Cherokee Whispers (POEM)

Cherokee Whispers (POEM) Fog nestles deep in the curves of the skyline. Billowing upward in silent repose. It looks like puffs of smoke from a cigarette. It’s nature enchanting, almost mystical, Calling to my soul. I watch this morning before the sun rises. The sun still tucked away in her slumber. This dynamic, I witness,…

Hay Time (POEM)

Hay Time (POEM) There is not much more fun than play’n In the rolling fields we’re hay’n. It is a seasonal feast For us farmers at least As we know that it’s time for the bale’n. We wait for the day When it is time to cut hay All the friends, they load in the…

Woodland Melody (POEM)

Woodland Melody (POEM) Oh how woodland sounds They pull at my soul. I walk in these woods And my spirit takes hold. Bird songs like lullabies, Drifting through pines. They filter out restlessness, Uncluttering my mind. Damp and cool breezes Sweeping down from the sky, They infultrate my pores And flush out my eyes. I…

The History Of The Scarecrow ~ Rural Legends And Folklore And The Scarecrow (POEM)

The scarecrow is a historical feature of American tradition that stands steady as time waxes on – even as Americans move from farm and field to cities and urban centers. Truly, the scarecrow is rooted in the rural life style.  Hay stuffed scarecrows grace pumpkin patches, corn fields and many agri-tourism destinations across rural America…

Growing Up In Wilsonville (POEM)

Growing Up In Wilsonville (POEM) I grew up in the country It made me who I am. I have traveled this world and seen a few things But I am tired of all the glam. My country roots they call me home, To a place where land meets sky. Where friends of old are deep…

A Story Of Wood (POEM)

A Story Of Wood (POEM) Oh are the ancient ways of our ancestors Cutting pines with the two-man saw. Fondly known as the misery whip Two men pulling back for the draw. The force of arms and physicality Using the broadaxe shaping wood hand hewn. Never thought it would all turn to history And be…

Being A Poet (POEM)

Being A Poet (POEM) I sit at my writers desk thinking. The words, they pull at my mind. Intractable thoughts about everything. Putting my life in rewind. I reflect on the journey as I sit here. Words pour on paper with pen. It is nearly unconscious mostly. I rarely think, just now and then. Often…