Long Young buck Poems
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Deep in the piney woods
A call beckons across the branch
A call that isn't animal nor human
A call that makes your hair stand alert and skin prickly from fright!
The light of the full moon awakens the spirits and the calling from the piney woods.
If you doubt my story and risk your very life, then make sure you take a
weapon into the piney woods. Well, I believe the call is from the ghost of the moon
shiners that have lost their lives in the mica mines many years ago.
The mica was
big business one time until the mines went dry.
The deep holes were perfect cover for the moonshine stills until
the revenuers caught the culprits. A great gun battle raged until death.
Today the crumpled mica shimmer in the red clay is all that is left of the mines.
The local children like to scare
themselves with the
abandoned rock graveyard along the edge of the piney woods. If you look close at
the mound of rocks...it appears that there is a bony hand protruding from the grave
and pointing directly at you to leave. The ancient thick cedar trees seem to
guard the graves and whisper "Warning, Warning."
In 1969 there was another vilolent firey death on the road through the piney woods.
A man died inside a burning wrecked truck, screaming
"Don't let me burn to death" repeatedly until the bitter charred end.
When the moon is right the echo carries his screams across the hills.
A young man only age seventeen lost his life in a fatal car wreck on
the steep curved road. His life was taken so fast; he is said to walk
the hills searching for his sweet ride to
carry him on his journey, unaware of his eternal fate.
On a short walk along the shallow creek bank reveals an old rock formation covered
in moss now but built by a people of long ago. Maybe Indian or early settlers,
no one knows the architects but if you stand in a certain spot where the
ground is always wet with a reddish ooze. You can feel a cold icy finger
across your face and neck.
Is the call a young buck calling his bride in the after life; is the call an
evil doer fighting to avoid beelzebub's snare? The apparition can be seen
briefly if you desire look when the wind and moon are right. Waynesville
holler offers more
than beauty in the day but beware of the moon lit walks that
young lovers
brave or you
may be the next victim of the piney woods!
TAKE A STROLL
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Take a stroll through the forest in early spring
Nature will stun you, it’s a beautiful thing
A walk in the woods will fill you with awe
The fresh smelling air not savored before
Its early morning the ground is still damp
I’m causing damage where ever I tramp
Minuscule plants growing under my feet
Tiny flowers and petals, an optical treat
A bird is warbling his good morning tune
Soon he is countered with a call from a loon
When I stand still there’s a noticeable din
But when I move a new silence begins
A bee is searching for a succulent bloom
A myriad of flowers all his to consume
Buds are sprouting from bushes and trees
The rebirth of nature as cold weather flees
Continuing my walk I encounter a glade
Covered with flowers every color and shade
Tall reeds and grasses still sporting dew
Reflect the suns rays like crystals often do
Tiny rainbows appear as the dew beads glisten
Then fade away as the breeze moves the prism
This pristine meadow under azure skies
Home to insects and thousand of flies
Take A Stroll (2)
Flocks of birds soon will descend
Devouring the buzzing meals to the end
A snapping twig reaches my ear
A young buck and an six point deer
They stand there frozen an idyllic display
Then in an instant they’ve bounded away
This magnificent scenario occurs every day
A tiny sampling of natures endless arrays
There’s still some mist hovering over the glade
The warming sun will soon join the parade
A mixed treasure of flowering scents
Changes with each zephyr and never relents
With so much activity its hard to explain
The peaceful tranquility continues to reign
Ludwig created images that seldom exist
He painted these pictures while penning his sixth
The feeling and sense of harmonious bliss
Nature unblemished, soon to be missed
Man will soon discover this untouched paradise
This heaven on earth is a treat for anyone’s eyes
They’ll develop home sites so all can enjoy
Unfortunately all of this beauty they will destroy
Big square houses with manicured lawns
The fish in the stream no longer spawns
A gated community with pools in the rear
A local commented “ what the hell happened here?”
...A gentle squeeze back on the trigger
and the slug shot straight out for its target,
the buck jerked hard, then he bolted away,
for a second Devin feared he had missed it.
But the stag faltered, then collapsed hard
into the frosted white and brown turf.
Devin breathed fast, frozen as he watched the
deer sprawl out motionless on the cold earth.
When he climbed down and went out to the kill
he still couldn’t believe the shot he had made,
but that young buck lay there before his eyes,
it had been a very successful first day.
As he bent down, and took out a long knife,
he heard new footsteps crunching in the snow,
clad in orange, his grandfather walked up,
“Heard the short, hoped you had laid something low.”
He paused and gave an appreciative nod,
“Quite a deer, and your first time at that!
Guess we better start with the field dressing,
then I’ll help you drag this fine buck back.”
It took a deal of time to dress the kill,
Devin never had done such work before,
but he had to now, to preserve the meat,
so cut through some blood and some gore.
When they dragged the kill back, grandma came out,
said,”Didn’t think he’d score on his first day.
There’s gotta be sixty pounds of meat there,
better hang him up by the barn to drain.”
When that was done they went into the house,
spent twenty whole minutes scrubbing clean,
Gramps was quite impressed, and as a reward
gave Devin a belt from a flask of whisky.
They sat at the table while lunch did cook,
Gramps asked,”How’d you feel when you took the shot?
Devin said,”Nervous, didn’t know what came next,
but I’m happy with the meat that we’ve got.”
Gramps said,”Well, You’ve grown a bit today,
and not because you can make something dead.
Because now you can see what it requires
for a man to keep his family fed.
“It’s not just packages at the market,
it's part toil, part sweat, and part fear.”
Devin just nodded as he heard the words,
“I’ll have to come back and hunt more next year.”
Later gramps smiled, and spoke with his wife,
“I think today really did him some good.
Now if we could only get his father,
away from screens, and back out in the woods...”
Life’s Lessons
By Spidey Williams
Question: How Many Do You Agree With?
I was sitting in an old TRUCK,
thinking back on the days when I was a young BUCK.
Now how I’m still young looking for BUCKS.
I see how many things still have not CHANGE,
because the most important life’s lessons, I have kept the SAME.
As I drifted away now down memory LANE:
1. What you hold dear always keep it NEAR.
2. What you keep near never FEAR.
3. What you dislike always FIGHT.
4. What you decide to let go keep it GONE.
5. Because once it’s gone it’s no point of holding ON.
6. What you don’t know will still HURT.
7. And what doesn’t kill you only makes you STRONGER!
These were some of the first thoughts I ever THOUGHT
As I begin to remember some of the life’s lessons I was TAUGHT.
As I thought about conversations I would’ve had with Jesus on the CROSS.
Thinking about how much love it took to stay up there to save a world that was
LOST.
As I drifted back down memory LANE
1. Never die for something you don’t even believe IN.
2. Never stand for what you will never fall FOR.
3. Never fall for anything TWICE.
4. Never swing at what you cannot even SEE.
5. Never loose faith because you start to convince yourself, it’ll never BE.
6. Watch your enemies and watch yours friends even CLOSER.
7. And always remember there’s nobody like FAMILY!
Man I’ve learned many things in my twenty-two YEARS.
I decided a while back to be better than the BEST.
I separated myself so I could be unlike the REST.
And unlike the REST,
I was self motivated and determined,
people would read my words of life and CHANGE!
As I drifted back down memory LANE
1. The past is the past my present is now and my future will COME.
2. I will make changes now to better my FUTURE.
3. So when my future comes my present will be a direct reflection of my PAST.
4. What you can change, CHANGE.
I’ve learned many things but the most important two things I’ll always SAY
5. Knock and the door shall be open, seek and you shall FIND!
Cupid loosed a love potion
laced arrow alas and alack
thy nineteen year young daughter
Shana Aubrey, smitten
with glassy eyed
and feverish amorousness
toward a English lad named Zak,
she feels sad, cuz
she iz to return back
to the United States
less than a month
(with my youngest sister Shari Todd,
and her other family members
of the Dunning claque
this papa, whose youth
and ungathered rosebuds inter alia
elapsed scores of years ago
n'er did find himself
as the fetching beau
asper any pretty young thang,
nar did I own
a handy dandy blues clue
how to appease biological call viz,
sowing wild oats
as pubescent time came due
shortchanging natural predilection
to gather rose buds at primal age
but took refuge within
a hermetically sealed cage
which complex emotional
edifice accessible equipage
then (and now) solely
in my possession,
yet needle, sans measuring gauge
now registers very low
sexual excitation on face dial image.
Though mine pre
pubescent young life bereft
shot thru being gun shy,
hence threadbare warp and weft
and as an emotionally troubled teen,
never livingsocial, left
a gaping figurative hole,
aye n'er didst
fabricate essential heft
tee warp and woof, upon
which adult inter
personal linkedin knit wit
get solidly stitched
instead an irreparable threadbare cleft
where tapestry remains unwoven
though more deft
nothing but cold embers left
nor apropos for this lix spit tilled
aged rooster, who can barely cluck
to romp in accordance
as a young buck
or squawk like a trumpeting
drake hula hooping duck
thus, twas glad and
breathed sigh of relief when,
thee punim summoned
verve and pluck
to chap up affinity to discover
visa vis unbridled passion
unlike this old man
with youthful romance,
he never didst truck!
Wearing Daddy's boots & cowboy hat & not much in between
Why, Momma, ain't she just about the prettiest baby you've ever seen?
I'm sure wishing she was talking, reading her mind is quite a trick
And she's sure getting awful heavy, I hope she's walking quick
Whoa there, sassy, Momma look at her running wild
Why I am not sure there ever was a more rambunctious child
Life sure was a picnic when we could just bundle her up & go
Now I get tuckered just watching her, she's a pint size dynamo
Waist length braids, a gap tooth grin & freckled face
That's our girl, Momma, her calf just took first place
How old is she now, six? No, she can't possibly be eight
Seems she is growing up faster than I'd anticipate
Well I'll be, look at her standing on the stairs
in a fancy gown, heels & make up putting on womanly airs
this young girl looking back at me, yesterday she was only seven
Now there's a young buck staring at her like he's just seen heaven
Wearing a cap & gown, her diploma held high
Look, Momma, there's our girl, getting ready to give her wings a try
Wasn't it just yesterday she was afraid of the monsters under the bed?
Now she's off to college, her own path to tread
Wearing Grandma's pearls & a gown of antique white
Now, Momma, don't start fussing, everything will be all right
Wasn't it just yesterday, I was wishing she was talking?
Now the music is playing & down the aisle we're walking
Wearing Grandpa's boots & cowboy hat & nothing in between
Why Grandma ain't that the prettiest grandbaby you've ever seen?
Now listen, Sassy, don't go wishing for her to grow up so fast
Treasure each & every moment, create a memory to last
Be mindful of what you wish for when your babes are small
For in just the blink of an eye, they won't be small at all
You dream of turning back the clock & know you never will
For time flies, just as surely as you wish it would stand still
As par and parcel of being
alive wire impossible aye
to maintain totally tubularly
literarily celibate by and bye
with parochial restraint antiseptic dry
as dust poetic refrains
asper this healthy older guy
devoid of physical whim zee
unlike a inscrutable eunuch...so hi
there dear reader experienced
by this self contrived Zen
minded nonestablishmentarian outlier,
whose nonconformist yen
tries to steer clear of controversy,
heresy, prurient wen
unless one happened
to be eunuchized,
i.e. sexless as a cold oven,
but similar to generic men
this writerly hen
pecked husband dully
drumming, droning, and
dribbling as a lix spittle
aged chap housed within
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania bailiwick
though far less inclined
to whet ma lil atrophied dipstick
than some young buck
at the peak of his sexual prowess
every now and again viz,
aye feel a much slighter sensation
drubbing, crackling, and
buckling mine body electric
and attempt to record
re: font ten blue type
boldface and/or Italic
such infrequently occurring
fleeting Johnson magic
speculating why the
hoo ha regarding mystic
spell binding codas,
dogmas, and enigmas,
an integral component naturalistic
within the calculus of life,
when human species
(parenthetically), naturally, inherently,
and biologically opportunistic
akin to other organisms whose quixotic
antics allow NON GMO,
MSG, and gluten free,
and uncensored discussion
asper reproductive habits rhapsodic
with floral and/or faunal symphonic
emanations donning each their own
"NON FAKE" trumpeting
spectacular humbly modest
rubric, yet...universalistic
as being linkedin
within the cosmic whirled wide web.
A hundred-ten year old soldier was interred in Arlington Cemetery today.
Corporal Frank Woodruff Buckles now sleeps nigh his comrades in sacred clay,
Awaiting that glorious morn when Gabriel's bugle will sound that final call,
To fall in for the last calling of the roll! Corporal Buckles will be standing tall!
"Taps" was played echoing far beyond the hills of Arlington into the misty past,
Reminding all of brave men who were destined to die or were horribly gassed!
Courageous men who willingly placed national destiny above their very own,
To ensure that our precious and hard-won freedoms would ne'er be overthrown!
Only sixteen, he lied about his age trying to join the navy and marines with no luck,
And was told, "Go home before your Mom knows you're gone, you young buck!"
He told a bigger whopper telling the army recruiter he was all of twenty-one!
The sergeant, looking for warm bodies signed him up, thence the deal was done!
He was promoted to corporal and served with distinction as an ambulance driver.
After serving in France, he was honorably discharged, returning a heroic survivor!
As a civilian he was a prisoner of the Japanese in the Philippines but was kept alive,
And was rescued after three years in Los Banos prison camp in nineteen forty-five.
He proudly represented the 'doughboys' of The Great War as last man standing.
So much, so very much to him we owe for his service was most outstanding!
That venerable symbol of America, the majestic Golden Eagle, cried,
On the day that the old veteran, Corporal Frank Woodruff Buckles died!
(Corporal Buckles, the last American survivor of World War 1, died 27 February 2011, at the age of 110)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
who left trail of heartbroken sage woman
commander in chief deliberately stoked,
née sparked long
simmering smoldering, and stewing
long festering white supremacist altercation
fiendishly igniting racial conflagration
exploding during late spring 2020.
No matter no child left behind kibitzing
(yours truly as boy plucked petals
off daisy reciting "she loves me,"
"she loves me not"...
cupid loosed an arrow
into boyhood neighborhood sweetheart
she innocently bespoke
"I wanna marry you,"
when uttered courtesy Sherry Jones,
a little girl who lived
approximately three doors down
along cul-de-sac within Apple Valley
perpendicular to Lantern Lane,
or more age apropos,
when young gallivanting
purported vestal virgin ladies
nonverbally signalled
libidinal proclamations of emancipation,
as demurely expressed
lest unlucky (chaste into)
precocious phallic proclivity
suffered the punishment
of being buried alive.
Now back to present day,
when our old geezer,
the prototype garden variety
male of present poem -
any resemblance between general referenced
fella and living persons purely coincidental.
He (yours truly) easily qualified as
overly cocky whippersnapper,
i.e. young buck and/or Casanova wannabe
experienced bit torrent
hormonal secretions gushed
particularly in close proximity
wherein wafted pheromones -
think a waif faring ingénue.
As evident and quite obvious,
I fabricate (prevaricating
my signature trademark)
rather than stating bland reality stark,
yet will plainly explain issue
in summary essential rhyme
without reason constitutes
nothing more spectacular than
garden variety generic pockmark
excised pustule ofttimes hallmark
of teenage/ pubescent pimply benchmark.
young buck, half buck, maybe two buck duo
maybe troubled like infamous Dutch painter
maybe a whole gang'a bucks that you know
shakin' cans for markin' their container
a mark of art - some meaty graffiti
you see it's in the eye of the beholder
some show as crass trash junkin' thinkin'
some show as true talent a bit bolder
tag lines, Graffito, in muraled center-city
socio-arterial politico feigned angry, witty
truth's not pristine, it's dirty and gritty
walled-up feelings sprayed out upon the city
been runnin' the rails since the rails converged
been runnin' in streets since ancient antiquity
been runnin' since peoples opinions diverged
been runnin' thoughout civilization's calligraphy
there's been ugly crap - there's been beauty
there's been lies lined up on concrete walls
there's been tags behind corner cops on duty
there's graffiti hanging in the MoMA art halls
ever'body's got som'thin' they wanna say
ever'body wants their ideas to have weight
ever'body really wants to have their own way
ever'body's clean-slatein' with urge to create
Bomb the wall with eight cans o' Rustoleum
like Jef Aérosol, Avoid pi, and Cha in Barcelona
Bomb it good t' let 'em know where you're from
picture your mind floatin' with that aérosol aroma
so, is it some peoples art of expression
or is it an eyesore with no merit to us
that conversation is a never-ending question
really depends on tags you put on it, I guess
© Dave Lego 2013-01-14
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Graffiti
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MoMA
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jef_A%C3%A9rosol
http://www.adamvoid.com/index.php?/archive/archive/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cha_(artist)
http://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/aerosol-200802.html