... poetry ...

nirvana

i am moving to Montana
despite the cliché of it all
i am pulling the stakes
up and going

when i leave it all behind
i won’t ever look back,
i, in fact
never look back

there’s nothing to see

i’ve learned that a lifetime
is a collection of all the
lives we lived

here and there,
this season
and that one

if there’s yet another life
for me to live,
let it be Montana.

Standard
... 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.

Standard
... 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.

Standard
... 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.

Standard
... Applachia ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ...

she talks of love

life is ebbing
and with it comes
clarity

women have spoken
to me of love
for half a lifetime

i have mused it
and studied its
corners and edges

analyzed its
emotions and
measured what boundaries
i could find

but it was not
until
she spoke of love

that i felt
the blood burn

when love
and body
and lips
collide

she talks of love
like its her
soulmate
and it is,
love was
made for lovers,
it is hers
and she is mine.

Standard
... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... girl ..., ... home ..., ... life ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... the South ..., ... winter ...

mountains me

when you return
me to the
mountains

you return
me to me

they bore
me in Cities
of men

but my form
was hewn with
granite and marble

my skin stiched
with invisible seams
of laurel and ash

kudzu and Better Boy* eyes
Brunswick stew glued
i am whole

vine ripened
towering beneath
giants, oak and pine

my blood runs
over river smoothed
stones, frigid

but pure,

when you return
me to my
mountains

they welcome me in,
a long lost friend

*a variety of tomato

Standard
... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... experimental ..., ... life ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... the South ...

A Dream Moment Over Coffee As You Were Reading Across The Room

it is a great life we live-
the weathering of a man
the patina of woman
it is a great life we love-

this is the shimmering,
the seasoning of days,
spices from stardust which
salted this fertile earth-

who knew a planet was
filled with savor?
who knew love would
spin from nothing to everything?
universes in a glance
of Irish green-

the Whirlwind has found
her place to nest in my head-
twirling is something
invoked with a kiss.

it is a great life we live
you and i,
spinning, tumbling, billowing then
crashing against the stone
into cool salty spray
thinning, becoming, blue, gone.

Standard
... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... experimental ..., ... girl ..., ... life ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... the South ...

Hades

there is this place we hideaway
hidden beneath a thicket
of golden brambles and
beams of star light

dancing sun shards
peer in and
cut us deep pink embers-
wounds yield,
kissed by Passion’s flame-

what of knowing Paradise
only to be cast away- as Lucifer
laments, his punishment, too severe-

Hell would be me
never being able
to find my way
back here to you

Standard
... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... life ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ...

Slow evening dim

i burnt myself in the fire
that we had built just to watch
its billows hang in the empty
January air. crisp and clear,
from the Northern Plains,
it tumbles over the trees
of our genteel little hollow.
sounds of Saturday vibrate
against distant wood,
where love and smoke mingle
above and in the midst
of us.

Standard
... Applachia ..., ... Autumn ..., ... beauty ..., ... L.F. ..., ... life ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ...

Quandering

love hurts
if you let it

stripping away
the essence of I

becoming the
reality of we

let the cleansing come
i am weary of the old me
and my wandering is the
quandering that finds no
absolution without you

as sure as the steady,
spinning sun,
let this love hurt

Standard
... Applachia ..., ... Autumn ..., ... beauty ..., ... experimental ..., ... girl ..., ... heartsick ..., ... LF ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... the South ...

sweetpea

she is the
epitome of me

&
i would want
for nothing
but the glance
she gives
in the pulling
away of a kiss

lost in the
mist of dizzy
head swilrlings

at golden sunrise
she is mine
in orbit

&
i take
umbrage with
no living thing
ever again

she is
the better
of me

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