His eyes they pierce the coming storm.
Ferocious volley, he orbits the mound.
Releasing wrath upon the slayer.
The object sought-he prays not found.
...
I’m headed south from Cleveland
aiming toward the Georgia line.
Two weeks I’ll spend with
Aunt Lucille, my last surviving Southern tie.
...
Rack’m – A. Beebe
She entered through the back door
with a black case in her hand. Four inch
...
The first time I saw her was in a little café
Just on the edge of a Bama interstate.
As fate would have it the diner was full
except for the bar stool, the one next to hers.
...
The tables set the candles lit
the children sound asleep.
A long awaited rendezvous
romantic dinner set for two.
...
Three long days of dust behind him,
at least that many more to go.
His job it is to ride the fences,
to bend the wire and mend the posts.
...
Translucent images of you in my mind,
like clear spring waters that
refresh and revive. My worlds
not complete till I see you again.
...
There’s this old windmill I pass every day on County Road 8.
Its blades are all bent and rusted in place.
Yet it seems so majestic with its overcoat of vines.
I’m sure if it could talk, it would talk of simpler times.
...
Icicles forming on the edge of the roof,
the damp wooden floor feels so cold on my feet.
The walls of this house, like the thoughts in my mind,
hold all the memories of what was our life.
...