... poetry ...

isn’t she lovely

In the peppered sweetness
of a Wildflower unfurled
Lies the blessed splendor
Of a pretty girl.

Something to behold.

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... poetry ...

musing after mowing

scattered around the back pasture
there is crab, St. Augustine, Kentucky blue,
ripples of weed, burr and field grasses,

dandelions, ivy, and honeysuckle,
oak and cherry wood, burrs and acorns,
branches hanging to the ground

heavy with Summer’s first muggy air,
wind and water, heat and humid,
big clouds and patches of blue,

“enough blue sky to fill an Eskimo’s pants”
means the sun will come out grandma
used to say, all of us huddled in the

back of their impressive Lincoln,
the land yacht we would call it,
and an ash tray and lighter available

in every seat, our only battle was who
got to lay up above the head boards
in the back window during nap time,

summers have come and gone, leaving their
marks, some years yield crunchy St. Augustine
grasses buckling under the weight of

our bare feet, and other years, weeds,
stabbing our tender soles, we tread
lightly through those parts of the yard,

still, tonight looms and the heaviness
has left the air, the cacophony of
croaks and whippers flies up as

the sun sinks down and I carelessly spin
the tip of my finger along the
floating ice cubes in whats left of my iced tea.

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... Applachia ..., ... Autumn ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... experimental ..., ... life ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ...

Firstfire

finespun blue Dawn skies
cold and clear acquiesced to
heavy November gray

she surrendered her expanse
without incident, and drew her
cerulean coattails into the

carriage of night.
it was freezing in that
morning stillness. our first

freeze since Winter.
i gathered some small
logs, chopped and discarded

last Spring – surely due to
some sudden warm snap –
and built a fire in

my wood stove.

i sat here intending to
write a poem, instead all I
wrote was this:

peace is silence.

and put my pen down,
musing at the
warm crackle.

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... Applachia ..., ... Autumn ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... girl ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ...

colorland

hues are shifting daily now
pink is orange
blue is deeper
reds are blood
greens are gone until Spring

she is in my sights at daybreak
evening she is there
crowding empty spaces
morning she returns
dancing in steady rising fog

i could watch her for hours
sleeping, standing, being,
or doing nothing at all
i savor the flavor
of the one bathed in beauty

sun rises regardless
and her color never changes
always blonde, always.

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