Sherry Chandler bluegrasspoet@identi.ca
I love goldenrod, black-eyed susan, and the old worn-down mountains of the east.
2013-07-10T13:52:38+00:00 in Georgetown, Kentucky, United States via web To: Public
An 8-legged fellow strolling across the bathroom floor suddenly began to climb the air. He was tiny but even the minute can't defy gravity.Christopher Allan Webber likes this.
Christopher Allan Webber shared this.
2013-07-08T20:12:34+00:00 via web To: Public
Mourning doves call from the fence row, semis roar on the by-pass, the fan hums by the chair, the paper rustles when I turn a page.Evan Prodromou, Christopher Allan Webber likes this.
Christopher Allan Webber shared this.
2013-06-21T21:03:25+00:00 via web To: Public
Cotton ball clouds scattered across a blue field, a hardwood canopy in shades of green, a desultory chattering of birds, summer begins.Christopher Allan Webber likes this.
2013-06-17T05:07:53+00:00 via web To: Public
Light from the setting sun glistens on rain-wet leaves. I reach for a jacket. Four days till the calendar calls it summer..2013-06-14T20:18:56+00:00 via web To: Public
The wren doesn't care if I whittle my life away with twittering, only that I turn a blind eye to her nest in a dented tea tin in the shop2013-06-14T04:02:12+00:00 via web To: Public
We have not solved our enigma by evolving , escaped our grass roots. We cannot get above our raisings.2013-06-12T12:24:02+00:00 via web To: Public
I've spewed my keyboard sticky eating oranges at my desk; Isqueezed for juice, grated for zest. This one crackles, fills my mouth with juice2013-06-11T12:38:55+00:00 via web To: Public
As sure as rain makes mud, children will splash in puddles, seduced by the splat and the suck of the muck, heedless of their Sunday shoes.2013-05-02T11:58:15+00:00 via web To: Public
I remember Uncle's beehives, white boxes placed here & there, alien as Stevens' jar, on farmland I was free to roam, always gently buzzingHmmmm - I was not always gently buzzing. I think I need to rethink sentence structure.2013-05-01T11:17:33+00:00 via web To: Public
The W. kids, who lived in my uncle's tenant house, walked the lane. They'd run ahead, throw rocks at the bee tree. I was not afraid of bees.2013-04-30T12:07:42+00:00 via web To: Public
Sometimes there were other children but mostly I walked the lane alone from bus to house, ears alert for the monster sneaking up behind me.2013-04-29T13:06:37+00:00 via web To: Public
I remember the gravel lane, the first long sloping hill and where it leveled out, a hollow tree in the fence row buzzing with honeybees.2013-04-28T11:35:48+00:00 via web To: Public
I remember the gravel lane from school bus to our house sloped down toward the creek; a narrow lane closely lined with trees.2013-04-26T11:14:26+00:00 via web To: Public
I remember walking the half mile of gravel road from the school bus stop, the buck bushes that grew on the bank beside Papaw's barn.2013-04-20T10:03:52+00:00 via web To: Public
I remember wading the ankle-deep branch, rocks would tip under my feet and crawdaddies would backpedal, leaving a murky trail of silt.2013-04-12T17:04:48+00:00 in Lakeview Acres, United States via web To: Public
I remember the branch, how the rocks clanked when uncle drove the wagon across the ford in droughty August, how the mud cracked and curled.2013-04-09T14:43:17+00:00 in Lakeview Acres, United States via web To: Public
I remember Buck Elk Creek, called the branch. I waded its summer-stagnant water, left a trail of silt. I'd not have mixed bourbon with it.2013-04-04T01:02:21+00:00 via web To: Public
The resident raccoon licks at the ice in a water bowl,the forsythia is a stand of gray sticks, winter will not give way to spring.2013-04-02T01:30:47+00:00 via web To: Public
A cold gray April 1, daffodils thrust up spears but show no bloom. In an ash by the road, a buzzard perches, watching.2013-03-30T13:55:57+00:00 via web To: Public
Black coffee in a white porcelain cup, red coils of the space heater reflected in the white, outside late March snow.