My Southern Light Poems

My first book was a poetry anthology titled Southern Light: Twelve Contemporary Southern Poets. I collaborated with two other poets to produce this volume in 2011. It is out of print now, but authors retain the rights to their work. I am pleased to present a few of my poems from that volume, beginning with two appropriate to the season.

Christmas Papers

I was older when I noticed 
the same color and pattern 
on the Christmas papers. 

Christmas morning, I rose with excitement. 
and opened packages with scissors, 
carefully cutting tape, so I wouldn’t rip the paper.

I was older when I noticed my mother 
ironing on Christmas night. She ironed 
the same towel again and again.

Under the towel, Christmas papers 
lost their creases. They regained smooth surfaces.
She rolled the paper we could never replace. 

Choosing between gifts and new paper, 
she chose gifts. 

Snow

Already the snow dissolves 
at seven in the morning 
in the Chattanooga dawn.

It returns me to an Ohio childhood 
where I dragged my sled uphill 
to skid back down again.

I would conclude the days sledding 
and await my dad’s return, a rabbit 
in his hunting coat.

Blood and guts defiled the whitest landscape, 
cleaned up by dogs.

Then my mother was busy in the kitchen 
with the rabbit in a pan and 
vegetables from a Mason jar.

Birdshot lead between my teeth, 
I could not taste the flesh 
washed down with milk.

Awakened from this dream, 
I breakfast on oatmeal with raisins. 
The snow has melted. 

This next one won an award from the Tennessee Writers' Alliance, and I read it at their awards ceremony at the Southern Festival of Books in Nashville, Tennessee. It has since appeared in several other publications, including The Southern Poetry Anthology, Volume VI: Tennessee.

Glen Falls Trail

I climb the limestone stairs 
through an arch in rock, 
into the earth’s womb, 
pass through to a surprise:
George loves Lisa painted on a wall. 

I wonder, did he ever tell her? 
Did she ever know or think of him, 
raise a brood of screaming children? 
Did they kiss near wild ginger above the stony apse?

Did lady’s slipper orchids 
adorn their meeting place where 
deer drink from rocky cisterns? 

Did their love wither 
like maidenhair fern, 
delicate as English Lace?

The symbols have outlived the moment. 
There is only today, 
only the murmur of water underground, 
my finding one trickle into a pool.

I never knew this George or Lisa. 
The rock bears their names in silence, 
names the stream forgot long ago.

This last one shows my concern for environmental quality, which began before poetry became a passion and continues today. 

Moonscape

The full moon obliterates 
all but the brightest stars.
She casts shadows 
on urban monoliths, 
home to rats and divas.

Rainbows form and dissolve: 
Neon stars announce coming events. 
COLD BEER
SANDWICHES
SPICY BIKINI BAR

Alleys clog with dust. 
Grit polishes glass. 
I shade my eyes against smoke and soot. 
Wind shakes neon signs.

The full moon rules above the skyline. 
Despite burning questions about combustion, 
downtown is looking up.

The rest of this post is for paid subscribers and includes a PDF of my other poems from the volume, except two which have since appeared in a chapbook. Due to an agreement with the publisher, those two cannot be republished now.