Old Tree

Old tree

bent, cracked, missing limbs,
the old tree still stands.
leaves slowly drift down,
turned brown
by winter’s first frosts.
many winters have come and gone,
and many hot, dry summers.
the tree is becoming less and less,
shedding limbs and leaves
as if reversing the growth of its youth
till one day it will become
no more than a sunny spot
in the yard; nothing left
but the burl at its base
carved into a bowl
holding the memory
of all its seasons

Fame waits

I hear a train whistle blow
cold and lonely ,
Freight moving late in the night.
I snuggle under the wam blankets
And think of you on the road,
Headed to the next place where fame awaits.
Following your dream down the road,
Never quite catching up to it.
You call me and tell me,
I miss you, and I love you, and…
It’s all about the next gig,
The next rodeo, the next honky tonk,
That’ll be the one where you’re discovered.
You left me behind,
to listen for the echo of your dreams,
Sounding like the lonely whistle
Of the train.
It’s been so long since you were here
I stopped waiting.
I’ll be the one they ask
When they ask what ever happened to you.
And if you do make it big someday?
Write a song for me,
So I can say I was the one he left behind.
I’ll always hear your voice
In the lonely whistle of the train,
moving away from me.


snap beans,
bowl rings as they fall,
her fingers fly
so much faster than mine
Granny snapped
how many millions of beans?
Supper tonight,
and jars on the shelf,
full of green summer flavor
to last through the winter’s dark.
of summer evenings
as a child,
snapping beans
with Granny in the front yard.
I wish i could see her again,
snapping beans,
see if my fingers
are finally
as fast as hers…




One of my dad’s favorite poems I wrote, every time I snap green beans, I think of Granny.