Southern Poems - Poems about Southern

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...

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‘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...

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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...

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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...

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It could be a friendly wave from a stranger; Or A "How are you doing?" from across the parking lot. At other times, just the simple words of, "Follow me". Northern Mississippi is where I was born and raised. It's where I was well taught about how to behave. After 17 years, having finished high school, I migrated North From the...

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Embroidery is a fancy stitch that gathers true prisms of color, The needles are gently inserted to catch the threads standing below. The cutouts are frosted and tend to convey the wonder of open spaces, The gathers are shoved and pushed to shirring, delight and allure in tow! Transparency is really a constant observance appealing...

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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...

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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...

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dreamy swaying matriarch moonlight magnolia blossom bows glowing appalachian southern sweetheart...

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The Blues © Blues moaning and sad Wail out over the bayou a song of heartbreak ...

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Bonne nuit, numbers and digits Did you miss hearing the drunk specter sing? Back to waffle again about their trauma and joy Derek isn't even their real name Where were you when the millennium turned? I can't imagine it was peaceful for everyone After all, someone had to be 30 at that point Or was it easier when the world was less...

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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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beauties unruffled on a steamy day float in boats rowed by their beaus white silken hands folding their fans at sunset ...

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As a kid in Southern California I loved rainy days. However much it rained, I wanted it to rain more. Mom had us buckle up our rain boots to go to school - And put on our hooded yellow raincoats. Mrs. Stillman, our second grade teacher, made popcorn on rainy days. On the way home, Gutters became rivers. Leaves became boats. Small...

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In the frigid silence of glacial eve, penguins gather tight. Emperors, waddling half in black, under half-lit southern night. One dreams of flight, yet stays on course; with colony alights. ...

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