In a Piedmont Eatery

While living a summer in South Carolina, I absorbed the local accent and diction of the people, especially the country folk and wanted to record it in some way, so I wrote this poem by listening first then writing it into a suitable form.  Listening, not just writing, is what Poetry is all about, you know.


In a Piedmont Eatery…

Nothin’ apple ’bout apple jam
Peaches ain’t no size this year
The major’s took to drink again
What’s the Reverend gonna do,
What’s he gonna do.

Two eggs up straight for Helen, Sam
Mo Jo’s back in town I hear
Been no rain since God knows when
Got ta cut the corn crop down
Got ta cut it down.

No tellin’ when the strike will end
Or if Union boys are gonna win
They shut down all the mills they say
Just ain’t no work ’round here no more
Ain’t no more work ’round here.

Got not idea how long it’s been
Since Mrs. Jeffery had them twins
I’m told she’s comin’ on ok
This last two makes that family nine
Makes them Jefferys nine.

It cost you for the third refill
Sixty cents a pound these days
They had a frost down in Brazil
Sure got us in a squeeze, you know
Sure got us in a bind.



Christmas Eve Afternoon

for Kelli Parrish

I found you gone when I arrived

The grey Buddha in your garden covered with black dirt
Made me remember

When he attained enlightenment
Buddha touched the earth declaring, “By this sign I bear witness.”

In a Buddha’s eyes
All things are pure

Still tradition has a power and Tibetan traditions states

A Buddha must be elevated
Above the ground.

I turned a white flower pot over, set Buddha on top
Surrounded him with bougainvillia, offered for luck

The nickel I found
On your front step

Then in the high noon Christmas sun I waited
While at my feet, a fly feasted on the feces of a dog…

A cat…. perhaps a raccoon?
And it occurred to me

One minute, one discovery after another
Buddha and Jesus wanted the same for all: truth freedom peace

And their greatest gift, a mind of love, even for a fly.


Dharma Fire

Raga by Shankar


Truth Is a Rock in Jerusalem

Truth Is a Rock in Jerusalem

a bullet shot

at Muslim men

Jewish men rocking at the Wailing Wall

Palestinian van

driven into working men–

Israel is a den of thieves
Radical Jewish Terrorists
Pushing into Al-Haram Al-Sharif
Taking Arab land
Calling it settlement when the truth
Is anything but settled–
We know the Dome of the Rock
The Temple Mount are holy
But are they

When bullets fly within?

Well water

Olive oil

Separate when mixed

And a rock is just a stone until we make it holy:
Housed in a mosque, hurled in a riot, one meant to kill, the other to inspire.



Palestinians gather stones that were stored in the Al Aqsa mosque beforehand, as they clean up after clashes with Israeli police on the compound known to Muslims as Noble Sanctuary and to Jews as Temple Mount in Jerusalem's Old City
Palestinians gather stones that were stored in the Al Aqsa mosque beforehand, as they clean up after clashes with Israeli police on the compound known to Muslims as Noble Sanctuary and to Jews as Temple Mount in Jerusalem’s Old City September 13, 2015. REUTERS/Ammar Awad

Click Here to Learn More …

One Holy Site Two Faiths 

Holy City Timeline on Temple Mount/Al Haram Al Sharif


Where do the children play?        How will they feel when they are men?

Daily Brief, October 4, 2014Daily Brief, October 4, 2014Daily Brief, October 4, 2014

May there be Peace in Jerusalem and the Middle EastThe Dome of the Rock is seen in the background as Palestinian youths practice their parkour skills during Friday prayers in Jerusalem's Old City

It’s Possible

It is possible to be gay and Christian.
It’s also possible to believe in God and science.
It is possible to be pro-choice and anti-abortion.
It is equally possible to be a feminist and love and respect men.
It’s possible to have privilege and be discriminated against
To be poor and have a rich life
To not have a job and have money (legal good money).

It is possible to be anti guns and still believe in the right to defend one’s self, family and property.

It’s possible to be anti-war and pro-military.
It is possible to be anti-Trump and pro-America.
It is possible to love thy neighbor and despise his actions.
It is possible to advocate Black Lives Matter and pro-police.
It is possible to not have an education and be brilliant.
It is possible to be Muslim and also suffer at the hands of terrorists.
It is possible to be a non-American fighting for the American dream.
It is possible to be different and the same.

We are all walking contradictions
of what normal looks like. Let humanity and love win.

(Poetic form by Rayn Roberts / Author is ANON, but encouraging you to copy/paste/share if you want it.)



I cannot commit my poems to memory, cannot trust a machine
That is failing as I speak to you.
The poems belong to the page and to you,
Let them do their work in your heart–

Each night I close my eyes, I die.
Each day I wake, I am born again.
I am dancing with Death, my beautiful silent partner.
He knows the dance of life better than I
Each step before we take it.

I go out to visit my mother, the sea
I give her my sadness, love and longing, she listens.
She rewards me with  a blue pearl, salt and light
She says, “Dance with grace my son, I am with you.”

Looking up, my vision blurs, the sky is as blue as the night black.
Looking down I am blinded by darkness.
I look left and right, I see all dancing with death.
It it the truth of my life–  In a dream

I fly over the ocean to Spain, I am in the ring with the bull.
I look up, there is only blue, I look down there is only death.
It is the truth of my life.  I look left and right
Spin my red cape, la capa, shouting at the bull

Quisas estoy loco, loco al bailar con tigo!
No me mires, eschucha a mi corozon.
Que hay musica profunda, musica trajica.
Es la verdad de mi vida, la verdad de vida.

Death takes even the truth we find in life.
Matador of words, I hope to charm him with poems
Dancing in dreams of a dream…

Hey, hey, toro! I kneel before the bull, “Come on!
Come kill me. Do it quickly.” He rakes the dirt with a hoof
I rise, the sky is as red as blood, “Toro! Toro! Listo!”

I drive the long blade in: Estoca completa, pero nunca puedo matar al Toro.



Spanish Bullfighting

Animal rights activists claim bullfighting is a cruel or barbarous blood sport, in which the bull suffers severe stress and a slow, torturous death. A number of animal rights or animal welfare activist groups such as Antitauromaquia and StopOurShame undertake anti-bullfighting actions in Spain and other countries.



Photo: “Ghosts of Seville” copyright_symbol_11 by Rayn Roberts.








The Dance of Death (1493) by Michael Wolgemut, from the Liber chronicarum by Hartmann Schedel