A Country Sampler



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


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






Monday Morning Poetry


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.

A Poem for a Sunday

Please check out my poem published today at Dissident Voice, and give it a like and share while there.


many blessings







Image result for lamb

Next time people are taking prayer requests remember Jesus has one too.

Jesus Has A Prayer Request

Mary had a little lamb
little lamb
little lamb
Mary had a little lamb
whose fleece was white as snow

And everywhere the Father sent
Father sent
Father sent
And everywhere the Father sent
The lamb was sure to go.

Jesus has a prayer request
prayer request
prayer request
Jesus has a prayer request
that everyone should know

Luke 10:2
“Therefore said he unto them, The harvest truly is great, but the labourers are few: pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he would send forth labourers into his harvest.”

Saturday Poems

Image result for supernova


cranberry polished raking streams of soured plasma
released intensely slender and sharp delighted pain
mocha covered and slippery passion fruit flowered
saintly scented weightlessly rolling fitted silken fields
steam rising in curls off harmonic rhapsody burning
double helix orgasmic brand deeply fresh raw organic
spiraling warp speed exploding a super nova nebula
earthbound the splashdown as normal senses return
banana pudding taste though still Venus’ scent lingers
final drop falls leaving it’s mark sensually tipped fingers
Image result for kissing

[ only one kiss took my trembling ]

only one kiss took my trembling
beating heart to task gasping
don’t call 911 do not resuscitate
i’m not dying i just discovered life
Image result for martial law

A Granted Peace Enslaves

a granted peace enslaves
ones bound by patriotism
scoundrels punching tickets
for destinations unreachable
a tonic meant to calm dissent
now the elixir curing allegiance
branching out and shaded wide
slogans replace thoughtful truth
posterity a challenge birthed
reasoning dismissed completely
as military courts martial in law
defender of the under currents

SATURDAY POETRY : Bronx Talk /or/ The All American Kid From New York City


WHO DAT? The All American kid From NYC
What? Who you lookin’ at?
Man, shut you face.
I ain’t got no time for your crap.
What? You can’t be talkin’ to me?
I’m talkin’ to you, so what?
I’ll slap you silly.
You ain’t gonna do nothin’
Oh, Yeah? I’l bust you upside the head.
What? I’m the kid from New York City.
I don’t care if you da Pope.
Oh you will care in a second.
Man, stop with all that….
Oh, it’s a fact Jack,
I’m gonna hit you so hard
You Dead!

Hey You
Hey You? What you think you’re doing?
What cha mean?
You know what I mean, that’s my space.
What? This ain’t your space.
Oh yeah it is, I was here first.
I don’t see your name on it.
Man, you know I was just pulling in.
Well not no more cause I’s in it now.
You sayin’ you ain’t seen me gettin’ ready to pull in?
I ain’t seen nothing.
You’re an ass-hole.
Dat’s right!

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Who Me?
Hey, I think you bumped into me there?
What?, Yeah, Ok.
I said, I think you bumped into me.
Yeah, yeah, sorry.
You sure are!
Who Dat Chill Out
Who dat?
Man, don’t sneak up on me like dat.
Oh chill out.
Yeah, I’ll chill alright.

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You What?
You what?
Have to.
Ah, I don’t think so.
Think what ever ya you want
I don’t gotta think nothin’.
That’ll be easy for you aye?.
Man, stop with all that bull shit again.
Ain’t no bull, and you know it.
We’ll see.
Yeah see this!
You Gonna Eat That?
You gonna eat that?
You gonna eat that? The rest of that sandwich?
What? on my plate, that sandwich I been eating?
Yeah, that. You gonna finish it?
I don’t know, why?
Well if you ain’t…
What? That’s my food, on my plate, half eaten, what’s wrong with you?
Forget it.
Man, you is sick.

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Check Please
Yo, check this…
See dat?
He hit the ground…
What you think?
that’s messed up!
I know!
What I Tell You?
What I tell you!
Man, who’s he talkin too?
I donno
I’m talking to you? Didn’t I tell you don’t be comin’ round here no more?
Free country, right Muzz?
Yeah free.
I’ll show you what free..
Yeah right? Whoaa muzz run
Dude crazy pullin’ a piece like that
Just keep goin’ that guys nuts, we get him later.
Count on it..

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What dat?
What you mean whats dat?
You heard me!
Man, it’s a baseball, what did you think?
I know what it is, that’s my kids ball.
Man, go on.
That’s his ball, now give it here.
I don’t want it no way, maybe you should tell your kid not be throwin’ that
thing where someone could get hit with it, ya know?
Yeah, whatever.
Bout To
You again?
Yeah, so?
I told you stay outta here!
So what, who da heck you think you are?
You ’bout to find out.
Whatever. Now shut you trap
Bout to shut yours.
Aw come on bring it on.
I would but I got me grandma right here in the deli.
Yeah right.
You wait next time I’ll show you, when granny ain’t here.

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Told ya so
Told ya so
you did not
Yes I did I told you so
What ya mean whatever, you know I told ya
yeah ok you told me
That’s right I did tell you so
yeah, yeah, now go on with yourself
It Don’t Matter
what’s it to you?
it matters
It don’t matter to you, what i do!
if it didn’t matter I wouldn’t say it did
oh you always got something to say, don’t cha
forget it, it don’t matter
that’s what I said

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You Forgot
You forgot again, didn’t ya?
I ain’t forgot nothing,
You did, you forgot.
Man, I ain’t forgot nothing, so just shut your face.
I knew it.
I’m leaving.
Flowers, Ha.
Shut up already, ok!

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An Evening Poem


That Is Enough /or/ what i have

I have a pair of jeans with holes in them
and a white t-shirt that is wearing thin
the laces on my sneakers are to short
my tube socks both have worn elasticin my pocket a lighter that doesn’t light
on my shelf, just three Pall Mall 100’s left
a cell phone that can not make a call
I’ve got a quarter, a penny, and four dimes

a head full of words that no one understands
the feeling that all the people are watching me
but also the feeling no one even cares
and that all I have is Jesus

and that all I have is Jesus
that all I have is Jesus
all I have is Jesus

That’s Naomi, Jeremy Camp and me at the Space Needle having brunch. Great time thanks Jeremy and K-Love