... 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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... addiction ..., ... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... life ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... Spring ...

quarrel

We sat in that spot, just off the park road,
and stared at the water as it slid by,
indifferent to its own chaos. The timid tail
of Winter’s chill still hung on to the outer
edges of Appalachian air. Miniature clouds
puffed from your mouth and quickly
vanished with each breath.

“This Spring is different.”

“Oh no it isn’t, they are all the same.

“They are all green. Always green. And heavy
with white and yellow flower heads bobbing in
wayward West winds. The air is drunk and dense
with the crumbs of carrion love adrift on a breeze,
seasoned in symmetry.

“For every yellow petal you will find
a pink, and for every green stalk, a frothy,
white tumble cloud, spilling up and
over the mountain.”

“This one is different.”

“Oh no it isn’t, just more of the same.”

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... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... experimental ..., ... home ..., ... life ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... Spring ..., ... the South ..., ... time ...

A Late Winter Forest Burn

when Winter dry heaves
under black, crystal skies,
with a choke and stutter
and solemnly dies

the birds of the air,
all return to their nests
to brood and to court
with new songs in their breasts

the fox, the hare, and fawn
on bitter mornings cry
and whisper in cloudy breaths,
stretched noses to the sky

and i recline here
in my warm and cozy cave
while life erupts outside,
life inside misbehaves.

when the woods all dance
with a boisterous sound,
we light her cindered petticoat
and burn the jejune ground.

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... God ..., ... life ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ...

flood lie

rain rolled in today
set in like scars on a sow
rain rolled over us

like a mountain, like the whole
mass of Earth, the sound
of a hallow. the void, pressing

down with invisible
waters. we are
lost at the bottom of

an unfathomable depth.
it breathes,
then whispers,

then roars; everything will sink
down to dark. some where burned in
the psyche of us, do we all wonder

with the first drop of
winter – will the rain ever end?
will He lift his hand and

leave us all to drown again?

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... addiction ..., ... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... experimental ..., ... girl ..., ... heartsick ..., ... home ..., ... life ..., ... love ..., ... pain ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... Spring ..., ... the South ..., ... time ...

the last day of winter

the chill
left with
a wimper
and we lie
on backs
in still browned
grasses, lost
amid whirling
contrails of
her departure
this is the
last day of
Winter. another
year lost – yet
we’ve aged
eons.

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... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... death ..., ... experimental ...

i live in a house that God built

i live in a house that God built
down in a holler,

up against a deep, creeping wood
that moves with shadow and shape.

hill over hill, an ocean of leaves
this is where i’ve laid my claim

where mud and blood all stain the same.

will i die beneath the cherry wood
or oak or elm, or bathed in light in
the pasture still?

God I hope it’s under a starry night,
when all my little earth becomes
a reflection in some Other starlit
lake. where space blankets my
decaying arms and legs and hands,
swallowed up by the dirt, wrapped
up in a cosmos.

my trees will sing
for me, and will hang low, and
then will forget

as they should. what are we but dust?
here only for a moment, and then
gone. a song once whistled on the
wind, now only tangled up,

like whispers in a wood.

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