Best Scrubby Poems

I am an Outlander
Who lives on a high hill
Overlooking a man-made lake
That once was a rapidly rushing river
Along whose banks the Ozarks Bluff Dwellers and...

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My Tired And Lost Soul Next This Wise Advice Out It Screams

As harder blown dry winds skulk among oldest granite stones
And the spitting sun flamed...

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Peter a farmer from Scrubby Creek,
 Seldom washed his great big feet,
  His fed up wife would complain 
     ...

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Who is Bigfoot’s Great-grand Daddy?

Whether living in a city or on the mountain side,
People from the world around astound us with their views.
He’s nine-feet tall,...

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I Am The Artist Of My Life

Aloft the hills I sit
The world behind
The clear sky above
I, my master,
And my soulful thoughts
Reaching nothingness.
So what is this...

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Trying to find something to think about...
sporting yellow shorts, & an old blue and white Jersey...
on my way to get socks to play soccer today...
...My...

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Faulty compass of drifting swain
Freelancing on arid, desert plain
Passion fires mind of careening train
Burning loins long each satin sheath to stain
Sculpted dunes seductive beauty do...

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Nestled deep in the tawny, drab woodland
Sedate cottage neither haughty nor grand
Sparse hovel of unassuming, itinerant brigand
Martial decor of detached highwayman starkly bland
The etched path...

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In the vast deserts life struggles
clinging on by their toe nails
short scrubby plants poke out
a hot haven for scorpions

See the marks in the red sand
of...

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My father’s timber array arrived on an 
overloaded Diamond Reo flatbed. 
It dumped oak scraps, leafless dead-woods, 
inspiring last metamorphosis to 
warming fires come winter’s...

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Mountaintops

Mountaintops –
Barren rocks,
Scrubby brush,
Nothing grows there.

Valley view –
From mountaintop,
Lush, green growth,
Teeming life.

People can’t grow on a mountaintop.
We grow in the valleys of life.
People can’t stay...

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The steel and glass reach to the sky,
the ground covered in man-made stone,
there are always people everywhere,
they scurry ‘bout while on their phones.
They call this...

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While crossing barrens last December night
I saw a ghost in the scrubby growth of trees 
He was standing a strawman and I was in ...

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while hills taunt us with scrubby tufts of green
the long fingers of the sun
stroke the horizon

a jet splits the sky with a cloudy tail
rattling ...

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A cold moon comes up
After the hot and billowing day
The black beaks, black eyes
White plumed necks
And fanged claws masked as talons
Still sizzle on the sultry...

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