Inspired by "Oval Living" by CayCay Godwin
Wobbly teardrop poised to fall,
why do you have a Southern drawl?
And if I raise my eyes to look,
will I find you've grown into a brook
on a face that's all aquiver,
ruefully destined to be a river,
joining tears of sisters and brothers,
in life's ocean made by mothers.
Through the Mississippi River trenches
Bayou close
Plantation seen in the distance
Cruising through Southern history’s past
Battle and Struggle
Civil War breakout
Slavery quo
Acceleration having a slow pace
Rebel among the multitude of voices
Southern accent
Freedom thought
The need being a slow proceed
Won’t, Can’t, Shouldn’t and total stand still
The vision of slaves being compelled to function on the many plantations sun up to sun down
Breezes were only a wave with a fan
Mississippi River far and wide
Shores yonder
Banjos setting the tone for boundaries forbidden
Folklore testimonies
Singing and dancing through the circumstances
Slaves praying every chance
Only Slaves knew the trouble they seen
Having the understanding I mean
Southern drawl components
Mouth to Mouth
The Mississippi River belle telling how the Mississippi River being the passage way in bringing Slaves for plantation purposes
Mississippi River ever wise
Southern element no surprise
Beyond the spectacle, but slaves had to succumb having no surrender, but ordinance.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Suddenly, the scent of old glue
unseals memory: yearbook pages
sticking together. Forty-seven Augusts ago
Susan Alexander's laugh cracked
through algebra class; our fingers
brushed, passing Man From LaMancha lyrics
scribbled on notebook margins.
We dissected Austen heroines
during sleepovers, shared
popcorn at matinees, dreamt
in Technicolor futures.
Then silence. Decades folded
into drawers like unworn sweaters.
Facebook algorithms blinked, those strange
matchmakers, whispered: Berlin?
Dallas? Three winters have since melted
into midnight texts—her German syntax
knitting with my Texas drawl
across glowing screens. Old jokes
resurrected like vinyl records
scratched but still singing.
Distance shrinks to pixels;
the gift of friendship blooms anew~
upon digital soil.
* This poem was submitted to and published at Persimmon Tree, November 2025. This is my original poem.
Strawberry pie and school girl scribbles,
pleasantry lingers with that poised drawl.
Tea on the side of polite conversation,
baby that mask isn’t who she is at all.
It transforms based on your energy,
bit by bit the least visible lines change.
Admit that you too have hidden horns
two-bit words cannot hide the strange.
As I get older
And as I amble and imbibe
The wafting of the aroma of roses
And as I get older
I still rock (just not in a chair)
And I roll with the lingo
Of the younger generation
I think things are sick
I try not to throw shade
I think somethings are fire
I am stupidly blessed
(and I say in my Hampton Orphanage drawl)
One hundred percent
As I get older
I find (as Ben Franklin confessed)
That the God of Heaven
Governs the affairs of mankind
The good, the bad and the ugly
And as I get older
(I said older not old)
I am a work in progress
According to the Lord
And as I head to
The autumn of my life
(The words of my Army buddy
And amateur sage Jack
Echo in my mind)
"People say
I am in my own little world,
That's ok,
at least everyone knows me there."
When the seed of fear is planted in minds,
It germinates in brains as a tormentor—
Sometimes sown by a whisper,
a shadow,
a lie repeated twice.
When illusion becomes reality,
And starts by making the heart
skip a beat,
then more of its beats,
then all of its beat.
It creates monsters in our eyes in the dark,
Born from our own imaginations.
And it can make them fly,
swirl,
drawl,
crawl,
and do anything—
Make our hairs stand on end,
Our feet walk on eggshells,
on a slippery slope.
It can crimp us into a shrimp.
When it creeps into our grip,
It brings a nice gift of heebie-jeebies—
That send us on a purposeless,
directionless meander,
Like a chicken with head just severed
and left unrestrained.
Fear teaches our hands to fight,
And reaches our legs to take flight,
But it’s never patient to judge us right,
Even when fear is out of sight.
When the seed of fear is well tendered,
Fear can even make us no longer
fear fear.
When its taproot has eaten deep
into the hypothalamus,
Then the mind is already gnawed by monsters
That, time and again, we created
out of nothing.
Georgia peach dusk
beyond blue and cloudy skies
a bodacious kiss
won with a Southern accent
a drawl that draws one's eyes up
My Silent confessions were echoes retrieved,
from layers of longings, Often dreamt of with care.
My thoughts were well hidden, Lest others perceived,
the ring of Inane truths I could let slip out, into the air,
when angst sent Laments lilting out, when not just right.
I posed the questions I Often cradled with spite,
answering all the Queries I never wanted to hear,
hoping to wrap them all Up in one giant tear,
to be shed with a Yen to be rid of them all,
In a Speech to myself in a long drawn out drawl.
A knife lie in her bed, her hand rests atop the hilt.
The satin maple bed frame lie bare beneath her fingers,
And the aliferous knife lie skin warm in the cradle of her hand.
A pile of gossamer shavings grow on her sheets,
Surrounded by splinters near her pillow-
concealed by soft down.
She awaits the conception of a fish,
Sat in the pillar of her crib.
She pictures she’s an old wiseman, with an Appalachian drawl
Widdleing on his back porch- rocking on a pine chair
The bones of her fish turn crimson-
A red herring
The laceration in her thumb lolls a bright serum
She was stopped by worry, but then she recalled-
That’s what the knife was for anyways
I have a penchant for your kiss,
I kind of dig that hidden smile;
Look in my eyes there’s no typo;
Each moment I don’t want to miss,
Baby please let me stay awhile;
It’s so warm I want to go slow;
On whispered words I reminisce,
caught up in your gentleman’s style;
A drawl dripping with southern flow;
My heart hangs on a precipice
fearing I’m headed to exile;
Picante is charged with mellow;
Affinity for pure jesters,
dunked by desire that sequesters.
Love affair
Heart to heart transactions in the air
It was a large Banking Corporation Office Tower in New York City
Eyes met
Tony and Regina’s dating set
No With drawl
Tony and Regina worked as Temps for the same agency
Worked in different departments within Investment Management Group of Stocks and Bonds
There was definitely a love thing
However, it was noticeable and plenty of observation
A regular employee of the bank stated, “Tony and Regina have romance going on
It didn’t matter, love was love
I can assure you, Tony and Regina felt it was everything to think of
They even went to Bloomingdale’s 59 and they joked around
In fact, there was this long dinner table fit for a mansion, and Tony played like he was rich and having an elegant affair, and it was a sensation
Not only was Regina impressed, there was an audience that wasn’t expected
Applaud love and Regina behind it
Nonetheless, love story genuine
Suddenly love took a down turn
Not on Regina’s part as my temp assignment had come to an end that day
Regina was out sick
We were so busy dating, and never exchanged phone numbers
Heart struck
Love search
Let’s make up some new words,
they will woo a sharp tongue;
Timbre tends to enthrall
and leave it all behind;
Hooked on that swag and drawl;
Let’s make up some new words
that will catch fire and spread;
Smoke is everywhere fast
becoming a movement;
Straight fresh is built to last;
Let’s make up some new words
to embellish language;
Culture builds confluence
when we hear each other;
There’s no juice in silence;
Let’s make up some new words,
see what’s best together;
Just go crazy or splice,
uncover the right scratch;
The secret’s in the spice.
.
mine lips splutter
with drawl
whilst yourn lips
burble
babble
feign'n
the delicious taste
uv
love
,)
There's a bird on the wire
overlooking fields of grain;
He's been here once before
but it didn't look the same.
The flowers are wilted,
there's no seeds upon the ground;
Even though the breeze blew
he could hear no sound.
Somewhere from the distance
came a noise that he once knew,
'Twas the sound of the dogs
as a group of pheasants flew.
Then he heard canons roar,
watched the first of the birds fall;
Heard commands from the men,
sounding like the southern drawl.
Gathered up their trophies
as they arrive at this end;
Turned around, spreading out,
and then started back again.
Seemed to be a routine,
to him their plans seemed so clear;
He only knew they'd leave
when there were no more birds here.
So now he had to move
for to find himself a meal,
Might be somewhere near by
with a few seeds he can steal.
The day was growing dark,
less and less he sang his song;
His heart sank as snow fell,
this season was to be long.
False Friend.
Your bull smeared on crystal glass
Comes out of your mouth, out of your ass
Your high society, hold your pinky high
You found the gutter, reaching for the sky
Condescending, patronising, business failure
Buy a jacket from a top-hole tailor.
You can’t buy class it’s all pretence.
Doing things that are complete nonsense.
Making plans, planned never to keep.
Used to control, the peasant sheep.
Paying bills gives the illusion of power
Explaining a clock in an ivory tower.
Imposing your will, expanding control
Speaking words, using a sociopathic drawl
You don’t fool me, I shake my head.
I never listened to a word that you said.
The perfect pair, how clever you are?
And yet you still bought an electric car?
Building a house staying off the grid
Justifying the cost who’re you trying to kid?
David Cox 23/03/24
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