Yesterday l watched as
The world said goodbye.
As for myself
I didn’t even try.
I chose instead
To listen to the music
Playing in my head,
Thought of the joy
She’d given me for years,
My own celebration
Without any tears.
The girl from Tennessee
Who in her own way
Gave joy to the world
Every single day.
A reputation well earned
Which, even though she’s gone,
Because of words and deeds
Will for many years live on.
Lewisburg Landmarks
The Marshall County
Courthouse keeps safeguards
While Main street trades it daily ideology.
Rock Creek moves slow,
Steady as folks heading in and out
Of Kroger 's.
And the Walking Horse Museum stands
Quiet,
Holding history like reins in it's hands.
Lewisburg ain't enormous grassland
It'll test your balance the same stay standing,
And you've earned your boots in this town.
'Buy land as they don't make it anymore,'
Samuel said, 'and be among the have-gots.
Purchase a plethora of parcels of property,
then you'll have a whole lot of lots.'
Therefore, as nought but an investment,
bought a house in Dickson, Tennessee,
renovated, remodeled and rented it out,
'twas the first time as a homeowner for me.
Over time, paid about twice the price,
for, with the lot of an absentee landlord learned,
when the tenant absconded with every appliance,
and yet, never again would I be burned.
Where will you be living? Asked his cousin Callie
Easy, said country mouse, I will be residing in an alley
Do you think that’s a good idea? Is it where you should be?
He could think of no reason not, so moved to Tennessee.
The alley was gorgeous in the evening, lots of tasty stuff to eat.
This is amazing said the country mouse who loved the summer heat.
In morning, he wandered out with his coffee to get a bite of this and that.
He was chased by not only sixteen alley cats, but a determined angry rat.
According to the ballad,
Davy Crockett, born in Tennessee
(part of North Carolina at the time),
kilt him a b'ar when he was only three
(altho' only a song,
always had my doubts about cruelty to animals
from one so young).
Playing with it night and day, young Davy
should have taken more care
(had a hunting reputation),
he pulled the arms and legs off
his toy teddy bear.
Even at that early age, our Davy
really was quite unfair
(King of the Wild Frontier),
he knocked the stuffing out of his toy teddy bear.
Little Bluebird, tell me when
I can dance with you again
I kind of did that afternoon
Inside that Tennessee saloon
The country music playing loud
I stood behind you in the crowd
I slowly moved in sync with you
We didn't touch, I wanted to
You turned around and looked at me
A picture for my memory
For when I looked you in the face
I only saw you in that place
Desire built inside of me
No one knew, no one could see
The time there wished I could extend
I didn't want that song to end
Smoky mountain range
the smell of backwoods cooking
barbecue and pies
~ Mary Fields…
Was born into slavery somewhere back east
she thought it was Hickman County, Tennessee
Growing up, she had learned how to read and write
though she'd spent her childhood in captivity
Came to Montana to live life as a nun
but learned she was better suited for fight'n
She stood six foot tall and weighed two hundred pounds
wore a six shooter she could draw fast as light'n
She had arms and hands looked like battering rams
she towered o'er most cowboys here in the west
She smoked cigars and chawed a tobacco plug
a flask of whisky hidden under her dress
She came to fame one day when a green cowpoke
said that no black woman could be his better
She'd laid him out flat when he went for his gun
Mary shot him before he could clear leather
In her left hand she could hold the reigns of six
of the orneriest horses you'd ever knew
while shooting a shotgun with the other hand
and could still keep them horses a runnin' smooth
She'd out shoot, out fight and out drink any man
Was mean, stubborn, cantankerous and scary
Specially if you was a meaning to steal
from a wagon driven by Stagecoach Mary
I don't know
How
But we let it happen
again
there are already
too many
too many angels in the sky
too many.
a girl
trying to save everyone
a heroine
a little boy
who had siblings
waiting for him to come home
A sweet girl
With the Lord in her heart
A headmaster-
a woman with too much love in her heart
a custodian-
a man deeply loved who deeply loved
sub-
who wouldn't have been there that day
but instead
had to leave the world behind
It's not fair
They were normal people
Same as us
They are us
So how
Could this have happened?
to those
Tennessee angels
We have traveled to thirty-seven states, the youngster told me.
He is only eight, so this is quite the accomplishment.
I collect one rock from each state, want to see them?
His mother rolls her eyes, as if it is no big deal.
It is a big deal to me; I am also a rock collector.
Sure!
He takes me into his room and pulls a box out from under his bed.
I imagine mica, feldspar, gypsum, glitters of bloodstone and the like.
He opens the lid. The rocks are gray, chalky, and gravel.
“Which one came from Tennessee?” I ask him.
He says “I have absolutely no idea, but aren’t they amazing?”
I think I’ll get him a bag of gravel for his birthday.
Time is vertical in motels,
it travels red-eyed in elevators.
It’s an out of sequence conversation
you have with an ice bucket.
Barefoot hours drop their hairballs into air-ducts,
spindrifts of sweat drift unfiltered.
Morning lifts ears first,
they open eyes in your mind.
Early risers thump down hallways,
trundling wheels pulled by heavy hands.
Perched on a sagging bed,
one sock in hand,
drinking sour wine from a plastic cup,
you roll underwear into a ball
packing lost hours away
into a small suitcase.
You wonder how to leave this town,
how to check out of this wrinkled room
with the same face you came with?
The beautiful trees,
In RED country!
Looks so great to me.
Freedom is what I see!
No masks and no vaccines?
My patriotic kind of scene!
A no-kill baby state?
How Godly and how great!
The great Smoky Mountains.
God’s own scenic, land fountain!
7/13/2022
~3~
She looked tame, and the entire breakfast area had men in it.
I sat on a high stool directly across from her; we are in a hotel lobby.
I did not expect her to speak, but she did. “Where are you from?”
I told her Kansas City. She asked why I was here.
My granddaughter’s graduation.
She said “Guess what I made, a pecan waffle."
She jumped down to show it to the table behind me.
There were three couples there – all white haired like her.
I am a burgundy hair; I dye my white out because it makes me look old.
I am old, but do not choose to look it.
She jumped back up across from me and we ate in silence for a bit.
Okay, she ate in silence. I was eating Cheerios, so I was crunching along.
“I am burying my husband today,” she told me.
It was unexpected and startling. “I am sorry,” I told her.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You didn’t kill him or anything.”
I did not know what to say to this.
“Are you from here?” I asked her.
“I am Sheila, from Tennessee,” she told me.
“I am Caren from Kansas City,” I told her.
“That’s my family behind you,” she told me.
“They are sitting under a vent. It is too cold over there for me.”
I felt cold myself, all of a sudden.
An evil warlock changed my vicissitudes on this horrible mean day.
It only took seconds, but he took all my power and confidence away.
I went from a woman to a purple dragon with red stripes you see.
He was in cahoots with an ogre who has always hated little ole me.
They transmuted me with abnormally joyful anticipation and jubilation.
I heard them cackling like old hen women, in fantastical celebration.
I was angry as hops, ready to do whatever damage I could do.
But they also gave me a loving heart, before they were through.
No matter how mean they were, I had to smile and be nice.
It was not easy for me to hate them, or fill my heart with ice.
I can do it Trixie yelled, ready to be whoever I wanted her to be.
She said we should throw the word vicissitudes back to Tennessee.
So Hank, this poem is for you, since you gave me that word.
I have written this poem twice, which was insanely absurd.
But the first time it disappeared from my computer, making me mad.
But thanks to this metamorphosis, I can neither get even or bad.
We will visit your girl scout camp we promised our daughter.
Headed down to Tennessee on a Saturday morning like we ought’er.
Arrived around six a.m. thinking the campers would be awake.
No one was around in the empty buildings, for goodness sakes!
Where are they? My husband asked. It’s a ghost town here.
We finally drove around the camp honking until we heard “oh, dear!”
It was our daughter’s voice. She did not say it with cheer.
What is wrong? Asked a bunkmate. “My parents are here!”
We were asked to come back at a decent hour.
Which surprised us. No one had had a bath or a shower.
We came back at noon wearing our umbrella rain hats.
Your parents are hilarious! Said the founder, Miss Pats.
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