Only Human

rust reds and greens

yellows and browns

and maybe some

that appear orange

fall to the ground

each November as

rain comes to April

and our seasons

pass without decree

as do the years

most frequently

leave the past behind

for someone else

as the bridges to our

future have yet to

be constructed yet

it is into the future

that we all seem to go

without hesitation

or thoughts of delay

as aging out only

happens once for us

and for that we 

must feel fortunate

instead of losing our

leaves like trees and

growing new ones

every year and with

which we do no agree

on all things presented

and without a voice we

are merely human.

10 November 20

Setting Forth

through the porch screen I peer this morn

without just cause my thoughts are torn,

and thus I find myself betrayed by my

own misgivings for this day that arose

so quickly out of the night and left me

in a cold sweat to dry upon the sheets

with mixtures of praise and regrets for

the end of the road to which I came and

found not bitter sweet victory of sorts

even though I read all the local reports

and so I sit with head in hand or hand

under head, I know not which correct

but when again my eyes see clearly

upon this state of consciousness I do

declare most solemnly of course that

what I see or has been perceived by me

is nothing to what I can only imagine.

10 November 2020

Byproducts

Trump lost the 2020 election

he refuses to give up

filing legal briefs about the votes

as if his losing was not enough,

he should give up our country needs it

as it is changing right before our eyes

from good to worse or vice versa

who really knows for sure

it is just a matter of opinion;

liberal versus conservatives

blacks versus whites

and the wealthy versus the poor

all part of economic enterprise

and while a national debt is growing

when spend money on social programs

and when all is said and done

we are all Americans for sure

without any doubt except for socialists

who might have allegiance elsewhere

but what will happen in the future

is as uncertain as our compromises

and life will never be the same again

as these are byproducts of democracies.

10 November 2020

Time To Revolt

we live in states of compliant complacency

here in certain parts of the south where

politics seldom ventures in our way of life,

nor do we see much crime and violence

except from those who have gotten greedy;

we are simply folk, proud and true where

heads on shoulders are filled to the brim

with solemn respect and sincere attitudes

mind no one who tells us otherwise when

they coma a knocking on doors for votes;

we have long summers, springs, and falls

and short winters with time to spare to

look forward to next year's crop, witnessing

a whole hell of a lot more that we seen in

the last decade or two where folks around

here were part of some conspiracy to form

their own country and set themselves free;

debating this issue is of no concern now

nor ever was as far as we are concerned

as this is us and you is you and we shall

never intermingle like they do up north

passing themselves off a those of color

who simply developed bad attitudes and

want the world to see how wrong we are

for opposing their self indulgent revolution.

9 November 2020

Forgotten Caretakers

moments in and moments out has no

bearing on anything except the present,

how we breathe is not the issue as is

a clean environment and when we abuse

the privilege of living on earth we

should pay the price for its evolution

turning everything from green to black;

two thirds of life lives underwater and

we pay no respect to them at all since

all of them speak not our language but

an ancient tongue that was here long

before our time had even begun and

we feel superior because of the air

that we breathe to fill our small lungs;

the birds of the sky fly north to south

and some journey east to west as they

follow their precious sun across the land

and when they reach the other side, see

nothing but pollution and destruction

that they are powerless to ever prevent 

observing their deaths from poisoning;

moments in and moments out, we are

undoubtedly the rulers of our land and

ultimately the universe once there but

while we dwell on this sacred soil and

see what we have done, why not spend

a little of our self-indulgence in projects

that will restore what we've been given?

9 November 2020

Spirit World

Down this dirty, dingy, dark road I pass

From enlightenment to oblivion 

Passing through destinations of encouragement along the way

And sensing no delays from local authorities,

passing through worlds unencumbered by the handicaps of man

Or by mankind's predecessors by whom their knowledge had been given

And as we ramp up our rhetoric we see

How easily our deception has been…

If we strayed along the way and get too attached to something

There is always an adventure to humble us back...

and when life stumbles like it always does

we turn to our maker who has created all of us

and did not know for sure until

we passed to the other side and joined the spirit world.

8 November 2020

A Poem For Peace

 

Who's Counting?

I was twenty-five and counting

Only just a few years ago

Then became fifty and counting and that

Did not last very long either

and I wonder why the years move by so fast

it seems... they claim... it has something to do with age

But I have yet to reach seventy and more

Because…  and it's unfortunate

There's nowhere else to go

Except into ground and back to originality.

8 November 2020

By Invitation Only

Without hesitation

You have remarked to me that 

Naval intelligence is an oxymoron

And what I would say to you that

On average

You are just as right as wrong

And since this be the case

Words are all you have to survive but

At the expense of others

With whom you disagree because

Your words are more unforgiving and

On average

Are no more harmful than mine

And yet you persist with threats of

Some impending crisis only you can attend

As a banquet by invitation only.

8 November 2020

A Fool's Past

Whereupon we have reached a new milestone

The old will be forgotten and replaced

By those with vision nonetheless and

Our futures hold no such compliance with any such attitudes

That we should go searching for what's lost

As lost it should remain forever,

As looking back is not what we do or should have done

But that which was always done before while

History has never actually repeated itself since

Progress always holds new versions of the old

And forecasts are for fools with little else to do.

8 November 2020

Three Nandina

I planted three nandina twenty years ago today and

now I have nineteen or more in the same place,

thinned out they have been once or twice by

removing the old stalks or so I was told but then

my wife explained she cuts them from the top,

and they seem to grow just as well we've seen

and now the time has come again to trim them;

gardeners we are not but tend our garden all the same

doing what we were told or learned along the way

but as we move well into our prime, we are learning

quite unexpectedly I might add that age and gardening

are no longer a viable combination for our health;

it seems a shame to remove all that we have done

but recently that is exactly what we've done and

next in line are these nandinas and I fear that a

part of me will be forever lost once removed but

I know not how to stop the progress of my life and

return my body to the time when first moved here.

8 November 2020

Biased Perspectives

set the table or wash the dirty dishes

were the choices we had at dinnertime

and sometimes we were blessed that

our parents made the choice for us;

our children were raised differently

their children even more different

until the values of the past have

all but disappeared except for the

narration in some books of fiction

or even non-fiction I suppose...

each generation changes a little

in how children are raised and in

their obligations and expectations

and what they may or may not

learn in our antiquated public schools;

but, on issue is for certain and it is

employment about which I speak,

having remained the same for years

since bosses are bosses and owners

want what they want when wanted,

the worker simply obeys or leaves,

and in so doing, our economic growth

has been assured for many years,

and has very little to do with all

the ideologies of high school and 

the histories we were told once ours

are now a distant memory, replaced

by a more current version of truth

that keeps us on our toes at night

and requires little to understand as

those who win write the stories in

the way they want to read, leaving

out what's not pertinent to their

illiterate and biased perspectives.

8 November 2020

Seasons Come and Go

a flock of birds lands on my land and not another's

and before I have a chance to wonder why they

have up and moved to a different spot unseen,

in the blink of an eye up into the sky and disappeared

never to be seen again I fear especially so since

I know not who they represent or why they in their

inevitable wisdom decided to land in my yard;

the weather warmed up since yesterday

from what I hear will stay this way for several days

but when I see warm weather this late into the year

I always wonder if winter just as cold as ever

or if it may pass over with its gentle sister in towー

I see the leaves dying at the end of the limbs

I wonder why the entire tree does not suffocate,

but in the process of their rejuvenation

is the creation of more work for me...

although, it's an easy task for a riding mower;

how tidy is the yard that we made it so

in an effort to prepare it for its slumber

only a few task still remain but they are for much colder weather,

it will be weeks before they arrive without reservation

but we will host them all the same and

when we get tired of keeping their company

spring will soon call on us again...

we have no reason to be alarmed nor should we

mind our manners until summer, but

this is true as sure as I am saying it that

life is a wonder anyway that it arrives and treats

all of us the same from the butcher to the baker,

including the candlestick maker so we can see

what has been given to us for free.

7 November 2020

Faces of Change

censorship is the root of all evil some journalists might say

while others believe the roots are derived from the wealthy,

but in every society we have had the wealthy and lies and

as the leading society crashes there are others that survive;

in all these centuries of dealing with society and culture

it has been discovered the only way to gain longevity is by

lying to the public or keeping them from knowledge that

if they knew and understood would cause them to revolt;

we can control through power --

we can control through wealth --

we can control military action --

we can control through fear and intimidation --

telling lies to the public is like being in a court of law

a lie can become truth once it is believed or proved

and that is all that seems to matter, especially to politicians

who care more about re-election than what's good for the country;

it is the progresses of technology that provides us with a better life

and that has control of our privacy and secrets that

may lead to uncertainty and speculation

and cause the downfall of a nation

if it were not for the power and control issued on that change

as it is guided and quite possibly redirected;

we live in tunnels of doubt and silos of ignorance

that are sometimes called our cities and our towns,

each one has it own destiny and each its own society

but it always responds to the whole because of what its told

and in so doing, change becomes our new reality and

the faces of that change are buried in coffins when they die.

7 November 2020

In the Absence of Truth

it was once believed  truth more important than faith

or so I have been told but no more do we rant and rave,

about what we lost or what we gained

just self-suffering thoughts do we claim

as we turn from beggars to fools

and thus do we proclaim our innocence

rather than wisdom or intelligence;

we turn over our debts to the wealthy

letting the stupid ones fight our wars

while we torch, burn, and loot our cities

since they belong to we the people as well

and in the course of our observation

we learn more than previously allowed

so to the misfit bar and grill we shall go

share our revelations with a biased press

earning more than salvation from their requests

while laboring on someone else's dime

the truth is inherent in spending our time;

miraculous as it may seem to you and them

we are no longer children of your harvest

nor do we proclaim our innocence as its

rests upon faulty premises of your principles;

we have turned the corner of our independence

and freed ourselves from the misdeeds of our fathers

and if there be reparation we will take them

but never shall we surrender to the Caucasian

and what is owned today will be ours tomorrow.

7 November 2020

Riding The Wind Jubilee

an old man sat in a Quaker chair facing

another old man in a Wicker,

between them was a checker board

with faded black and red squares

both wore khakis, t-shirts, and dingy Army boots

laced half way up with no socks;

their shoulder length hair was long, oily, and stringy

no eye glasses did they wear,

neither had shaved for several days,

one was missing an arm, the other a leg

one was a little over weight, the other a little under thin

both wore faded orange baseball caps with frayed brims

neither smoked..  a half empty bottle of whiskey lay on the table,

a blue tick hound laid on the wooden porch was dreaming

his legs and eyes quivering...

a yellow cat lay up against his back observing the game

trees hid the sun but not the light

a wood pecker's rhythms were easily detected

the head of a snake slid effortlessly across a stilled pond

a rutted dirt road curved out-of-sight behind bushes

the sweet smell of burning hemp filtered through the air

one soldier fell from his chair onto the wood

the blue tick hound barking fiercely as it jumped

the other soldier leaned back in his chair laughing so hard

the legs of the chair lost their footing

the man fell to the ground hitting his head on a rock,

the yellow cat scurried after a bird

the hound disappeared down the dirt road

no harm was done...  no foul...  or so it appeared;

brothers to the end they were and even though they were close

no one came to their funerals...  serving their country faithfully,

the conflict of the Vietnam kind it was called...

both had suffered from Agent Orange

both were receiving disability

both had voted in every election

but their country no longer cared to much for them,

or so it seemed to them they often said

as I leaned against cabin wall listening to their stories,

it was not their stories I remember

it was the way they were treated

by their neighbors, family, and friends

and as a reporter, I am reporting

we don't give justice to our veterans...

and when the liberals came to my door asking for money

I told them to keep on walking

and let some other fool hear their talking

as I will spend no time with you or waste my money,

my brothers are dead due to your carelessness

and no longer will they breathe this air

or see the power you have given to politicians

and not one dime do you use to protect our freedom;

a distant song is now what I sing and...

from myself I try to hide and not because I never learned checkers

but because...  just because...

you hide from the truth to cover your asses.

6 November 2020

On Being Squared Away

 "Are you squared away recruit?"

"Sir, yes sir...  I be squared away."

"You best be recruit or they'll be hell to pay."

a way of life I soon discovered was everywhere

as so many of them were military born

or military raised in their mental cleverness;

it is a living you owe them or they you

nevertheless it is still one of heedlessness

but we imagine the worst and expect better

finding only the Lord's salvation and

while we are waiting that to occur

getting squared away is what we be doin'.

6 November 2020

Thoughts of a Random Nature

not used online

stream of consciousness

bouncing off my mind

as if being repelled

or pushed...

clever in their processes

poetic in form and style

without rhyme

but forgetting reason

are quickly expected

from the passenger's seat

of my rental car...

6 October 2020

Almost Cloudless

a lone aircraft growls as it traverses the sky

that seemingly goes on forever,

magnolias gently sway...

water moves out both sides and returns

for all its inhabitants,

cardboard and towels block the sun

from reaching a sole survivor

whose task it is merely to observe;

swiftly navigating birds reach new destinations

as their lives progress just as quickly to an end,

a blue, almost cloudless sky supervises

the passing of the day as if were only one

of millions that it has seen...

fresh cut grass lays streaked in mounds

sweating it out before it dries

lessening our surrounding beauty;

off in the distance American flags fly

as best as they can without wind,

having been tied to unseen poles on a porch;

liberty is viewed not so harshly anymore

as it had been in this eastern valley

that was once home to someone else;

many a year has past since his first arrival

putting him in touch with a life that

up till then he had only read about.

2 August 2020

Off In The Distance

the sun beats against my back

clouds move in silent serenity

masking the relentless heat;

an accelerating engine moans

birds chirp and chatter through the humidity

occasionally one flies into my sight

as the stillness rectifies nothing;

the heat pump hums laying down the bass

water in the pool moves out in both directions

the sun breaks through the clouds

like fireworks on the fourth of July

and we know the grass is growing;

rabbits flirt with enclosed cats as they

scamper around as if life belonged to them

eating today instead of carrying;

tranquility permeates the air and nothing

seems to move conserving energy

except a lone bird who decides to

check out its dilapidated house;

no motor cars passing by

no sirens of distress our and about

only a gradually increasing moisture

that has decided to come out and play.

22 July 2020

October's Full Moon

it was the night before last as I recall

when after supper on the back porch I sat;

it was a wonderous sight to behold

a bright yellow and orange moon

as big as a child's imagination;

around it was a glow most eerie indeed

and from the center on all four sides

were wide banners of light rays that

resembled the Cross of Calvary;

there were no battle lines drawn in my mind

as to what I saw or didn't see but

it got my mental wheels turning and churning,

leaving no one else to blame for the

onslaught of thoughts and queries

racing around like wild horses that night;

I went to the Outer Banks of the Tarheel State

then trampled on the stones of the Golden Gate,

whispered into Myrtle on a summer wind

and drank a pint of beer at the Boar's Head Inn;

undistinguishable it was to detect

fantasy from fiction or poetry from prose

as it all merged together like the pedals on a rose

but assuredly so I would have to say that nary

a full moon have I seen than I saw that night

and nary has there been a time in my life

that my mind has worked harder than a 

Cotton Gin or my soul had been blessed 

by God's Gift of Salvation and Grace.

5 November 2020

The Will of the Few

the news seems to matter not

as our newest election closes,

and even though it may have been

too close to call at the beginning

results were a foregone conclusion

and our nation among nations

has decided beyond despair 

that we are a nation no longer

of and for the people but one

of complete and total power

censoring voices we hear not

open doors for all others,

leaving no trace of compromise

in the wake of our progress,

even when the people know not

what they want but only that

which is perceived by them as

a right of passage into this land,

whether born here or not it is a

settlement of brothers who have

no desire for themselves to think

ahead of what or who they are

at the moment they still breathe.

6 November 2020

Glimpse of Morning

the morning favors silence and a respite from sleep

cold and oh so nonchalant as it begins...

it harbors nor memories of the day before

or the day before that nor any tomorrows that it

has not the right to imagine or foresee...

yet, it always begins nonetheless and it always

seems to know when awakening is the best.

6 November 2020

Northeast of Knoxville

 

       

The morning was in full bloom by the time I retrieved myself from the comforts of our warm feather bed; 

into the great room I stumbled carefully and chanced upon a package with a green ribbon tied tightly; 

the ribbon was not as curious an event as were the contents inside -- a leather bound book of Frost's Collection

was glimpsed at solidly and when extracted felt good upon my hands;

it was no Sandburg, Dickens or Poe but of late was not one that had been eyed by me; 

I sat about reading it of course and soon discovered it was prose poetry of a sort, 

the likes of which I had never seen until this chance encounter brought us together. 

The warmth of the Valley sun brought me back to a state of sleep perchance for me to dream, 

I know not why but upon being startled I looked straight at a boy of ten walking 

with one of Sandberg's goats on a leash made of unstained hemp; 

the leash bothered me not as much as did the age of its handler and because of its peculiarities,

when the boy had passed, it was as if some unseen voiced compelled me to follow.



No more than twenty paces behind was I marking my time as the boy

and the goat strolled down the dirt path without the benefit of any signs;

when the sun was full upon my head, the boy stood quietly with the goat

by his side at a fork with two gnomes guarding like Roman sentinels protecting Golgotha;


I stopped and hid behind a Tennessee Pine and apparently just in the nick of time.


The boy still holding onto the was the first to speak, "which way should I go," he asked?


"That quite depends on which way you want to go," he replied laughing.


"Never mind," said the boy, "I'll ask your friend."


"He always lies," the first gnome offered quite innocently.


"And I suppose you always tell the truth," he asked sarcastically?


"Exactly so… but you know it could just be the opposite, still,

you have but one question to ascertain which one since you have been so contrite."



As I watched the confrontation from behind the concealment of my tree, 

I could only speculate as to what that boy might be thinking;

it was no paradox for him and gently spoke as turned away,

"I knew this riddle once before but will ask it not because I cannot remember," 

and with that the boy turned with his goat, "I shall return to whence I came."



As the young boy and goat passed by my location behind the Tennessee

Pine, he offered up a curious look and nodded as if to suggest that I

accompany the pair and while I reluctantly agreed by following the

pace that was much faster than my own and soon they had disappeared from my view.



It was purely by chance that I happened upon him once again, sitting

under an apple tree learning against its trunk with the Toggenburg’s head in his lap and a most curious look on his face.


I stood in silence for longer than I could imagined and ‘twas like a bolt

of something other than lightening, it came to out-of-the-blue…

the young boy was waiting for an apple to drop…



From inside the house, the smell of cooking onions and garlic broke

me free from my reverie and a lapse of memory reminded me of

Frost's Collection now laying in my lap like my Siamese cat always used to do.

Raccoon Valley Road

It was the first Monday in May as I recall

or perhaps April as I did not remember well,

when I strolled not so leisurely through

the heavily wooded area beside our home,

it was a place visited often by my friends and me

to dwell among and within the level of nature

where as innocent lads we spent much of our time

when not learning something in public school

the nature of which although I was bound to forget;

we frolicked and played most of the day and

dug out caves in the ground over top of which

we built our fortresses of imagination and fortitude

that one day we would do battle with a foe

remembering well out times on Raccoon Valley Road

sitting around campfires, cooking fried eggs

drinking water from home out of aluminum canteens

fighting off outlaws with cap guns rifles that

were Christmas gifts a few months before...

wondering how did they know what we'd be playing

in those wooded areas beside our homes; and...

journey back into these woods this day

I have no doubt what I will find unless some other lads

decided to tear down what we had built and

construct their own fortresses of solitude...

hiding squirrels and rabbits I easily see as

stoically silent they hesitate their movements until I pass

with all my crunching sounds stepping on fallen wood,

the sounds of birds chirping in the distance attract my ears

and I halt myself wondering where they be in

relationship to where I am most currently not where

I've been or might have been had I taken another path;

and the memories that are confronting me

do not come pouring in like flood waters over a dam

but curiously silent they have abandoned me as if

this wooded valley held no memories of mine at all

but rather than wondering why, I journey on

in the hopes that glory will this day finally be found

in this heavily wooded area of Raccoon Valley Road.

3 November 2020