Hillbilly Poems

hillbilly hoe down

hllbilly hoe down
hard piece of straw in each mouth
bibbed overall dance

banjos and fiddles
potluck of fancy desserts
arkansas ham hocks

hound dogs on the porch
homemade corn liquor from gramps
square dancing parents

loud bluegrass music
pink taffy pull for the kids
toothless grandmothers

Hillbilly Highway

Time for me to give the best man's toast

It's the moment that I've dreaded most

What can I say Mister 

You married your Sister 

I've had her and that's nothing to boast


In fact, last time we were together 

We did it with whips, chains, and leather

But bondage made her mean

So I broke it off clean

Now little

Hillbilly Hollows

Down in Hillbilly Hollow, under the silver moon,
Rustlin' leaves and hootin' owls, playin' a country tune.
Haystacks high, and the creek runs low,
Life rolls by, nice and slow.
Dirt road windin', bend to bend,
Kin and friends 'round every end.
Old guitars strummin', hear the sound,
Laughter echoes, love abounds.
Barefoot dances, by the old barn door,
Stories told, of legends yore.
In

Not My Hillbilly

Me thinks Hillbilly Vance is too highfalutin'
A big corporate crack pot? Yeah, yer darn tootin'
Gimme Jed Clampet any day
Jethro, Granny or Ellie May
Not a hack for a huckster who praises Vlad Putin!

Hillbilly Bobby

Hillbilly Bobby shared his snack with a chickadee
The bird gave out some sounds a toot, a tweet and a twee
His relatives came by and wanted bird seed too.
Bobby called in relatives to see what they could do.

They baked up cornbread and threw it onto the ground.
The smell of ham, beans and onions wafted all around.
They

Hillbilly Poet

On top of old mango tree 
Climbing high, wild and free 
High above the mountain top
Wishing signal would not flop 

Writing my poetry 
On top of old mango tree 
While the skies up above 
Lauding the courage I have 

June 3, 2023

The Hillbilly Blues

High ho Hill Bill is singing the hillbilly blues
It’s not a bad life, yet, not one that I’d choose
He’s wailing like a cat with a pinched big toe
Singing the blues up and down in summer and snow.

They found me under a spoiled apple tree
I was never a good boy, no one wanted me.
My daddy ran

The Good Life

Mornings, light and smiling
Coffee brewing, black
Meat frying in a cast iron skillet
Grease, flour and milk, stirred together
Gravy poured over steaming biscuits
Granny’s breakfast – typically
Grown to life from a wood cookstove

Noon, gentle sunshine
Picking cornfield beans, breaking
The beans and then washing them
Placing them into a vessel, a pot
Seasoned with pork - fatback
Cooking over the sweaty heat 
Of

Our Front Porch Hillbilly Band

Billy played the banjo, sometimes the fiddle, too
While grandpa rattled the spoons and sang
About a sip of “that good ol’ mountain dew.”

Occasionally Mr. Snell came over and brang *
His collection of gourds, they made a harmony
While grandpa rattled the spoons and sang.

The makeshift band welcomed, as a courtesy,
Anyone who had a crude mountain instrument
His collection

Making a Hillbilly Jacuzzi

We got a bubble machine and rigged it up a bit.
To the cow water trough, it was a really tight fit.
Come on! I urged Bubba, grandma’s nap won’t last.
I knew if she caught us, we’d be whooped hard and fast.

We were giggling so hard, probably due to the beer.
Who brought it over to Grandma’s, it

Hillbilly

Hillbilly musicians don't play the drums
They use instruments that they can strum
Fiddle or blow
Why do they do this? I don't know

It must make a unique noise
When accompanied by
Fiddle, Banjo, Guitar and boys
Singing as nobody sang
With that country music twang

By their side, a bottle of Whisky and Rye
While watching those Southern Belles pass by
With a Hi-dee-hi

Hillbilly Elergies

They brought their music to the hills,
a gritty music
that world brook no softening,
but in time the Appalachian mists
grew softer and the work less dire.
They were not one people,
they were one music,
tunes that recalled Celtic roots
that had broken the will of nations 
to ever control them.
When they left those homelands
they did not abandon the high landscapes
but

Hillbilly Magic

Hillbilly magic in the heat of the day
Playing homemade fiddles in the middle of May.
Blowing into Grandpa’s jug with a merry hey.
Knee slapping melody with my cousin Shay.

Adding to Arkansas lazy ambiance in every way,
Black comb with waxed paper kazoos added to the fray.
Consuming Bob’s moonshine in secret shadows of dark gray.
Good ole’ fashioned downhome

Directions

Take that road down yonder, she said
Toward the signpost that reads, lickskillet
Turn right up thar and then left after that
To a highfulootin road that’s paved in black

After you see the red store building by the crik
Turn to your right and you’ll be at Old Jack’s street
From there you go over the mountain a ways
And keep

Memories In Appalachia

Every morning at close to four
She made the coffee, percolated
Poured it into cups with saucers
And they each would have a cup
Pouring the potent black liquid
Into the saucers before drinking
The cooling solution from them

This was only one more glimpse
Into the heart of Appalachian living
A day by day extravaganza of insights
Carried down from the Irish ancestors
Who’d come

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