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.Christine Lemmer-Webber likes this.
Christine Lemmer-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, Christine Lemmer-Webber likes this.
Christine Lemmer-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.Christine Lemmer-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.