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






Oroville Dam UPDATE !!!


Is Failure of the Oroville Dam Possible?

February 11th, 2017 by Roy W. Spencer, Ph. D.

“The last couple of days have not made me very confident in the predictions of engineers associated with the Oroville Dam.

While I am a climate researcher, and not hydrologist, it took me less than an hour midday yesterday (see comments here) to estimate that the emergency spillway would be breached around 9 a.m. PST this morning. I was off by an hour…it was breached at 8 a.m.

But engineers were leaning toward the lake level never getting that high (901 ft.)

This kind of calculation isn’t rocket science. As long as inflow into the lake exceeds outflow (both of which are monitored hourly), the lake level will rise.

Why were engineers reluctant to predict the (admittedly historic) event?”



The latest releases have caused even more damage widening the hole and cutting away at the side of the hill. The lake is at about 95% so they have to keep releasing I would suspect. This is an earthen dam and if this thing goes it will be a major catastrophe. If you live in California stay alert you do not want to have all that water and earth coming at you.

here is a short video:

A video posted on YouTube shows big trouble at the dam, as the spillway has developed an almost 200 ft. hole. For the earthen filled dam this may turn out to serious, though officials are saying there is no danger at this point. .

According to Wikipedia this is the most important water source for the California Department of Water Resources’ State Water Project.

“The Oroville-Thermalito Complex is a group of reservoirs, structures, and facilities located in and around the city of Oroville in Butte County, California. The complex serves not only as a regional water conveyance and storage system, but is the headwaters for, and therefore perhaps is the most vital part of, the California Department of Water Resources’ State Water Project, the world’s largest publicly built and operated water and power development and conveyance system.”

Courtesy: Richard Winterrowd

Richard Winterrowd

CBS13 reports,

“Operators increased their water releases at the dam on Tuesday as a significant storm rolled through Northern California. However, as peak water releases started happening around noon, people started noticing some concerning signs”

In terms of a catastrophic failure besides the residents below who could lose everything and the immediate lose of life, there also could be major impacts throughout California in terms of water and power.

This is something to definitely keep an eye on.

Fukushima Update 2/7/2017

Image may contain: one or more people and indoorHave not been able to spend too much time watching the live streams, right now it is night in Japan, but will try to get more shots today. My YouTube videos on the smoke coming from Reactor #1 have been being hit by trolls with fake accounts, saying all kinds of stuff about my videos being bogus and such. This just adds credibility ( in my opinion) to my thoughts that it is steam or smoke we saw boiling out of that building.

Here are the videos I have on it so far:




An Afternoon Poem


not every man is evil

not every man is evil
not every man hits
at the woman
said he ‘loves’
nor speaks low
and grotesque
mean or sexual
nor to provoke

not every man is evil
not every man lies
at the woman
said he “loves”
nor flirts low
and sweetly
secretly behind
nor to cheat

not every man is evil
not every man puffs
at the woman
says he “loves”
nor puts down
and degrades
loud or unknown
nor to be top

not every man is evil
every man is evil
man is evil
and there is
no excuse
for me

or two…

Route 66 Hiking to Hitch

asphalt bubbling along summer roads
steps turn into enemies heavy and sticky
battling this backpack an elephant above
piggyback riding me the first twelve miles
leaving Chicago alone on double sixes
two thousand four hundred thirty six left
four wheels the brain talk constant now
feet swelled and blistered boots eyelets drip
their wet balls travel down tight nylon laces
mocking me in steam rising clouds of queries
they hit hot pavement ahead of each footprint
in black quicksand stuck thumb extended

Psalm 20 King James Version (KJV)

  The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble; the name of the God of Jacob defend thee;

Send thee help from the sanctuary, and strengthen thee out of Zion;

Remember all thy offerings, and accept thy burnt sacrifice; Selah.

Grant thee according to thine own heart, and fulfil all thy counsel.

We will rejoice in thy salvation, and in the name of our God we will set up our banners: the Lord fulfil all thy petitions.

Now know I that the Lord saveth his anointed; he will hear him from his holy heaven with the saving strength of his right hand.

Some trust in chariots, and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the Lord our God.

They are brought down and fallen: but we are risen, and stand upright.

Save, Lord: let the king hear us when we call.


Some People Trust In Elephants

bight and fiery tracers wiz past
seeking out targets of consent
with flares above affording sight

bombs blare their acceptance
speaking in corrupt vile intensity
the campaign potty training trail

unsightly exposure to deceit
fear driving the party platform
restless inductees working late

buying and selling fear and doom
donations left on the convention floor
the janitors making the laws here

sold to crowds lighted glasses
religious icons of american pop
a cultural class of warfare hype

black widow apocalyptic purse
empty handed jesters distributing
their powerful tonics of positions

building bridges of human suffering
so as to reach the greener pastures
which silently sound proper affiliations

the key to chastity’s broken note belt
leaking spent oil as much as e-mails
best thing just take the bullet and run

while some people trust in elephants,
and other people will trust in donkeys
we trust in the Name of the Lord Our God



Related image

The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.

Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge.

There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard.

Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun,

Which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race.

His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it: and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.

The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul: the testimony of theLord is sure, making wise the simple.

The statutes of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart: the commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes.

The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of theLord are true and righteous altogether.

10 More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.

11 Moreover by them is thy servant warned: and in keeping of them there is great reward.

12 Who can understand his errors? cleanse thou me from secret faults.

13 Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins; let them not have dominion over me: then shall I be upright, and I shall be innocent from the great transgression.

14 Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer.




 By now you are probably thinking, “these stories can’t be true”, “no one could have had such an upbringing”? But let me assure you that despite my bad memory the stories that I have been relating to you are just that, true stories! I had to get that out of the way first because what I am about to share with you today may be one of the most unbelievable adventures yet. You see I grew up in the Bronx in the late 1960s to the early 1980s. And the Bronx at this time was quite an adventure land. So here goes.
 After my short stint at Cardinal Spellman HS, I was doing time at Christopher Columbus HS, which was the Public High School that I was in the district for. You may remember me talking about Columbus as a cross between a day at Central Park and Woodstock. And that it was, to my little mind anyway. Now to reach my new school required riding two separate city buses. I would catch the first at Metropolitan Oval right by my house. The thirteen bus I think it was. And from there I would ride to Pelham Parkway and there was another bus that would carry us to or at least by the School. Most days me and the others who rode the thirteen would just hoof it from White Plains Rd and Pelham Parkway rather than catch the other bus. Most of the time I would ride along with those kids who had to be at school the same time as I did. So when I got on the bus each day, I could expect to see the same kids heading to school each day who had boarded earlier on the route, along with the regular citizens too. Now the year in question I’m gonna say was 1979 or 1980. It doesn’t really matter which , but it was one of those two. Every day I would ride the bus, go to first period, which was math, then homeroom, and then I was done. After that I would hang at the corner and do the stoner thing, or off to whose ever house had no parents home, or other assorted adventures. Well that’s what I did anyway. And I did that same thing, everyday, for about a year and a half. I think maybe the semester started out with me having six classes but by about the third week, as happened every semester, that had become my schedule.
 In my homeroom class among others was a guy that I really only knew by the name Joe Cowboy. I think the teacher even had to refer to him like that for him to answer. Joe was big. I mean he was quite a bit taller than everyone else at school, even the adults. And he was also built strong. Joe wore the same outfit summer or winter. Leather biker Jacket, Motorcycle boots, white t-shirt levis (bootcut), and a big chain with a wallet attached. Every day no exceptions, ever. Joe didn’t talk much but we got along quite well. The only other thing I knew about Joe at this point was the rumor that he was in a biker gang, and that will straighten itself out later on in the adventure. The reason I mention home room will come up later but just wanted to clue you in a bit on it now.
 Our friendship, for lack of a different term, blossomed one chilly morning as I was boarding the number thirteen bus at the Oval. Did I say this was a true story? Well it is. Anyhow, I go to get on the bus and as a student in those days we were issued a pass to ride the city busses to school. But in order to ride you were supposed to pay a nickle fare. So it was kinda a discount pass. Now generally the bus drivers didn’t say anything about the nickle, you would show your pass and if you had a nickel put it in. If not you would just kinda throw your hand over the collection machine like you were putting one in and keep walking. It was just the way it was done back then, an unspoken thing between us and the drivers. So, like every other morning I flip my pass and throw my hand out and start heading back when this bus driver starts yelling about my nickel. Well at first I was gonna ignore him but he seemed so persistent and I really didn’t wanna cause a problem. So I head back toward the front and he is looking right at me, and I dig in my pocket, and I dig, and no matter how hard or far I dug there was no change. Now at this point this fella is looking a bit upset. I mean this is a grown man. I’m a kid fifteen maybe, and he’s a grown fella. So I say “Excuse me, ah excuse me , Mr. Bus Driver Man I don’t seem to have a nickel would you happen to have change for a dollar bill”.
 Now to me that is the way it went, very politely, I’m just a little fifteen year old kid trying to get to school, trying to get some education and I don’t have change. I guess the bus driver didn’t see it that way at all because he got all upset and started talking about kids these days, and spit was flying out of his mouth and sweat coming off his head. I’m not sure, and I don’t want to taint the truth of the story, but I think, his whole head may have turned all the way around like that girl in the Exorcist.
 So being the nice person I am I decided I’ll just wait for the next bus. No use holding all these nice people up when another bus will be along in five or ten minutes. I turn and start heading back off the bus, and as I do my eye catches Cowboys who was always sitting in the back row. As you may know most buses have a back row of seats tat go all the way across. There is no need for the aisle so there is a seat there too. Well on our bus that was Joe’s seat. He would sit right there and his big legs would have room and people would stand rather than think about trying to scoot by him for any of the other back row seats. Anyway I look, and he is up and heading to the front. Well, I thought to myself, this can’t be good. But by that time he was there, and started telling the bus driver something about, he is gonna let me ride and that the bus driver wasn’t in charge of anything on this bus and a lot of others things that I really can’t say in public. But I think you get the drift of what was transpiring.
 Again, you have to stay with me her because this is just to give you a little background on Joe Cowboy so that the real story I am trying to tell you will be better and make sense.
 One thing leads to another and at that point I think the driver said something about not letting some punk little kids tell him how to run his bus, and he reached out to grab Joe… Now I told you this was a true story right?.. Well, everyone in the Bronx learned a good lesson that day. And top of the list was, never, never, try to put your hands on Joe Cowboy. I mean NEVER! Within about fifteen seconds after several dozen blows had been thrown and each one caught by the bus driver’s head, me and Joe were off and trotting to school. Who needs a bus anyway. It’s only about thirty blocks on a cold morning, it will be good to get a little exercise anyway. So we ran about ten blocks and walked the rest of the way, never seeing that bus come past us, so we just figured he had decided to call it a day or something, or took a short cut. Me and Joe never talked about that morning again afterward that day, though we did talk some. Which is what leads up to the original story I was trying to tell you. But I think that first part wore me out right now. Now don’t think I condone that kind of action either, no I don’t. It was wrong, that bus driver never should have tried to assault a teenager like that. Anyway I think I am going to just go up to the title and change this to part 1 and finish writing later tonight or in the morning after I’ve had a bit of time to rest and get over the trauma of that day again.
 DylanBut hang tight this is a true story. And this story has it all. I mean bikers, and hippies, and acid, and high school, and the principle, and parents, and report cards, and the dentist. It’s killer really. ‘Til later.