Give me stars and bars and collard greens,
sweet lemonade and simple things,
Stevie Ray Vaughn and Lynyrd Skynyrd,
Texas brisket and beans for dinner.

Deep fried okra, and cornbread,
Black Diamond melons on a flatbed,
don’t be stupid, but if you start,
we’ll just say, “well bless your heart.”

Always fixin’ to go do something,
usually fishing, or maybe hunting,
running ‘round our stomping grounds,
never know what can be found.

Jack and coke or Coors Light Beer
copper still, dripping out clear,
fried catfish on Saturday,
in the barn for a roll in the hay.

George Strait sings out The Chair,
while we enjoy fresh country air,
sitting on the truck tailgate,
holding her hand and feeling great.

Basil leaves and cigar smoke,
touch my olfactory bulb,
Harvey Danger's Sitta plays,
explaining I'm not sick, just unwell.

Pool chlorine fragrances,
trigger spinning Rolodex cards,
ejecting a memory of parties past,
I shake the ice in my empty glass.

Sweet and sticky simple syrup,
muddled basil, a pinch of salt,
lemon juice waters the mouth,
the piney taste of Bombay gin.

Shaking now, the sound of ice,
an avalanche of sound and flavor,
now ready to slide into my cup,
refilled, to the night and my chair.

The warp and wrap of leaves,
feel familiar in my hand,
as does the clip of the end,
the flick of a lighter flame.

Couple of Puffs and I enjoy,
Earth and spice notes,
I blow out a cloud of smoke,
quickly carried on the desert breeze.

I lean back in my chair,
another puff or two,
a long sip of basil smash,
and reflect on yesterday and today.

Fingerprints of others,
are the memories,
good times, trips, fun,
sadness, helping, hoping,
forensic evidence of life,
that can never be collected.

The full moon cresting the horizon,
red to orange to gold then silver,
a crispness in the air, a bit cooler,
as the breeze illicits a shiver.

Leaves crunch underfoot,
as Pegasus flies across the sky,
each star an exquisite diamond,
shining through the atmosphere.

Suddenly the smell of leaf smoke
touches my nose, leaving me longing,
smores and hot chocolate and a blanket,
snuggled up with my wife.

Memories taste like candy,
as a smile of trick or treaters
like the walking dead,
haunts my thoughts.

A change of winds direction,
cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg,
the neighbor baking,
thanksgiving will soon be here.

I sit back in the porch swing,
clear my mind of thought,
and just enjoy the early darkness,
as summer fades away.

Though our streets are flooded,
towns and cities destroyed,
we will rebuild,
lots of help has been deployed.

Harvey brought it's wrath,
but Texans fight with heart,
though it will take a while,
there will be a brand new start.

From Rockport to Beaumont,
and the towns in between,
soon we'll be back on the beach,
drinking beer, wearing sunscreen.

With the sounds of hammers,
and of saws and drills,
don't worry about Texas,
be assured she will heal.

With glint of scale
and gleam of eye,
the dragon riders
take to the sky.

Armor black
and swords of steel,
we give no slack,
will make them kneel.

A few months we have let them be,
a new village built beside the sea,
master wants us to move them north,
dark mountains near his magics source.

From behind the clouds
and lit by the moon,
with whipping shrouds,
we dive down to this tune.

Commanding fire we build a cage,
villagers once again enraged,
their archers fire into the night,
we've had no casualties but some day might.

With whipping of my dragons tail,
I tear away all their ships sails,
they will go where I say,
or to masters wrath must I pay.

we've sent them running, all the clans,
I've not been told the master plan,
some day soon at the mountains base,
we shall see what will take place.

I whistle and dragons soar,
once again to our roosts door,
to see our women and drink beer,
and later on hold them near.

A little red Dachshund,
lies on a rectangle green mat,
curled into a c, and looking at me,
soaking up stripes of sunlight,
as they filter through the blinds.

An old wooden school desk,
it's platform once again in use,
ready to write on golden lines,
as it is every day at this time,
on line ruled stripes of sunlight.

A millipede crawls up a dresser,
like interconnected living links of chain,
it dances to the sound of a box fan,
swaying in its breeze, I do not fear its bite,
as it is made up of stacked rings of sunlight.

A black and white cat chases nothing,
intermittently across the living room,
curious, I watch closely, nothing,
ah there it is, a bit of reflected sun,
the size of my watch face runs across the floor.