... 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

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... 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.

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... 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

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... 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.

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... 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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