Americana Poems - Poems about Americana

Heart ache, a road break off route sixty-six Over each river and every state line Tour bus travellers all finding their fix Everyone hyphened is heightened this time Lost luggage losing it's share of the light American dreams with shutters pulled down Memphis blues music feels alright tonight Elvis themed runners surprising the town Rocky road blue grass fades slowly away In between cities...

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{"We don’t run away, we cannot run away from our demons; the very ones that plague us with our history, reminisce on our backstories and they, Judge. Judge, adjudicate us by it, Convict us of a felony for whom which we have been associated with; or accused of. It is indefinitely outlandish to dispose of it...

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A patriotic bunting, hanging from a porch, black lines of a Model-T, back when we liked Ford, porcelain sign from the 30s, somehow ad and art, the fun and fear we got from tossing a lawn dart. Rich, decadent milkshakes upon a summer’s eve, chrome diner with a neon sign, hawking things to eat. county band playing loud, line dancers shuffle...

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It’s Thursday evening, almost nine foot-tap, fiddle, and banjo time with juke-box tales of love’s romance the county jail, a second chance for bourbon belles or backroad trucks mail-box motels, living on luck from one horse towns to city bars acoustic sounds that drive guitars harmonicas with prairie dust Americana, steel mill rust cornbread kitchen, joy, and sorrow songs that long for bright tomorrows it’s Nashville on...

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Pick a place you want to go The answer never will be no How about a rustic inn? One where we have never been With cottages on private coves Overlooking lilac groves Horse and buggy romance rides Snow capped, pine tree mountainsides Cozy, warm, big fireplace Reflecting, glowing off your face Nooks and crannies, old heirlooms Like corn cob pipes and horsehair brooms Mornings, evenings,...

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William Bonny AKA Billy The Kid A Tale Of Billy The Kid By Robert Gorelick “Quien esta?” Bang! It’s over, you’re a legend now, Billy. Born in Hell’s Kitchen in ramshackle consumptive squalor, New York’s crammed gang infected rat-infested shacks and alleys. Amid the iniquitous stench of rot and the soul’s decay, in a nation at war, pulling, stretching, ripping to shreds the frayed fabric of its precarious...

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A chilly mist hung in the air that Sunday morning in April when I pulled up in front of Harpers Grove Community Church. The gravel parking lot was rapidly filling up, and folks, nodding cordially to each other, were threading their way through neat rows of parked cars. Several young men, lingering over a last...

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Nineteen good guys with guns, But no balls; Your tax dollars at work. Requiem Americana....

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Americana Panorama Land of the free Home of the brave From sea to shining sea In between golden waves From the fields farmers plant Across the vast Mid-West In this Americana Panorama Northern cities touching sky Scrapers lighting up the night As the Carolina shore Echos back the oceans roar Along the Texas plains Where freedom loves to sing In this Americana Panorama With the Grand Canyons openness To Alaska's wilderness The...

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Land of the free Home of the brave From sea to shining sea In between golden waves From the fields farmers plant Across the vast Mid-West In this Americana Panorama Northern cities touching sky Scrapers lighting up the night As the Carolina shore Echos back the oceans roar Along the Texas plains Where freedom loves to sing In this Americana Panorama With the Grand Canyons openness To Alaska's wilderness The mountains...

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Pictures still there ...

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