Ancient Rituals

The woods are calling
To gather us together
Old men, young men
Travel from here, everywhere
Gathering back home.
Gear in the back of pickups
Wives and youngin's kissed
Waving goodbye
See y'all soon.

Deer camp calls to us
Calling to our mountain souls
Remindin' us of how it was
Maybe how it should be.
We gather over campfires
Laugh and tell old stories
Of hunts forgotten
Old friends remembered
New stories waiting for their telling.

It is a treasure
To gather with old men, young boys
To laugh, listen and be.

Mountain Man

I am the mountain man
I am the Appalachian mystic
The preacher and pappy
Sitting quietly at the end
Of a long rough wood porch
Listenin' to old women gossip
Grinnin' as they whisper
Louder than they think.
Listenin' carefully
Peelin' off long curls
Of cedar wood
Piling up
Round my old brogans.

I am the old man of the hills
Knowin' cures and tricks
How to cure an ear ache
How to make a wart disappear
How to conjure up a storm
To call fishes an' snakes
Secrets that were passed to me
From the emerald hills
Of ancestral Celtic homes

One day I'll repeat back
What I sit and hear
At the end of the porch
Them women will sit in wonder
Taken aback I know
All the things I know.
Like I am a wonder
A magick, a trickster.

I am the old man of the mountains
I'll sit and listen
Peelin' a long curl of cedar.
Grinnin' when you turn your head.

Odd One Out

The moon is a selfish slice
Like a piece of muskmelon
Given by a miserly aunt.
Laid carefully in the sky
That is deep blue
Like the flower
Of a deadly nightshade
Hidden in the garden
Next to the tomato plants.
Cousins, yes
But how different their fruits.