A Country Sampler

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For such a born and bred Bronx kid to wind up out in the sticks in South Carolina is one thing.  But to write poetry about the country life?  I guess you just never know! Below find some of my works that I am considering for an upcoming chap book. Also please, if you have been enjoying my work please consider helping with any amount at my GoFundMe. This really is all I have until we can figure out exactly what can be done to fix my back. As you can see it has just been a meager amount over the whole life of the campaign but all our savings and anything that could be sold have been exhausted with several months left until my disability hearing is scheduled. Enough said. Enjoy the writes.

 

Carnival Craze

ahead dots color hill tops afar dark
yellow, red, blue. and white bulbs
a slow drive rounding easy curves
chants of glee sounding the escape
voices expecting exciting an evening

sour the sweetness knocking gently
as windows rolled down feel a sniff
ahead now neon lights circle the sky
parked the station wagon in a field
smiles falling out the old rear door
pink fluffy sugar whipped on a stick

corn scented popping grandly new
sticky sounds of sneakers skipping
mirrors and teacups join a sway too
the hot dough shaped ears powdered
join parade in turn at ticket booths cut

prizes of royalty reach up drooling eye
wheels spinning higher recall butterflies
bops and pops abound in wild carousel
loose change dribbles clanging on down
gum, hats, glasses and feathers scatter
back to the old Buick we return, smiles

Carrot Seeds

growing up in the city
carrots came in a can
you peel back the tin
and out they came clean

concrete gardens sprout
hard the seedlings rise
a transplant now am I
turning soil mixing poop

tiny the seed of a carrot
rolling off my dirty hands
after sun and water shines
a little green pop appears

when the green grew tall
I had to check have a peek
so poke around did my hand
just a skinny root now ruined

another day another check
months end the crop is gone
let the seeds grow undisturbed
the fruit will show when ready

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A Picture In Grayed Boards

Mothers words grip within emotions
in the way dads old pickup drives
the treasured rides dirt swirling
behind us faster than the rabbits
fleeing through the peanut fields
startled does bound the fences
wire sagging and barbed gives way
her apron blowing softly seen
from the porch she waves smiling
it’s peach pie this evening sister
hanging out the washed sheets
giggling cute as the chipmunk
watching her from under the barn
grayed boards perfect the scene

perpetual the change that remains sweet

muffled giggles in blooming flowers
spark light the butterflies cool rise
yellows, oranges, and blacks scattered
in a blinking musical whirlwind ballet
lilies and crocuses spinning a melody
delicate antenna mimic a child’s wave
May shadows at noon disguise liquid
puddles skated smooth froze as ice
floral scents carried along spring winds
perpetual the change that remains sweet

Turnips Beside The Road

bunches of turnips spread out
an old country table of boards
dents and gaps showing age
soil dry now crumbles off as
each pile is shook before packing
the old vegetable boxes stacked
hurriedly in the bed of that old
white pickup that sat years in the
field back of the old slave cabins
it’s another hot day out there for
selling turnips beside the road

 

 

 

The Oldies Station

old the filling station half stands, a rusting show place lost
once bustling in brightness, weeds poke up asphalts cracks
peering around, periscopes riding in the crumbling black wakes
entertainment in a desolate place, silent country Bowery reruns
pumps hand driven, virgins they were to plastic cash sliders
in reflections shadowed, chrome glared of manner’s suited
oil checks, pop in glass bottles, coin driven phone call booths
change rides in, wearing glamour mostly, leaves some dusted
streetlights bent in prayer, touching the abandoned lot distressed
their wiring hangs limp, cut to fraying the darkness answers not

Southern Shine

Blue skies reflecting off southern eyes
Sight that is sweet as fresh pecan pie
Georgia peaches and Muscadine wine
Honey suckle and the sweet bye and bye
Carolina moonlight drinking down the shine

 

 

Papered With The Funnies

listening as the drops sound off one by one
coming storm raining down on the old tin roof
the falling porch leans toward the hill above
nothing fades as nicely as paint on metal does
wildflowers peak from between boards and stone
foundation sliding daily towards the eastern edge
sights and sounds returning inside this house
fools call it a shack but to me it’s ever true home
papered twice in the finest newspapers of the era
an architectural designer tribute to snuffy smith
running water is found in the creek pure and cool
the most of it found clear in mason jars shelved
among the years tomatoes and pickled okra
nostalgia grows in this holler when the rain falls
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Monday Morning Poetry

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The World From His Window /or/ the Wheels In the Wheels Go Round and Round

He sits day by day
gazing beyond the silicon created illusion
searching for something that’s left his mind
a verse, a melody, a memory
like a broken shell beyond repair
in his world of fantasy  laced reality
the old man counts the days
by the hairs caught in his comb
while multi-colored children play games
on little black boxes in the dark
a world, distinct in-distinctions groans
false perceptions push and pull
everything within the senses once vivid
now cheating for a place among
what is seen, heard, felt, and received, rather than perceived
evening and morning greet each other loudly sometimes, quietly others
rather than that burned out marionette
on frayed strings, jerking wildly,
whose dance is without grace
always out of place
being a being, lost in space
if you hear him crying in the night
reliving the battles
the ceremonious washing’s
do not look to close
do not stare to long
his handlers have left scars of great depth
the old man is splintered and cracked
with a stench of wood burned in the fire
and soaked in water, you know
the odor I speak of, a perfume not
sold in the likes of ancient department stores
not to be found for any price these days
but this (that) old man
he stays right there, oblivious to his own care
though quite mindful of a stare
despite the new world disorder
thrust full force upon that one or sum
full of brows, silvery and thin
your thoughts of him
might be dim
he is just there in that chair
filthy, stinky, useless, unknown creature
whose presence only serves,
among men and women,
in this age and ages past
befitting a scare
but every now and again,
unseen until that shell has been split open
and broken
a single ray of light will give a glimmer,
a shimmer
and beyond the shell, beyond the smell
those who, still can be still, find a pearl
In the Makers hands
what to us is beyond repair
is made new, clean, and a treasure rare.

Parkchester Little League Part One

My first day of School, not Little League
 My introduction to baseball and little league began at a very early age. I’m thinking six or seven is when I joined what was called the pee wee’s. Games took place in the North Ball Field and I became very famous almost instantly, out in some position (no one really covered a particular base or position in these games) as the best glove chewer to come along in years. Besides the peeing and the weeing, this was what most scouts from the “real” little league came to look for and . apparently I was there man.
 So it wasn’t long thereafter that I was given a contract in the minors and sent out to be tested in about every actual position on a baseball diamond. Now mind you, up to this point all my experience with baseball had been mostly in peeing on the field and glove chewing which despite my best efforts did not help one bit with stopping a ball hit at you or a throw needed to stop an advancing runner. As a matter of fact the peeing tended to be a hindrance to both, and the glove chewing may have been the start of a serious gum infection that later claimed one of my best teeth up to that point.
 How these grown men saw any hidden talent in me is beyond comprehension, but they were the experts so I kept at it. And by the time my first season progressed, in spite of my maturing rapidly to the point where I almost never peed on the field during a game. I found out they were right, and I could play this game called little league. And now in the minors, it was no more cement North Ball field, now it was grass and dirt at St Raymond’s, or Ferry Point Park, or St Joe’s. Now hang on cause this is a true story!
 At the end of season one disaster struck as I met a cousin of mine named Johnny. During the season ending picnic and extravaganza we unknowingly, and mistakenly, reached into the wrong cooler. Did I tell you it was accidentally? Well you can see that my lying began at this same point also. From that cooler instead of a cold soda to complement our hot dogs, Johnny, I learned, ate his with ketchup and not mustard, (which should have clued me in to his character at that point) we pulled out an item called a beer. My first encounter with this product proved to be at the same time funny, scary, and, immaturing, (is that a word?) all at once. We laughed a good bit as we began what is called “downing your first one”, became quite frightened when our experience became known by the adult members of our league, and I amazingly peed myself out in the field for the first time in who knows how long.
 After a stern talking to, a good whooping’, some clean drawers, and a short stint in rehab, at the start of the next season I was placed on a minor league team called Daisy Cleaners. Which, when the season got underway we proceeded to break record after record, as we lost every game in the most horrific and embarrassing manner. A season remembered to this very day, in the annuls of Parkchester Little League history, and baseball in general worldwide.
 Hopefully I can stay focused and write the next few stories of my Little League career.
Including
: Kiwanis, B’naiBrith….who are the people and why do they have teams in Parkchester . Little League why I’ve never seen these stores
: A night at the Opera with Hamburger Express,
: Parkchester Management, The first team in the history of Parkchester Little League with a female manager….the almost immortal now, Parkchester Management team that included Johnny W****, Rob Filos (that’s me), Matthew F****, and other less important players. The only team ever that went undefeated in Parkchester Little League History. Including first person accounts of the magical triple play converted that same year!