-
share , cold babbling water from slippery-
rock , soaked shanter from brow , molasses from-
the wheel , wheat from the stone , the honey forfeiting-
the comb , Spring from Winter , crust from lakeside ,
- kudzu from sweetgum , Scripture from torrid-
novel , music from razorback squeal , **** from shovel -
, decay from iron , turpentine from the tall pine ,
cracked leather from calloused feet

They lay shadows across downtown escarpments
They offer secure perches for timid birds
Their footings are photo -ops for passersby
Plaques tinged in green,
Flags flapping in the breeze ...
Period oaks that rattle & mourn
Marble avenues , granite stairways ,
Brick fences & wrought iron railings
Holly, rose , gardenia & daffodil
The patter of acorn , sweetgum cone ,
brown leaf , winter grass & pebblestone ....

Porch swing chains squeak,
an orange and gray cat rolls in the sand,
a dozen different birds sing
not a breath of wind stirs the leaves.

A mosquito buzzes incessantly,
the crows loud caw drowns out everything
a deer glides through the woods,
as I continue to swing and watch.

Down the hill, a red robin glows neon
against the brown and green backdrop
of oak, sweetgum, elm, and pine,
a woodpecker begins it's drumming.

Purple finches rummage through leaf litter,
below a hanging seed feeder,
in early morning sunlight beams,
I have to cough, it silences the woods.

But only for a moment.

The drought has made July linger.  The air smells of sewer *****, sweetgum, sassafras, fescue, concrete and asphalt.  

On this long summer day when the light and heat decide to linger— parents let their children play well into the night on the community’s green.  

Their laughter and the croaking of frogs in the rention pond, just beyond, overgrown with cattails,
has my dog thinking the sound of fireworks and wanting to go back home.  I see the flickerings of the early late night news peeping through the half-drawn curtains as we head back.  

I imagine the children dreaming dream after dream in the hot mist of sleep after the last door has shut.


In that moment I see the first lines of my new poem, full  of that living hurting nostalgia that everyone likes to star and comment on— a poem, that I imagine, might be found after my death by my executor.  It would be one of those critically disdained viral odes charming and popular enough to be embroidered on sofa pillows that comfort the aching backside of old widows. A poem with a hint of despair but not written in despair.   One that knows the substance of July summer nights.

Hemlock, holly, cedar and beech.
Robin, bluebird, nesting, and seed.
Blackgum, sweetgum, cypress and birch.
Finch, cardinal, atop them they perch.
Dogwood, hawthorn, laurel and ash
Nature: constant, present and past.