October 1, 2012 “gold”
October 1, 2012 “gold”
***
silhouettes of crows cawing
at the hunting hawk
scattering songbirds from thistle and bush
into the blue sky of autumn
gold autumn
crisp, sharp, gold, autumn
the westing sun flows gold
to the edges of the valley
shimmering trees of gold
leaves, glittering flecks of gold
in silence break free from bowing branches
casting themselves gently upon a river
reflections of gold mountains
and trees and leaves
and air painted gold by the sun
the distant crow caws
at the hunting hawk
the blue sky
the gold earth
and autumn
©tlh 10/1/12
September 5, 2012 “born a Southerner”
“born a Southerner”
***
it’s one of those evenings
thick, heavy, nearly liquid
familiar in the south
to folks down here
lying languid beneath magnolia and mimosa blossoms
and a colorless low hanging sky
straining with distant thunder to release cooling rain
a handful of drops at a time
scattered by a teasing breeze
a yellow moon and steam
rises off still warm fields and tarred gravel roads
the din of a million jarflies drowns the song
of the mockingbird and the whippoorwill
the phwup, phwup, phwup of a back-porch ceiling fan
offers relief
not from heat
but from night bugs
I crunch another ice cube
it melts on my tongue
I’m at peace
and thankful
to be born a Southerner
©tlh 9/4/2012
August 14, 2011 “south of summer”
“south of summer”
skulking stray dog days
loitering in the back yard of summer
keeping autumn at bay on the porch
hold a slippery sweaty grip on the south
withered green leaves
wrinkled damp clothes
hang from limbs of thirsty trees and people
like limp dishrags boiling
in the oily evening heat
beneath tall condescending columns
of rainless clouds climbing
up a pale sky roiling
in shades of pink
east of the setting sun
over the sweltering horizon
an August moon casts his milky gaze
on the sloomy glow of lightening bugs
slow dancing to the jar fly’s gravelly whirr
and the tinkling of ice in glasses of tea
sweet relief in a sultry gloaming haze
©tlh 8/14/11
July 3, 2011 “back alley blues”
“back alley blues”
*
a slash of diagonal gray
slices through a thin crack in the skyline
dirty sunlight seeps down
dingy back alley walls
dripping between black buildings
dark spaces
with filthy faces
lazy, sleepy eyes
of half open windows
look through cataract curtains
half blind
pain lined
weeping sooty tears
of faded flowers
and the faded laundry
of real life
over jagged scars
of fire escapes
offering no escape
from life behind the curtains
acrid
oily air
crawls heavily along narrow passages
oozing over stained floors
behind chained doors
bearing the murmurous din
and stagnant sin
of a living city
and faint whispers
of far away
consonant strains
as a blues guitar wails
and a blues man sings out
for a better day
©tlh 7/3/11
Photo: tlh
March 15, 2011 “winter clouds”
“winter clouds”
deep blue lavender clouds
climbing over the horizon
scrambling up the sky
fleeing the fiery red fingers of a setting sun
careering into the distance on a cold March breeze
shape shifting as they fly
losing ipseity
like the fluid face of a frightened mob
escaping the sinking inferno
marching into nothingness
across the ides of spring
blustering past the budding branches
of the pear, the maple, and the dogwood
and in the rush and gush of the gusting
ignoring the chipping chirping lusting
of lovestruck mocking birds and robins
dressed in fluffed, ruffed, feathered coats
clinging to the bare gray limbs of the rattling trees
and with every trill and note
driving the faceless clouds of winter
into the warming night
©tlh 3/15/11
Listen to this here:
February 10, 2011 “Eight Razors and a Bad Shave”
February 10, 2011 “Eight razors and a bad shave”
I have worn a beard since May of 1992…motorcycle crash had me down to just one good arm for about three months, so I just let the fertile field of my youthful face grow wild with soft, thick, luxurious whiskers. It wasn’t until 1996 that I cleared the field completely in order for my four year old daughter to see the true landscape of her father’s face for the first (and only) time in her life. Since then there has been a beard of one sort or another adorning my plump cheeks without interruption. I have, on two occasions, gone from a full face beard to the more streamlined and fashionable goatee version; the second of those two goatees was designed and implemented just last week. The only problem with the goatee is there is more face real estate to keep shaved smooth; less close trimming and edging, but overall, more shaving, and more area that wants to get scruffy and scratchy (not really a big problem considering I’m sans a significant someone that might actually be in a position to find it scruffy and scratchy), but nevertheless, one can’t just go around with a bunch of scrub growing beyond the verge now, can he? Therefore, I must shave all the extra expanse, and do it more often these days, to keep my face spiffy and smooth on the off chance that a particular someone might appear on the horizon and be inclined to brush her soft hand across my manicured mug…though I’m a damned good looking fellow, I think my chances are much better if all the face around my goatee doesn’t feel like a cat’s tongue.
Back at Christmas I received a brand new razor from a member of my family, and until today I’ve had no reason to use it; however, my normal beard trimming razor had gone dull, and as I had no replacement blades I had to change my standard operating procedure. The new razor was wrestled out of its ridiculously over-engineered plastic retail container and put into service, but not without a great deal reservation on my part and on the part of my face as well. This new tool is not from a manufacturer I’m familiar with, and certainly not from one of the major companies, but really, what do I know about such things. It wasn’t the name brand that gave me such pause, it was something much more sinister about the razor which gave me the heebie jeebies…it was the SIX! (yes I said 6) glistening, stainless steel blades that first got my attention as the bathroom lights glinted off their sharp, shimmering edges. And then there’s the way the razor looks…like some tiny, robotic, alien death machine, all chrome and black swirled together in sensuous elongated curves giving the eerie suggestion of a dangerous otherworldly insect…with six razor blades in place of a mouth! So, I think you can see the source of my trepidation…this thing is just plain scary when you think of letting it touch your face or glide across your neck. I mean, my god…the damned thing looks like it could go all Sweeney Todd at any moment, and shave just a little “close” if you know what I’m saying.
So, I’m shaving my tender cheeky cheeks with a six bladed alien demon of unknown origin, wondering what my head will look like as it takes a roll down Fleet Street if I’m not extremely careful. I gingerly guide the menacing razor over my tender face. I expect a shave at least three times closer than my twin blade…you know, 6 divided by 2, and all that. But there was a problem, this high-tech little monstrosity, which should be giving me the shave of my life is, instead of deftly slicing through the tiny whiskers of my beard, pulling them out one at a time by the root, or so it seems! It’s brand new! First use! And it SUCKS! Heck, this little six blade gift could just as easily suck the beard out as well as it’s cutting them…Dang!
Six sparkling new blades in a sexy, 21st century handle, and I have to resort to my used up, dull, twin blade model from the last century to get a shave that’s even passable! It goes to show you…the name brands get to be name brands for a reason, and using a no-name brand only adds up to…Eight Razors and a Bad Shave!
©tlh 2/10/11
January 24, 2011 “photos”
When I look to the West on evenings like this, I want to chase that fleeting sun.
tlh
(the header photo is of my sister’s house on Christmas day 2010)
November 23, 2010 “impressions”
“impressions”
*
November rain falls from sagging clouds
crawling like smoke
across the cold landscape of late Autumn
obscuring mountain tops in a misty chill
permeating the bones of the earth and man
the valleys flowing with a silent fog
in remnants and shreds
that drag and catch in the knotty fingers
of a lone, gray tree
its bare gnarled hand clawing at the invisible sky
from a monotone field the dim dreary haze
creeps across a rain blackened fence row
and through the rickety slats of an ethereal red barn
to my window
the wet glass rendering the scene
like a sunless vision of Monet
I shiver behind the foggy frame
as I turn to search for a blanket
©tlh 11/23/10
October 12, 2010 “October Tanka”
“October Tanka”
October colors
painting a perfect picture
intensifying
the beauty of the mountain
and the descent to winter
©tlh 10/12/10
(Photo by tlh)
October 3, 2010 “haiku for a fall day”
“haiku for a fall day”
***
golden leaves of sun
warmly shining through crisp air
October sunrise
strokes of colored clouds
softly painting azure sky
October sunset
***
©tlh 10/2/2010
(Image courtesy of artist)
Thanks, Red 
September 29, 2010 “night pains”
on a suggestion from my friend, Patti
“night pains”
I rose from my bed
without clearing my head
and went shuffling across the floor
it was dark as could be
but I needed to pee
simply thinking of nothing more
like a drunk on a boat,
my mind was afloat
I swayed back and forth, to and fro
quiet as a thief
I sought my relief
when suddenly…I STUMPED MY DAMNED TOE!
*
©tlh 9/29/2010
(Image courtesy of artist)
Thanks, Red…cute toes
September 2, 2010 “tanka for fall”
“tanka for fall”
summer in it’s course
swelters the verdant valley
drinks the mountain stream
reins sun’s gallop to a trot
fall comes to set free the sun
©tlh 9/2/2010
(Image courtesy of artist)
Thanks, Red
August 22, 2010 “Have at you!” Sunday 160: Act II
A Sunday 160 on mowing the grass, a task I just completed. I have, in previous posts, given account of my epic battles with my arch enemy, The Green Horde. The following, in 160 spaces, is the latest chapter in that saga…
Have at you!
I humbled the Horde
I felled my foe
tho’ in a fortnight
their number will grow
their strength will regain
as I repeat the refrain
Have at you, Green Devils!
©tlh 8/22/2010
August 13, 2010 “Day Off”
I’m not writing today …taking my first day off since April 1
A favorite saying of mine to consider ‘Don’t start none…won’t be none.”
Tracy H
July 28, 2010
“Pappaw”
first puff of a cigarette
first draw from a pipe
how to thump a watermelon
to make sure it was ripe
first taste of whiskey
first sip of beer
Rye and rock candy
if my cold wouldn’t clear
first drink of milk
fresh from a cow
fondest of memories
as I look back on them now
first taste of chicken
killed in the yard
first chew of tobacco
man, that one was hard
Grandfather
as some folks would say
Pappaw to me
he liked it that way
sometimes in the summer
when school was all through
I’d go up to Pappaw’s
and stay for a few
days as his shadow
rising with the sun
“working” along side him
until “our” work was all done
early morning breakfasts
are my first memories it seems
me coming to him at the table
still lost in my dreams
we’d have fried eggs and bacon
and some good pone bread
he’d let me drink coffee
as he patted my head
to many firsts and breakfasts
to be recalled here
I’ve remembered so often
that my memories aren’t clear
the first time I saw him he was old
he was still old the last time we spoke
sun browned skin and dark gray hair
sharp blue eyes in a haze of cigarette smoke
He was 94 on the day he died…
I miss him sometimes.
©tlh 7/28/2010
July 24, 2010
“The Flea and Me”
I felt an odd feel on my leg,
all I saw was a minuscule dreg;
small as a speck …just an ort,
but an ort of the Siphonaptera sort!
I could see him right there,
round back of a hair, as if he had not a care.
How could this be?
It was a FLEA!
Planning, no doubt, to dine upon ME!
With my finger and thumb
I tweezed at this bum,
but he was too small…too quick.
Then suddenly a kick, he was gone in a tic!
He was just right there,
round back of that hair…now where? Oh Where?
Where did he go?
Down on my toe?
On the back of my hand? Or, on my elbow?
Now something quite queer
is tickling my ear;
is it him? Is it that FLEA?
Oh gee! Is he back aboard ME?
I need some relief
From this blood sucking thief! Good grief!
Oh! Hear my plea!
I must be set free!
Have mercy oh lord…it’s the Flea!… or, ME!
©Tracy H 7/24/2010
July 20, 2010 “The Minivan”
“The Minivan”
I wish I had a photo. I should have taken a picture; my camera was in the seat next to me, but I didn’t. It would have helped you grasp so much better the story I’m about to unfold for you.
As is too often the case, this evening found me on lunch break at my tedious and less than fulfilling (but it almost pays the bills) job again, sitting in my car in line at Micky D’s.
Yes, this is another Drive-Thru Diatribe!
I pull up behind a fellow in a nice pearl-white Cadillac Escalade. In front of the Cadi was a Minivan pulling up to the order menu thing to talk into. I’m thinking, “This is good, I’ll be through here in a jiff.” What was I thinking? It’s a blanking minivan!…and what is the main cargo of minivans…many minipeople! Minipeople are great…I even had one once for a while, but we rode in a little black coupe.
The problem with minivans is, other than the minuscule cargo, they are piloted by, albeit well meaning and responsible, yet cluelessly undaunted, mommies and daddies. Don’t get me wrong, these are professional pilots…they have to be dedicated pros, (though, again, cluelessly undaunted ones), to attempt such a labor as packing a passel of petite peoplings in a modern powered perambulator. This is an undertaking to be entered into with the soberness of a judge, the patience of Job, two ibuprofen, and a valium. I proclaim that, even though he slew the Lernaean Hydra, obtained the Girdle of the Amazon Queen (not really too difficult, heck, I think I have one or two girdles from Amazon Queens here somewhere), and cleaned the Augean Stables, Hercules himself would have failed at the Twelve Labours had one of them been to ferry half a dozen minipeople through the McDonald’s Drive-Thru…in a minivan!
I digress. My story is not about the myriad munchkins in the minivan, but about the witless woman piloting said van. She pulls up to the menu order thing to talk into at 7:06 PM, her left arm hanging out the drivers window, gesturing as she gets the orders from the other occupants of the van. Of course there was no discussion pertaining to what the hungry little humans in the back might want prior to the van stopping at the menu thing, none at all, never is, in my experience…her head is turned to the rear view mirror as the orders from the back are relayed forward…discussions ensue…decisions are tentatively made. She turns to face the menu order talk thing. No, she doesn’t turn her head…she turns her entire body and leans out of the window on her elbows as if she is leaning onto a counter. Both long-fingered hands are gesturing wildly, but I can tell she is ordering 1 of this, 1 of that, 3 of these, and two of those…no, make that 3 of those…the fingers of both hands flare out wide and wave from side to side with palms out to say, Whoa, wait a second! as she turns across her LEFT shoulder to receive an order update from the adult stationed immediately behind her…she returns to the “counter” and continues..4 of those, and 1 of these…make that one a small
(her thumb and forefinger held slightly apart to show the eyeless screen she means “small”), and something else which was a mysterious gesture, maybe a fly landed on her elongated hand, or the valium is wearing off. At this gesture she turns to her LEFT again, this time to give the guy in the Escalade and me a good once-over, as if we are causing HER some kind of problem! 7:10 PM, she gets her fill of Cadillac guy and me, and turns her attention back to the screen, orders are placed and modified a number of times until finally it’s correct, and then one more read through of the order, which has to look like a short story written on the screen, …tic…toc…tic…toc, 7:11 PM…
The driver of the Escalade is having some kind of fit in his plush leather seat, and I could spit darts of pure vitriol in my ravenous rage…the woman swings back around to her proper position and pulls away to pay at 7:12 PM…oblivious to how close she was to becoming a headline in tomorrows news paper…the Escalade guy might have made her a physical resident of that tiny screen had it not been for the debilitating fit he was having.
As I pulled away from the Bag-O-Fat window with my precious Sweet Tea, I passed by the minivan as it was parked for the distribution of the goodies to all of the….THREE…ONLY THREE (two minis, and one full size) people in the back!…ahead of me the Escalade was weaving recklessly all over the parking lot as the gyrating driver counted the heads in the van too.
Just Say’n
July17, 2010 ” No Rants, No Poems”
So,
I had this craving
So,
I made this stir-fry
So,
I ate every bite.
So,
I’m very happy.
So,
This IS a poem.
So
WHAT!
TLH 7/17/10
July 14, 2010 “Entertain Us”
“Entertain Us”
Entertain us they said
Tell us a story
Spin us a yarn
Enough of poetry
No more love and loving
Lovesick pen is worn
Make us merry
Write us laughterous
Words of mirth
We tire of tears
And sanguine hearts
For us they have no worth
Tickle our fancy
Tickle our ears
Write us what we would read
Tell us not what lovers feel
In their longing soul
Or how their two hearts bleed
I will write you joys
And make you laugh
And scribble for you tall tales…
This is all bullshit!
They did indeed ask…why no rants? Why no witty tales?
Tell us a story…entertain us.
Here is your story, your rant…!!
I came home tonight after standing on concrete for eight hours…back hurting…feet throbbing…sweaty and filthy…and I started CLEANING THE KITCHEN! I’m a single guy for nine years, and a tad lazy around my house. When I come home at 11:30 at night and start cleaning the damned kitchen, you can bet your sweet ass that I’m upset about something. I scrubbed every dirty dish, pot, cup, knife, fork, spoon, and skillet, the stove top, the counter top, and the cutting boards! I still have to clean that nasty ass floor…but right now I’m writing this piece of shit post for all the ones who want a cute story or an entertaining rant rather than a poem!
Do you feel my angst?!
My Anger?!
No?
Let me break it down for you there, Einstein!
I’m sick of people…nearly every miserable one of us, not owning who and what we are!
I hate pretentiousness…for heaven’s sake don’t worry about the Joneses. If you live in a Cadillac neighborhood, but you want to drive a Yugo…then drive a damn Yugo!
OWN your life!
If you live in a Yugo neighborhood, but you drive a Cadillac, don’t look down your nose at the Yugo in your neighbor’s drive!
OWN who you are!
There’s nothing wrong with either neighborhood…just stop worrying about it.
Did you do something idiotic…of course you did…we all have.
Own it.
Don’t waste your time trying to wiggle and weasel out of it…we all know you did it…
OWN IT!
I have done some colossally stupid things in my life; things that hurt other people and embarrassed the hell out of me, and even my family. But dammit…I Owned it!
I’ll do other stupid things, but I know I’m not stupid, so I’ll
OWN IT!
Own your mistakes.
Own your successes.
Own your failures.
Own your bad moods.
Own your faux pas.
Own the stupid.
Own the smart.
Own your sin.
Own your virtue.
Own your hatred.
Own your life.
Own your love.
Unconventional love?
Own it!
Don’t let anyone tell you or guilt you or convince you to love anyone other than the person you love.
Own it.
If that person doesn’t requite your love, then…
Own that too.
I write all these poems mostly to declare my love for a woman who lives 10,000 miles away. Do I give a damn what anyone else thinks? Bet your pretentious ass I do not! Is it stupid to think that it will ever work? I don’t know. I will tell you this though…It’s my decision.
I OWN IT!
Now…you go and Own all of your bullshit, and leave me the hell alone with all of mine!
Just Say’n
Listen to excerpts here:
July 5, 2010 “Surrender”
The Perfect Poet Award week 24
Thanks to Jingle for this award…I can count myself among some very good poets.
This week I nominate this wonderfully witty and whimsical piece by my very good friend, Amanda: MR NAILGUN (2)
July 5, 2010 “Surrender”
Sleep
Sleep eludes me
She mocks me with heavy eyes
Sleep, from just off the edge of my bed
denudes me
Sleep taunts me with glimpses
in minuscule dozes
and starts me the moment
my longing eye closes
first on one side
then on the other
on the outside
then under the cover
Sleep,
like a cruel master of me
deprives me that thing
She knows I can’t see
She knows I can’t have it
in the waking of the day
it can only be found
when thoughts drift away
in dreams of my lover
my heart doesn’t pound
in my chest
I’m at rest
peace can be found
but
Sleep
Evil Bitch
Succubus Queen
holds heaven and hell
and me in between…
my eyes start to close
in restful repose
as I surrender
and make no more stand
slipping into her green pools
as I take my Love’s han…
TLH 7/4/2010
Just Say’n
Listen to this here:
June 29, 2010 “Colors”
“Colors”
Sunrise, Red morning
From cool rising mist she calls
Yellow sun shining
Clouds go sailing by
Blue sky softly carrying
Summer afternoon
Golden light falling
Purple fields emerge from Green
Sunset, Red soothes me
TLH 6/29/2010
Just Say’n
Listen to this here:
June 27, 2010 ‘I’m Country”
I’m Country
I was raised in the country
I love the smell of fresh cut hay
That sweet, earthy smell it gets
Drying in the sun on a summer day
I love to hear a tractor in the distance
The big diesel engine’s rattling sound
Cutting the hay, or baling it
Or plowing up the ground
I like the taste of honeysuckle
And the sound of the honeybees
The feel of the hot, humid day
And the touch of a cool evening breeze
Lightning bugs and katydids
June bugs and crickets
Bumble bees and Hummingbirds
Flitting and flying round the thickets
Cattle and horses grazing in the fields
Or standing in the pond trying to cool down
Pigs wallowing in the mud
Chickens in the yard pecking the ground
The ease and comfort on the porch
At the end of a hard worked country day
I was raised up country
I wouldn’t have it any other way
PERFECT POET AWARD
I am very proud to have been nominated by
http://buttercup600.wordpress.com/ as
THE PERFECT POET FOR WEEK 23
Thank you.
Just Say’n
You can follow the link here:- http://jingleyanqiu.wordpress.com/
June 17, 2010 “River Reflection”
June 17, 2010 “River Reflection”
I stood by the river today and watched the water rushing by; it was brown and murky and full of debris. Rains to the north had nearly flooded the banks of the normally, slow, deliberate, easy-flowing river, and turned it into the beginnings of a torrent, a roiling dangerous thing that one must be wary of.
The river valley runs for miles and miles as it winds it’s way through the mountains of my home, and it carries the waters of a thousand lesser bodies and streams along on this part of the journey into unknown places, and on to their final home, the sea.
The river runs almost dry from time to time, to the point that it seems as if it will die and be no more, and leave nothing but a jagged, rocky scar through the mountains…but it trickles on, eking it’s way along, waiting for the rains; the rains that can come from any direction, at any time, but always from above and pure. Whether the rain falls in a misty drip, drip, drip, or a devastating deluge, it comes from the heavens, and the thirsty, empty river is waiting for it, longing for it.
Sometimes, in the spring, the rain falls easy and steady for days, and the river becomes a beautiful, peaceful scene as the trees and grasses along the bottoms begin to bud and blossom. As the season wears on, the rising and lowering of the water creates tepid pools and deposits of debris all along the banks. The riverside becomes less pleasant, and more ugly. Then on one of those blistering hot, stifling, humid, summer afternoons a storm comes. The rain pours down from the sky. The same, pure, heavenly water, that before came slow and easy and made the river so beautiful, now crashes down in a tumultuous downpour! And the violent river rises and races, swirling and rolling, and soon rids the bank of the debris and filth that had collected there, and washes it all away. The storm ends, the rains subside, and the river settles back into it’s normal channel and flows happily along to the sea.
My life is like these mountains, and my soul, like the river. The mountains will continue; with a beautiful river of flowing water winding through them, or with a jagged scar cutting across them…they will endure. Life will go on.
My soul, like the river, needs the pure water of love to flow through it in order to sparkle and fulfill it’s destiny. But, there are times when the love comes so rarely that my soul becomes dry and seems to have disappeared all together, and then there times when love comes and goes so often that my soul becomes filled with all sorts of emotional debris and filth; not a pretty place at all. Then, suddenly, from the heavens above, the clouds open, and the pure water of love pours down in a deluge of driving white rain, and crashes and careers over my dying soul, and washes away all the leftovers and ugly baggage…all the debris and filth is replaced with clear, clean, pure…LOVE.
Anyone care to take a swim?
Just Say’n
What folks think…