Dancing to a Dixieland band, I think of General Lee
And General Sherman who led a march to the sea.
I am glad that I did not live in the south back in the day.
I cannot imagine how fast my sad feet could not run away.
Poems are just about everywhere
If you keep an open mind
So many things can prompt a verse
Just seek and ye shall find
Sometimes everyday happenings
Inspire you to sit and write
A robin frantically yanking on a worm
A kid wobbly riding a bike
A construction worker in a hard hat
Two lovers hand in hand
Traffic lights flashing red and green
Sounds of a Dixieland Band
Keep an eye out for things around you
As mundane as they may seem
Look deeper into what's going on
You may find a hidden theme
Poems are just about everywhere
If you keep an open mind
It was cold that snowy December night, 1862. We took the hill to stand and fight against the Yankee coats of blue. We charged towards their army near the river down below. From the blades of our Rebel swords the Yankee blood did flow. Their troops had us outnumbered that frigid winter night. But Stonewall Jackson rushed the left while Stuart flanked the right. That dreary night we took the town of Fredericksburg by storm, we fought for Dixie the next 3 nights and through the early morns. Death fell upon the Union troops taking many lives. The wounded laid there crying, wishing they had died. And when the battle finished and the smoke had cleared the air, we looked behind and on that hill our flag was still there. And as the sun went down that eve with harmonica in hand, I sat upon that hill and sang, My Home's In Dixieland. Evermore a soldier, I'll fight until the end. And when my war is over, I'll see my home again. But if I should die tomorrow one thing will sure be true. I survived the battle of Fredericksburg, 1862.
It was nine degrees out all was frozen
Not much better inside for commode water
Icy crystals formed not what we'd chosen
Shaking at fireplace's front, stood our daughter
On top of the hearth wasn't any better
One thing we didn't need was a fly swatter
Outside with slick cardboard and snow saucer
The children did laugh and gingerly play
With warm cocoa sipped, slept like a dosser
Snuggled upon dry straw and cow's loose hay
They could have slept through loudest donkey's bray
That experience made for a good day
Winter wonderlands don't happen much here
Usually cold, wet, and windy each year
Sometimes with ice spewed then bugs disappear
So that winter wonderland brought us cheer
Lots of wet clothes and needed headgear
Once we relaxed and to rules didn't adhere
Each family needs one winter wonderland
With cocoa and popcorn in dixieland
Written: December 27, 2018
For Contest: Winter Wonderland Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Dixieland Ghost
In the South. Deep in the hills.
There is a forgotten town. Of a war past.
On a clear night you can see an old schoolhouse.
Next to a grave yard of soldiers from the past.
When the moon is full and all is still.
A light appears From a window in the old school.
At the stroke of midnight you hear a scream.
One that could curl your toes.
Then on a Whitehorse in the grave yard.
A soldier dressed so proud.
the school he did go. Riding fast as he could go.
In the window, you could see him as he rode the halls.
A scream once more and then a yell
The South will rise again and God blesses dixieland
This poem is in the semi-final round of Poetry Nation's Amateur Poetry Competition for 2016 .
I've never seen them before,
but know they're in Elbert County, Georgia
put there by a mysterious man
by the name of R.C. Christian,
who put them on display
in dixieland, 1980 circa,
They have 10 new age rules,
which are occultic in my view,
stating that he is a tree hugger,
and wants billions of people to perish,
thinking in his view,
were nothing more than cannon fodder,
he thinks the planet is too overpopulated,
and that nature must be "balanced,"
his religion being pantheism or polytheism,
of which one I'm not quite sure which,
All's I know is that this mystery man
worships the sun, moon and the stars,
mother nature in general,
rather than our Heavenly Father
which is new age bizarre,
and that when Charlie Daniels
wrote his hit country pop song,
he must have known about all this,
when he came out with his
"the devil came down to Georgia" hit.
Addendum: They are actually called the "Georgia Guidestones" with 10
New Age commandments written on them.
In what way shall I improvise myself?
Shall I memorize the first way I felt?
And my origin from West Africa
Through the European landing in hell?
Jelly with a honeysuckle belly
Make it catch like rhythm that unfolds
Unremembering the hell til it tells me
Live like I act like a story untold.
Ragtime Naptown bands in syncopation
Dixieland Creole bred pause for the cause
Sax make it take it banjo behave it
Clarinet trombone tuba and guitar
String bass and pluck mashing in your face
Swing like I tap dance on boogie shaped clouds
Ella King Vaughn touch it fast then it shake
Mean as a blues song on turn it up now.
Then I gain recognition streams freed me
On to an atonal sound without bop
And I'm not in any definite key
Remembering not remember locks.
There goes a lonely soul in a coffin
carried by pallbearers which step forward with slow-pace
a funeral leader goes with black umbrella up
the brass band follows:
the trumpet vomits blood from its shredded heart,
one step forwards leaning to left
the trombone steps backward heaving a heavy sigh,
two steps leaning to right;
when the saxophone scatters wandering spirits in the air
the spirits twist their bodies with the sax yearning for lost paradise;
the tuba, on the verge of tears, struggles to advance out of breath,
keeps swaying its bulky body trying not to fallout from the line.
The enchanting melodies of Dixieland,
appeal not only to the mourners but
curious bystanders ears as well.
The first born spoke memories of my birth.
He remembered O’Toole [our father] spinning gravel
at the corner of Deerfield and Glenwood blaring
Dixieland Jazz from the AM radio of the red Rambler,
“Outamyway Wegota Yankee Doodle Dandy. . .”
I was born on the 4th of July. I was a month late.
I was the sixth born [in seven yrs.] and afterthought,
the second sister who wasn’t.
A left handed devil (according to the Catholics.)
Someone to wait at home for the other five.
A willing conspirator. Someone to shoulder the blame.
I had coxcomb eyes and a pirate’s smile.
I liked to dis-assemble travel clocks.
I looked like any sibling I stood next too.
I was very smart but would not amount to much.
I bought into the myth of the family.
And the Dixieland band just played on. . .
JJust an old trumpet player with a worn out horn –
Seems he had played it ever since he was born.
Sometimes his lively music put dancing in your feet.
Then there were times he rendered tones so tranquil and so sweet.
So many came to follow this magic little man
That soon he was known as the best in music land.
He drew the best unto him and formed a little band
And added perfect talent to the world of Dixieland.
Sometimes he would sing a little verse or two
And he would make it sound like it was just for you.
He was known the whole world over - heaven watched him too
And his music was so soulful it could sometimes make you blue.
In his life we witnessed greatness only artists can provide
And even heaven’s angels cried the day sweet Louis died.
Some say even Gabriel didn’t know how to behave
The day we put old ‘Satchmo’ in his grave.
So, gentle trumpet man, may you always rest in peace
We recall an instant, when you left us, all the music ceased.
Written by John Posey
9/11/14
Poems are just about everywhere
If you keep an open mind
So many things can prompt a verse
Just seek and ye shall find
Sometimes everyday happenings
Inspire you to sit and write
A robin frantically yanking on a worm
A kid wobbly riding a bike
A construction worker in a hard hat
Two lovers hand in hand
Traffic lights flashing red and green
Sounds of a Dixieland Band
Keep an eye out for things around you
As mundane as they may seem
Look deeper into what's going on
You'll may find a hidden theme
Poems are just about everywhere
If you keep an open mind
© Jack Ellison 2013
'Morn sky, Spring love, Summer dreams,
Winter chill. Listen to the cloud covering.
Fall deep into fallen leaves, raked
By slumbering winds. Fields of white
Cotton picked in summer sun by *****
Slaves - peaches by the migrant hands.
Dixieland band plays on for workers.
Sing along, soulful music. Mexicans
Have a more upbeat style. Jazz in
New Orleans in the Spring. Ah, peace.
All seasons man works to the beat,
Heat of the sun and wind. Then rainfall.
Call to the morning sky. Ask why not?
It's got to be time for planting and
Panting up a sweat. No regret I forgot
To mention again sweet Summer dreams.
'Morn sky, Spring love, Summer dreams,
Winter chill. Listen to cloud cover.
Fall deeper into fallen leaves, raked
By slumbering winds. Fields of white
Cotton picked in summer sun by *****
Slaves - peaches by the migrant hands.
Dixieland band plays on for workers.
Sing along, soulful music. Mexicans
Have a more upbeat style. Jazz in
New Orleans in the Spring. Ah, peace.
All seasons man works to the beat,
Heat of the sun and wind. Then rainfall.
Call to the morning sky. Ask why not?
It's got to be time for planting and
Panting up a sweat. No regret I forgot
To mention again sweet summer dreams.
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