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Bio
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Holly
Silly, fun, petite, creative
Daughter of Carolyn
Lover of Harold, my children, my dog
Who feels pain, heartache, and some joy
Who fears snakes, spiders, and bugs
Who would like to see Europe, world peace, and no drama
Upstate, South Carolina
Moore
©Holly P. Moore
October 2012
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Free verse
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Blue blue blue blue blue blue
Dressed in blue banging North Carolina
I'm a blue dog I'm a blue dog I'm a blue
dog
dressed in blue banging North Carolina
yeah I bleed blue yeah I bleed blue yeah I
bleed blue
Blue blue blue blue blue blue
I bang my North Carolina State you see
my North Carolina hat nothing but that
NC state the dog is off the chain the dog is
off the chain the dog is off the chain
Blue blue blue blue blue blue
written by Keith Edward Baucum aka Red
Seven aka The Brown Philosopher aka
The Green Poet
I wrote this when I was stupid
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Free verse
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Nothing rivaled the lemonade in Georgia.
Now, you could also find some damn good lemonade in the neighboring state of South Carolina. Virginians liked to think they too made fine lemonade, and it was better than anything north of the Potomac.
But the best was in Georgia.
And people in the good old days really did drink their lemonade on a lazy, late summer afternoon on the front porch of their wooden house as their kindly old dog, usually a Labrador or a golden retriever, lay down by their feet.
It happened exactly like that.
Just the way you’ve always pictured it.
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Personification
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A woman on her daily walk was serenaded by
a cardinal, a blue jay, and a Carolina wren—
or so she thought. Imagine how surprised she would have been
to learn it was I, a mockingbird perched on a limb up high.
I can make you think you hear a car horn or an alarm,
a barking dog, or a piano. Year-round, day or night,
I perform many charming songs, to listeners’ delight,
but I’ll attack if I think man or creature means me harm.
I am wildly popular, along with being versatile.
I am the designated state bird in five Southern states.*
Those living in the area know that in the forest waits
a concert by performers that are sure to make them smile.
*Arkansas, Florida, Mississippi, Tennessee, and Texas
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Narrative
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Bookshelves: books, memories galore,
Bears, a dog, a monkey. Candle glow.
Music flows into the window, light.
Presidents Can. Music all over house.
Flowers, pictures, bulletin boards,
Plenty of files and Kleenex, cards.
Statures of Jesus over my shoulder.
Desks for writing, no biting my
Polished nails, hails in North Carolina.
South Carolina, white beaches, sandcastles.
Maps to wherever you want to go, and go
I shall, in my mind, body and soul.
Zen rock garden with Budda, owl, cricket.
Flowers all over house, but never on my
Resting place. My family yes, me no go.
Science is the way to go for me, we'll
See what they need and the rest will join
My true love in the Colorado Mountains.
Come what may, forever we'll be together.
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Couplet
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INSPIRATIONAL ADDRESS
Winners never quit, quitters never win, they say.
We must always go on because it’s the American way.
We must go on now like famous guys before us
So let’s step out and stop wasting time with all this fuss.
This may seem philosophical, but it’s the kind of dog I am:
Were gonna do it and we don’t give a damn.
Did John Wayne quit in THE SEARCHERS?
Do Antarctic penguins give up cos it’s too cold in their breeches?
Did Columbus give up cos he found the Bronx instead of China?
Did the Chattanooga choochoo diner stop serving ham and eggs in Carolina?
This mansion is our Big Horn and the spooks are Indians in numbers ample
(Oops sorry, forget it, that’s a bad example)
Anyhow, you get what I mean I’m sure -
So let’s get the lead out cos were in deep manure.
( Written for the WHY WE MUST GO ON contest)
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Rhyme
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Carolina Blue and White
By Franklin Price
1/7/2016
Carolina blue and white,
It's such a sight to see,
Fresh fallen snow and cloudless sky,
God sent for you and me,
Tall snow covered evergreens
Above the tinned roofed house,
Where two retired seniors live,
This poet and his spouse.
Born and raised in Florida,
Not too much to seasons there.
Retired To North Carolina,
For a little mountain air.
Our house is in the foothills
Not far from Chimney Rock.
Left the hustle and the bustle,
And the cruise ships at the dock.
Acclimated to a slower life,
And the people of hills,
Who believe in God and country;
Take care of family and their bills
That's just the way we like it
'Cause that is where we're at
Don't have a huntin' dog just yet
To chase the neighbor's cat
As I turn now from my keyboard
And look out the window pane
The blue and white of Carolina
Says that's all for this refrain
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Couplet
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Nine No Longer Here
Nine are no longer here on Independence Day
And about those dead what should we say?
Carolina people collected memories and thoughts
About those in Church and the ringing shots.
Instead of forgiving should start to condemn
And wish the worst would happen to him
What could this accomplish for you and me?
Should set perfect example so world can see.
God has forgiveness in his very nature
He is even just like that of his nomenclature
Loves cute puppies which do become a dog
His name spelled backwards and friendly frog.
Son died on logs and from them could not leap
For all of humanity then Father did weep
Regardless of what all we may have done
Still was willing to give us His own Son.
Although many hearts have been breaking
God is the only one who can be taking
All souls to heaven to with Him soon be
And from all sins finally set us free.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran and Poet
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Couplet
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Good Neighbor Rick's Labrador Dog
They were kidding by saying Rick was a road hog
And you should be sure to see his adorable dog
Searching up and then down street everywhere
With pounds of superb energy always to spare.
Rick's leaving to see a ECU game today
While his delirious dog would only get in the way
So being nice next door neighbor I have been
His back door by him was unlocked to let me in.
Of course you know for something like goodness sack
I will have to take dastardly dog out for a potty break
And how he does things has certain way and style
Of running here and there for quite a long while.
Improperly out to pasture, dog will end up putting me
Now that I am all tired and worn out as can be;
For me, many more surprises Rick's dog has in store
Which I learned is why they call him a lovely Labrador.
Not sure if he is a she or she is a he or maybe a banshee
hehe. Or for that matter, what dog's name is either.
ECU is East Carolina University in Greenville, NC I think.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
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ABC
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In Carolina there is no helmet law
As my girlfriend complains, all I hear is blah, blah, blah
She is still stewing over me buying all the accessories in the catalog
I tell her to bow down to me, I am now the Big Bad Dog
I am now sportin' my new leather chaps
Up side the head, from her I get a smack
I will mark a new territory the Hell's Angels would fear to tread
Looking hard and ridin' dirty on my Moped
At this point, I tear the sleeves off my blue jean jacket
She tells me to stop trying to Mac It
I smile with my Gold tooth displayed
She tells me I need help, she drops to her knees to pray
Then she asks me if I stopped taking my Meds
I tell her I really love you, it's a Two seater, we can both ride dirty on my Moped
I tell her I haven't shaved for Five days
She says she sees the peach fuzz on my face
I look at her and tell her I am a 15 year old trying to make it in this dog eat dog society
Either get on or get out and miss my noteriety
She says she's had enough and besides it's almost curfew
So I depart to the trailer park and pick up that floozy Gracie Lou
I tell her to hang on, it could get wild, I am what they call pure white bread
She grabs my waist and is ready to ride dirty on my Moped
It can't get any dirtier, a trailer girl that smells real bad
I look back and recall, this was the best summer I ever had
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Rhyme
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Here is another true story that happened down on this southeast corner of North
Carolina. We do not live in a rural area so a goat is a very rare site. Especially on
someone's front porch. As with the last true story - this did not happen to me
personally but to one of my neighbors. I never get this lucky. Mike
Going out for a while so I grabbed my coat
Opened the door – on my porch was a goat
A goat? Said my wife. A goat’s what I said
Like a big shaggy dog with horns on his head
So I called the cops – dialed up 9-1-1
I said to the cops, “you’d best come on the run
For out on my porch (here you’d best take a note)
Is a four-legged white thing I think is a goat
Has there been a bank robbery (come on you can tell)
This goat looks suspicious and guilty as hell”
When the cops stopped their laughing, they said with a wink
Had I been out in the sun, maybe too much to drink
Did I really expect them to drop what they’re doing
For a billy goat out on my porch just a chewing
But cops said they’d be there and they’d bring a rope
So I stood in the doorway feeling just like a dope
For out on my porch was a gentle old goat
And I stood just shaking still holding my coat
Afraid to go out with this Billy Goat Gruff
This story is true, you can’t make up this stuff
And where was my wife while I made the call
Laughing her head off just down the hall
Making fun of my posture, my stature, my stance
It’d just serve her right if she wet her pants.
Mdailey
06/07/08
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Prose Poetry
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Mark Gregory Hill-a man among boys.he surveyed land for twenty years or more,could scale
any tree,catch any fish,hunt any animal.now,only a month removed from losing a
child,stands alone,hand in pocket,contemplating the life that took it all.
Harold Gene Smith-the one we call "Nuner",the one who did over a decade of service in the
navy.the man who had kids and tried to raise them.pizza resteraunts,recording music,his
tune never played out and a star never got to shine.he bought land in south carolina and an
idea of marriage,both ruined by now.by time.
Andrew Frank Bowen-the liver.the first to smile and pass the salt.the first given the name
Bowen,our last name.a place to be was work for him.he could carry tragic news and keep it
from you.now,after years of toil and two divorces,kids and bills eat away at his
soul,tormented by the law and the front side of society,he kept his will intact of and above it
all,to be a soldier for the light side.
Christian Keith Bowen-the eternal child.the foremost in thought and wisdom.the right to bear
arms and keep god out of our ideas tis all he stood for.twenty heartbreaking years of service
in the pizza industry and left only with clinched jaws and clinched fists.he misses melissa
chambliss,a light to the world,and he misses his dog sisco,taken from him too soon.to do a
ghostshow on tv and put out a poetry book his only demand.
Marjorie Lynn Bowen-a bastion.her son a child of will and destruction.fear in her eyes never
measured she missed her mom,and toiling never bothered her.she could write the will of
your family and never see the light of day.to move to music she would,and only a diet coke
at the end of the day her reward.
this is my family.brothers and sisters we are.
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Prose Poetry
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Mark Gregory Hill-a man among boys.he surveyed land for twenty years or more,could scale
any tree,catch any fish,hunt any animal.now,only a month removed from losing a
child,stands alone,hand in pocket,contemplating the life that took it all.
Harold Gene Smith-the one we call "Nuner",the one who did over a decade of service in the
navy.the man who had kids and tried to raise them.pizza resteraunts,recording music,his
tune never played out and a star never got to shine.he bought land in south carolina and an
idea of marriage,both ruined by now.by time.
Andrew Frank Bowen-the liver.the first to smile and pass the salt.the first given the name
Bowen,our last name.a place to be was work for him.he could carry tragic news and keep it
from you.now,after years of toil and two divorces,kids and bills eat away at his
soul,tormented by the law and the front side of society,he kept his will intact of and above it
all,to be a soldier for the light side.
Christian Keith Bowen-the eternal child.the foremost in thought and wisdom.the right to bear
arms and keep god out of our ideas tis all he stood for.twenty heartbreaking years of service
in the pizza industry and left only with clinched jaws and clinched fists.he misses melissa
chambliss,a light to the world,and he misses his dog sisco,taken from him too soon.to do a
ghostshow on tv and put out a poetry book his only demand.
Marjorie Lynn Bowen-a bastion.her son a child of will and destruction.fear in her eyes never
measured she missed her mom,and toiling never bothered her.she could write the will of
your family and never see the light of day.to move to music she would,and only a diet coke
at the end of the day her reward.
this is my family.brothers and sisters we are.
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Free verse
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It’s boxing day (the Brit name for the day after Christmas) and Pamela, Lisa’s grandmother is visiting our little pandemic ark. Pamela’s a Cowboys fan so we’re watching them slaughter Washington - between commercials - but now a Tesla commercial is running. “Those electric cars,” Pamala says dubiously, “seem problematic.”
“You’ve heard of global warming, haven’t you, Pamala?” Leeza says? Leeza addresses everyone (even her grandmother) as if they were her age (12). It’s both seductive and lazy. “This whole system,” she raises her arms to include the apartment, the city and America, “will collapse - we’re DOOOOMED,” she concludes, as if speechifying to an eager crowd.
“Everyone’s heard of climate change,” Pamela says, sipping her eggnog. Pamela is as well informed as any of us and seems rather envious of the future, even the coming awfulness.
“Leeza’s her own theatre,” Her mom says, grimacing indulgently.
Leeza’s full attention was now on the pastry tray - having spotted two small eclairs under the bear claws - she'd lost interest in the conversation and saving the planet.
“The system won’t collapse,” Will says. Will received his early acceptance letter from Harvard the other day and now he knows everything. “We’ll lose Florida, South Carolina and New York,” he pronounces calmly, “so there’ll be some.. migrations.”
“Thank you, professor,” Lisa says, rolling her eyes as if to say ”Harvard people.”
“I think the Covid might get us all - before climate change,” I say, in the spirit of the holiday.
“Well,” Will says, grinning, “that’s what ALL the people at inferior colleges think.”
Leeza, passing by my easychair, curls into my lap like a cat, gently petting my hair. “Don’t be mean to MY friend,” she says, purringly - I was suddenly her possession. Lisa comes out of her chair, a sly smile on her face, to lay crosswise atop Leeza (and me).
“Ugg,” I managed to say, squirming to get comfortable, then “Akkkk.”
Lisa says, “Leave my poor roomie alone!” and starts baby-kissing my head.”
Will starts in our direction like HE’S going to pile on. “Egggg! I shrek, “HELP!”
Pamela whoops with glee as Dallas scores another touchdown.
“Like beating a dead dog with a stick,” she says.
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Verse
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I’ve never put a candidate’s bumper sticker on my car before—
why not take sides—what are you waiting for?
Death puts a stop to daily low intensity warfare but in the meantime—
fight on!
What are we fighting for? Let’s see—
clean air and water and room to walk around in cities and deserts
America the seeing eye dog not America the junkyard dog—
collective deliberation among nations, clear passage through seas and
borders
compact and contiguous Congressional districts that represent actual
communities
education and health care for everyone who wants it—worldwide
good food too, affordable shelter and a living wage
a say in governance—local and global—free from fear of violence
Should you be subsumed by a cause bigger than the self?
unlike Rick in Casablanca who keeps to himself
I’m advertising my loyalties with bumper stickers on rickshaw and kayak
every time I come and go
it’s a free country—or maybe I’m so low profile no one notices or
cares to take revenge
so small time I have time and no enemies or friends
What about Whitman and his love for Lincoln
he found a way to participate in the war that satisfied his muse, as a
nurse
oh, I want to add space exploration and no nuclear war
plus basic science and ancient arts, black lives matter
Here are some things you have to put up with or out of mind
while enjoying the beautiful black and white photography and rousing
Marseillaise:
that Sam, played by Dooley Wilson in worshipful subservience to “Mr.
Rick,” endures his lonely abnegation and abstinence in Paris while
Rick savors the nordically white, luscious Ilsa;
that Ilsa, on the lam across the wide world from pursuing Nazis, is
apparently transporting an extensive, elegant, perfectly manicured
wardrobe;
that Rick, in wartime Casablanca, has managed to hire a full 20-piece
jazz orchestra for which we willingly suspend disbelief since it’s
essential for singing the Marseillaise which never fails to bring tears
of pride to Yvonne’s eyes;
I guess that’s about it except why would you spend a minute in Sydney
Greenstreet’s fly-infested café when Rick’s air-conditioned
establishment is right across the street, an overnice contrast to
Maghreb culture;
otherwise, I’m in complete accord with IMDb’s 8.5 rating.
On the news last night the president changed the trajectory of a
category 4 hurricane. He can’t do that! Not my president! They’re
laughing at us!
Who’s got trouble? We've got trouble. How much trouble? Too much
trouble.
After Casablanca, it's headed for South Carolina.
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