My husband's poetry

Category: the South

  • Walk inside the warm

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Last night you woke to the sound of northern winds in southern pines, the furnace chugging dollar bills and barfing BTU’s in the hall, while a dog howled two doors down to be let back inside. You had been dreaming you were chosen to shoot a basketball – something about winning money for a homeless…

  • Southern Summer Sunday

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    southern summers do not end until October three more months of windless days and green heat basketballs thump in the park children laugh down the street a mower tames unruly grass no hurricane spins offshore today no incessant rains I sit with a book and listen to Sunday simmer in the shade you may quarrel…

  • Beach trip, May 2025

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , , , ,

    Eons ago, we traded wings for speech and legs to run and now we spend eternity regretting our choice. ____ On our last trip to the beach pelicans flew single file off shore. Seagulls hung in the air waiting for food to drop; shiny grackles brazenly stole food from wagon stashes of tourists. An attractive…

  • cold snap haiku

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Deep South sunny sky, but still it is cold as hell Curse you, Canada 1-24-23

  • Blue

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    Blue as the feather in my father’s brown hat Blue as my daughter’s eyes Blue as the ceiling of a low country porch Blue as the sky reflected on a green pond Blue as a crab boiled in a pot Blue as a faded bruise Blue as the old man Picasso painted Blue hands wrapped…

  • Haiku of Hoosier in the land of cotton

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    late, leafing, green tree ya ain’t from ’round here are ya? never quite accepted 5-9-23

  • Kakalaki man, or, Why Lindsey Graham Has to Bellyache

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    Momma taught him everything tastes better with catsup Mustard is a barbeque sauce and Duke’s Mayonnaise is a religious sacrament He believes okra is worthy of its own festival Georgia peaches are grown in South Carolina and only his mom’s buttered biscuits are the best Corn is why the moon shines Anything can be made…

  • Southern rain

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    I am on the front porch, rain is in the yard, family in the house most of them in bed, chickens in their coop trying to stay dry. I don’t know about Georgia but it was a rainy night in Raleigh. I might go back to bed. 10-14-23

  • Hoar frost

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Driving towards Charleston, sun luxuriates Like the backside of a reclining nude Hanging over a bar in film noire Road bends left – sun glares back You put down the visor and drive on In high weed ditches and fields hoar frost glistens along the highway, Mist rises where cold meets warm Thirty miles out,…