The Saint Lucia flag reflects the tropical sky,
with the colour blue representing fidelity
and the emerald waters
of the Atlantic Ocean and Caribbean Sea.
Gold represents the prevailing sunshine
and, of course, prosperity.
The triangles, they symbolize mountains,
the Soufriere twin Pitons,
and the people's hope and aspirations.
While there, couldn't help but smile,
for tho' located north of the equator,
with my eyes on an unusual sight
where, low on the horizon, and with clear skies,
I saw the Southern Cross every night.
Electric Line's sway,
spider webs of industry
along a rocky lane under
a hot southern sun, cicada…
cry high, into the crystal blue sky
We are a ghost nation
of Man’s hypocrisy
crossing shadows under a hard
noonday sky.
The empty road under the leaning
Electric crosses of civilization
Shadows fall, carving silhouettes into
Upon hitting noonday ground
Humanity lost all reason
Along a rocky, dusty road
As day bleeds into a hot
Southern night
Crickets cry high
As the moon rides the
White galleons of cloudscapes
As star falls in infernal southern sky
Frogs sing the song of endless rain
As electric crosses lean
Under the halogen of streetlights
Crosses stand, lean to and fro
Like graves of the day
Souls drift and sway
As a nation is lost along the way
Bought and sold
While electric crosses align
A forgotten road
Of a Nowhere nation, undone…
Watching all fold…!
It’s ninety one but feels like more,
Like I opened up the Devil’s front door.
He said “Come on in!” with a fire breath grin
Now I’m sweatin' places I ain’t ever been.
The sidewalk’s cookin’ eggs on the sly,
Birds stopped chirpin', too hot to fly.
Even my dog gave me that judgmental look,
Like, “Take me out again and you’re getting cooked.”
Humidity’s clingy like a bad first date,
Stickin’ to me like it’s true soulmate.
My shirt’s now soup, my socks are stew,
And I swear my flip flops just melted through.
AC’s gaspin’, fan’s wheezin’ low
I bribed ‘em both just to halfway blow.
My iced tea’s warm, my will is weak,
I’ve been napping in the fridge since Tuesday this week.
So if you see me walking slow and fried,
Just know it’s the heat I ain’t yet died.
But tell my kin if I do collapse:
Bury me somewhere with cold sweet snacks.
Spectre, South Pole's chills,
Frost clawing at window sills,
Vague fears, old age thrills....
Late Springtime Hiku 18
late springtime glaciers
drifting in Southern O ~c ~e ~a ~n
~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
e n g
driven by p u
.s n i
Pride, one thing they taught us in south
With everything we do all way the cooking
No wonder everyone wants live taste of tradition
Passed down generations it make mouth's water
The morals of man strongly respected
Southern pride, where your word is bond
And people are laid back and different
We believe in whooping that ass if needed
Working sun up, sun down the farms needed tend
Country way of life without big city living
Staying free do not disgrace my flag
It's not a racist thing but of honor I stand
To myself as I do my country it not touch ground
Racism isn't color thing, hatred of fellow man
Southern pride, last name was one's integrity
It's milk gravy/biscuits, grits on the griddle, sweet tea
Knowing a man's worth by his teachings
Standing tall in ourselves, where we come from
Its southern thing, pride of Carolina's I'm from
Where justice once ruled, independence was fought
But truth, liberty, freedom fall to grace of man
Let not die past, prosper our experience
Southern pride, to old know any better
To young give a dump about your feelings
Straight up!!!
Southern Rata (is a stunning Kiwi Tree)
Red or scarlet harlots instead...a bucolic frolic..
Tranches spread as if bulbous branches have gorgeously bled..
Overpowering flowering towers glimmer…fanciful fairytale shimmers showering...
Such vim...swim on a whim..sprouting on an outing from their pouting wooden limb....
A delight..refining..shining bright.. defining.. these bizarrely beautifully gnarly trees...
Crimson collage..insisting snarling tendril darlings..timber tentacles twisting…a magical mirage....
Marooned yet cocooned in a festooned lagoon...wouldn't barter anything…
To swoon at the miracle..spectacular boon of Southern Rata ...
‘I found an explosive quill
down on the streets of New Orleans.’
It’s fun to share who I am and also learn from other writers. There was a discussion on the idea to let yourself get lost inside of another world. I made sure to speak a reminder of the inner child. The one who wasn’t jaded by their transformation as they got a little bit older. Remember to dream visit the sea occasionally. Another poet said ‘Let go of the restrictions of human eyes when you write. Speak to a smile unforgettable and a laugh infectious.’ Which reminded us of children, and how they color outside the lines. Make sure you say it how you want to. Slide down the stairs and destroy the box they try to throw you in. ‘Give yourself to your pen AND your deepest fantasies.’ I took that mantra away with me as I left the writers’s retreat.
Laced with Bald Cypress
my Muse tastes the Big Easy;
A sweet southern heat.
A woman’s voice said
Look out the window
and I saw a ravine
with a fresh cover
of snow.
I thought it was the neighbor
but I was alone.
A thicket of trees
reached for the sun
yet I noticed
one was fallen
its age born
in its rings.
Two cats lay on my bed
as I took in my visions
of a pastoral scene.
a day in February
in the middle of town.
In this moment
I bore my seasons
and winter called for spring
yet a patch of a lawn
had turned brown.
A woman’s voice said
Live, live again
as I faced another day.
It's early January,
and the fields are wet and muddy.
The rainwater sits and slowly soaks
the fertile soil. Heavy machinery
has been silenced and put to rest.
They shall sleep through Old Man
Winter and awake next Spring.
Beans, corn, cotton, peanuts,
and sesame seeds no longer
flood the bounty fields of plenty,
because every crop has been
harvested. What's not in the silos
has been sold to markets near and far.
Purple pauses peach pleasantries
Offering hot coffee or sweet tea
Warm welcomes with charming smile
Sitting on the porch in southern style
Saying hey to everyone of y’all
Thickest accent in the way you talk
Appreciative of nature that silver sings
In eyes and hearts of soul that dreams
Long, winding roads adorned with tall pines
Such lovely reds, browns, and yellows
Gently falling over, between, and outside the lines
Joyously embracing the cool, whispering echoes
Glints of light playing peek-a-boo
Serene lakes and ponds on either side
Man-made horses peacefully running through
Taking deep, long breaths on this sweet Georgia ride
dreamy swaying matriarch
moonlight magnolia blossom bows glowing
appalachian southern sweetheart
The Blues ©
Blues moaning and sad
Wail out over the bayou
a song of heartbreak
Backhanded compliments are meant to disturb
Yet on surface pretend to be a polite white bird
Giving fake hazel humor or slighted cranberry concern
When the person pretending to teach needs to learn
Learn the lessons of southern hospitality amber and
If you’re guessing know you can catch these hands
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