Well, ya got trouble, my friend, right here,
I say, trouble right here in River City.
Why sure I’m a billiard player,
Certainly mighty proud I say
I’m always mighty proud to say it.
I consider that the hours I spend
With a cue in my hand are golden.
Help you cultivate horse sense
And a cool head and a keen eye.
Did ya ever take and try to give
An iron-clad leave to yourself
From a three-rail billiard shot?
But just as I say,
It takes judgement, brains, and maturity to score
In a baulk line game,
I say that any boob kin take
And shove a ball in a pocket.
And they call that sloth.
The first big step on the road
To the depths of deg-ra-Day—
I say, first, medicinal wine from a teaspoon,
Then beer from a bottle.
An’ the next thing ya know,
Your son is playin’ for money
In a pinch-back suit.
And list’nin to some big out-a-town Jasper
Hearin’ him tell about horse-race gamblin’.
Not a wholesome trottin’ race, no!
But a race where they set down right on the horse!
Like to see some stuck-up jockey’boy
Sittin’ on Dan Patch? Make your blood boil?
Well, I should say.
Friends, let me tell you what I mean.
You got one, two, three, four, five, six pockets in a table.
Pockets that mark the diff’rence
Between a gentlemen and a bum,
With a capital “B,”
And that rhymes with “P” and that stands for pool!
And all week long your River City
Youth’ll be frittern away,
I say your young men’ll be frittern!
Frittern away their noontime, suppertime, choretime too!
Get the ball in the pocket,
Never mind gittin’ Dandelions pulled
Or the screen door patched or the beefsteak pounded.
Never mind pumpin’ any water
‘Til your parents are caught with the Cistern empty
On a Saturday night and that’s trouble,
Oh, yes we got lots and lots a’ trouble
I’m thinkin’ of the kids in the knickerbockers,
Shirt-tail young ones, peekin’ in the pool
Hall window after school, ya got trouble, folks!
Right here in River City.
Trouble with a capital “T”
And that rhymes with “P” and that stands for pool!
Now, I know all you folks are the right kinda parents.
I’m gonna be perfectly frank.
Would ya like to know what kinda conversation goes
On while they’re loafin’ around that Hall?
They’re tryin’ out Bevo, tryin’ out cubebs,
Tryin’ out Tailor Mades like Cigarette Fiends!
And braggin’ all about
How they’re gonna cover up a tell-tale breath with Sen-Sen.
One fine night, they leave the pool hall,
Headin’ for the dance at the Arm’ry!
Libertine men and Scarlet women!
And Rag-time, shameless music
That’ll grab your son and your daughter
With the arms of a jungle animal instinct!
Mass-steria!
Friends, the idle brain is the devil’s playground!
-Harold Hill “Ya Got Trouble” from “The Music Man”

—- nothing like a patter song!

(Side street in Ellijay; iphone 5)

Well, ya got trouble, my friend, right here,
I say, trouble right here in River City.
Why sure I’m a billiard player,
Certainly mighty proud I say
I’m always mighty proud to say it.
I consider that the hours I spend
With a cue in my hand are golden.
Help you cultivate horse sense
And a cool head and a keen eye.
Did ya ever take and try to give
An iron-clad leave to yourself
From a three-rail billiard shot?
But just as I say,
It takes judgement, brains, and maturity to score
In a baulk line game,
I say that any boob kin take
And shove a ball in a pocket.
And they call that sloth.
The first big step on the road
To the depths of deg-ra-Day—
I say, first, medicinal wine from a teaspoon,
Then beer from a bottle.
An’ the next thing ya know,
Your son is playin’ for money
In a pinch-back suit.
And list’nin to some big out-a-town Jasper
Hearin’ him tell about horse-race gamblin’.
Not a wholesome trottin’ race, no!
But a race where they set down right on the horse!
Like to see some stuck-up jockey’boy
Sittin’ on Dan Patch? Make your blood boil?
Well, I should say.
Friends, let me tell you what I mean.
You got one, two, three, four, five, six pockets in a table.
Pockets that mark the diff’rence
Between a gentlemen and a bum,
With a capital “B,”
And that rhymes with “P” and that stands for pool!
And all week long your River City
Youth’ll be frittern away,
I say your young men’ll be frittern!
Frittern away their noontime, suppertime, choretime too!
Get the ball in the pocket,
Never mind gittin’ Dandelions pulled
Or the screen door patched or the beefsteak pounded.
Never mind pumpin’ any water
‘Til your parents are caught with the Cistern empty
On a Saturday night and that’s trouble,
Oh, yes we got lots and lots a’ trouble
I’m thinkin’ of the kids in the knickerbockers,
Shirt-tail young ones, peekin’ in the pool
Hall window after school, ya got trouble, folks!
Right here in River City.
Trouble with a capital “T”
And that rhymes with “P” and that stands for pool!
Now, I know all you folks are the right kinda parents.
I’m gonna be perfectly frank.
Would ya like to know what kinda conversation goes
On while they’re loafin’ around that Hall?
They’re tryin’ out Bevo, tryin’ out cubebs,
Tryin’ out Tailor Mades like Cigarette Fiends!
And braggin’ all about
How they’re gonna cover up a tell-tale breath with Sen-Sen.
One fine night, they leave the pool hall,
Headin’ for the dance at the Arm’ry!
Libertine men and Scarlet women!
And Rag-time, shameless music
That’ll grab your son and your daughter
With the arms of a jungle animal instinct!
Mass-steria!
Friends, the idle brain is the devil’s playground!
-Harold Hill “Ya Got Trouble” from “The Music Man”

—- nothing like a patter song!

(Side street in Ellijay; iphone 5)

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, 
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.” 
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets


(Trail running - iPhone 5)

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets


(Trail running - iPhone 5)

POEM FOR MY LOVE

How do we come to be here next to each other
in the night
Where are the stars that show us to our love
inevitable
Outside the leaves flame usual in darkness
and the rain
falls cool and blessed on the holy flesh
the black men waiting on the corner for
a womanly mirage
I am amazed by peace
It is this possibility of you
asleep
and breathing in the quiet air.

(By June Jordan)

Bread and chèvre, fresh from the Farmer’s Market.  Grilled with tomatoes and basil from my garden. A bit of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, ground salt and pepper.  A glass of a full-bodied Cab.  Perfect 


(my house)

Bread and chèvre, fresh from the Farmer’s Market. Grilled with tomatoes and basil from my garden. A bit of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, ground salt and pepper. A glass of a full-bodied Cab. Perfect

(my house)
profp:

RITES OF PASSAGE ON BLUFF STREET
A two-wheeler for turning eight. A Timex for turning ten.  Reaching double digits means Street lights cease  Sending you home.
Permission to cross the highway On your two-year old bike  ~ Unsupervised ~ Comes with the watch. A kind of Freedom Two-fer.
Four wheels for turning sixteen. A license to drive. Everybody gets that in rural America. But who gets a suitcase? A license to leave.
Birthdays in my family Were really just opportunities Designed to  Ensure Untethering.
(Mine)
 (Photo- Quakertown online)

profp:

RITES OF PASSAGE ON BLUFF STREET

A two-wheeler for turning eight.
A Timex for turning ten.
Reaching double digits means
Street lights cease
Sending you home.

Permission to cross the highway
On your two-year old bike
~ Unsupervised ~
Comes with the watch.
A kind of Freedom Two-fer.

Four wheels for turning sixteen.
A license to drive.
Everybody gets that in rural America.
But who gets a suitcase?
A license to leave.

Birthdays in my family
Were really just opportunities
Designed to
Ensure
Untethering.

(Mine)


(Photo- Quakertown online)

(via gerda-kay)

"That’s bitchin’ tuck and roll! You know, I really love the feel of tuck and roll upholstery."
-Debbie Dunham ‘American Graffiti’

(1956 Buick; abandoned in North Georgia; iphone 5)

"That’s bitchin’ tuck and roll! You know, I really love the feel of tuck and roll upholstery."
-Debbie Dunham ‘American Graffiti’

(1956 Buick; abandoned in North Georgia; iphone 5)

Triplets! 
What a lovely sight to happen upon while out for my evening walk. 

(Iphone5)

Triplets!
What a lovely sight to happen upon while out for my evening walk.

(Iphone5)

In the Bathroom Mirror

(Ralph Burns)

 He continues to ponder
	And his wife moves next to him.
She looks.  They look at themselves 
	Looking through the fog.
She has a meeting she says in about
	Thirty minutes, he has
Something too.  But still she has
	Just stepped out of the bath
And a single drop of water
	Has curved along her breast
Down her abdomen and vialed in
	Her navel then disappeared
In crimson.  Unless they love
	Then wake in love
Who can they ever be?  Their faces bloom,
	A rain mists down, the bare
Bulb softens above the glass,
	So little light that
The hands mumble deliciously,
	That the mouth opens
Mothlike, like petals finding
	Themselves awake again
At four o’clock mid shade and sun.

(Image: Edvard Munch; “The Kiss” lithograph)

In the Bathroom Mirror

(Ralph Burns)

He continues to ponder
And his wife moves next to him.
She looks. They look at themselves
Looking through the fog.
She has a meeting she says in about
Thirty minutes, he has
Something too. But still she has
Just stepped out of the bath
And a single drop of water
Has curved along her breast
Down her abdomen and vialed in
Her navel then disappeared
In crimson. Unless they love
Then wake in love
Who can they ever be? Their faces bloom,
A rain mists down, the bare
Bulb softens above the glass,
So little light that
The hands mumble deliciously,
That the mouth opens
Mothlike, like petals finding
Themselves awake again
At four o’clock mid shade and sun.

(Image: Edvard Munch; “The Kiss” lithograph)

1956 Buick Super Series Riviera and
1956(?) Buick Roadmaster

Back roads of the Cohutta Mountains

Photos mine; iphone 5

Of course there was work to be done at home, but it was a 92° Sunday in July, and there were back roads to explore, mountain trails to climb, boiled peanuts to eat, and kudzu-covered remnants of earlier times to happen upon. Eight hours and nearly 200 miles later, I’m home, showered, and enjoying a refreshing adult beverage. Life is good.

(On Hwy 411; all that’s left is the sign; iphone 5)

CREPE MYRTLES

by Cathy Smith Bowers

When the heaviness of dog days
has had its way
with us, they bloom
to stay the doom

of summer’s end. Such Popsicles,
these crepe myrtles,
to cool the day’s
parched tongue! And where’s

the truck that brought them? The little
bell? Clang goes the 
ghostly driver
and then is gone.

*****
Crepe myrtles in the neighborhood (iPhone 5)

CREPE MYRTLES

by Cathy Smith Bowers

When the heaviness of dog days
has had its way
with us, they bloom
to stay the doom

of summer’s end. Such Popsicles,
these crepe myrtles,
to cool the day’s
parched tongue! And where’s

the truck that brought them? The little
bell? Clang goes the
ghostly driver
and then is gone.

*****
Crepe myrtles in the neighborhood (iPhone 5)