Buckskin and Blue

Buckskin and Blue, do reign,
colours of visionary truths,
upon the landscape canvas,
her horsehair brushes do grapple,
with charges of distant lightening,
these visions in her head,
streaks across the night sky,
as solace as lariats ascends,
into distance places,
leaves the charged electronic impression,
rising into the heavens.

It is across the Sonora desert,
the Guadalupe does walk,
arm and arm with the with the Vaquero,
assuring that he will cross the river,
riding with the crew,
gathering the finest,
and from the herd,
there in the corral,
cuts out the finest horse,
and rides for the lament,
aside the droves of longhorn cattle,
with plains of sweet grass to cross,
and rivers to ford of purest water,
the journey ends with a eternal siesta,
at last assurance of the promises.

Loving Eyes

I have been given so much in my life,
the greatest, is this, which was a piece of clay,
for me to mold, and make,
and Dear Lord, I trust,
that these years have not been spent in vain,
that I have taken wisely and shaped,
this piece of clay with these Texas hands,
as best as I can.

The wind swept plains of this land,
has not given, but have taken,
this is the way at times, it seems,
and to receive is truly to be blessed,
with ones heart to give,
and to expect little until we rest,
to take, mold and make,
and that these 16 years,
my work is most pleasing,
Dear Lord,for I have done the best,
that I can with this,
which has been given to me.

Today my eyes see such beauty,
to this which I was entrusted,
to mold this piece of clay,
and with hopes,
that his path taken,
as he walks toward the sea
that he gives back,
for this is my prayer,
as I stand here under this tree,
and that he returns,
when my earthly time is done,
and throw a handful of dirt,
upon my tomb,
and this he did.

A Crow/ A Raven

We do not know,
from where the winds may blow,
while there is solitude,
on this red road-
Some may have heard,
A peckin' on the door,
and look towards the window,
as others watch a scorpion,
Speed across the adobe's floor--

There upon the hiway,
these two do dance and strut,
with a fan of feathers,
to entertain, awe as much-
Hunters eyes search the seeds,
that the wind has blown,
from the grain fields,
Gathers of the gleam,
as now is not for waste,
as clear waters flow forth--

Hecker and Jeckel,
Of such comic lore,
gleam for grain,
along the ditches,
aside the roadway,
that winds this valley,
thru fields of grain, so golden-
Waste is not prudences chore,
as clear waters from an enbankment,
does flow and hence their thirst,
is filled another day,
While upon the roadside,
Hecker and Jeckel do sway--

friendsofhyatt.org

To those that know me...not biblically speaking...but more as a ramblin deranged po-ET...Not to take away from Allen Ginsberg's in speaking of po-ET and their words...or Fernigetti, one of the greatest of American Poets,(my last trip/stop at City Lights in SF...I had the honor of taking a photo of him with another man...who just wanted a picture of them together...and I was chosen to be there at that moment)... as was that drunken Bastard from Los Angeles (Charles Bukowski)...who I discovered has inspired the great Tom Russell...

From the recent cyber broadcast of the Cowboy Poets gathering (2008)in Elko, I have learned that Tom was raised in Los Angeles, and not an authentic Tejan...oh Tom, oh Tom, who now resides on the border at El Paso...Tom's masterwork of cowboy verse/song, has an intensity that is comparable to the greatest cowboy verse writers,but is more of a Bukowski bucking bronco buster...To be able to exchange words years back with Tom in the Starry Plough men's wash room in Berkeley, as he was washing his hands...telling him that he/we cannot wash away our sins, Tom understandingly nodded in agreement...I attribute this mind thought to those piney woods people that reared me in that community on the great river, Mother Sabine...and thus this post...

I have stumbled and fallen, and with tired hands through the course of my life, pulled myself out of the gumbo/adobe mud of which I have found myself fallen...this after graduating from Hyatt High School, at Fields, Louisiana in 1963, having walked off that stage with a sore chest. This injury came from the kick of a mule several weeks earlier, while attempting to plow the spring garden, and my father stood amused, that I would allow that mule to place me in that spot...one would say, mind over mule...thus, the mule won with a direct hit...

My journey, my road scholar work took me into many doors, with views from many different windows, and stairwells up and down, often racing to keep my spirit alive...Again, walking out of that gymnasium that night in 1963, I knew not what layed ahead, but that there was some challenge ahead for me. I feel most strongly that I have met that challenge ...even moreso having been nominated in the late 80's as a Who's Who of the West, unable to submit the profile with feelings that I had not done enough to prove myself worthily of such honor.

Returning in (2002) to my mother land, to this woman(Earth) who gave birth to me, for she did her upmost best to mold and make me,just as I am, without one plead
...those wimmen of the Sabine, written about so well with that story by Kate Chopin..."IN SABINE"...a termendious reading to understand the hardship pioneer women endured, and especially those of the Sabine River bottom...The community that I was raised in, Bancroft...has put out so many remarkable people, three are from my own family, and several other families in that "rural" hamlet have done equally as well...Southward is the De Witts Eddy community, they have succeeded, and also the neighboring community of Fields...Nearby Fields is a small community amid the pines of Bear Head creek, some refer to that area as PeckerWoods...a very enduring term...home of the Pickering's, the Boyer's, LaCroix's and so many more. Honest people, a most lost virture.

Bancroft was settled by refugees from Hancock County MS,led by a Samuel Wingate entering from the Newton Texas side,a journey into the dark, piney woods of NO MANS LAND. There, he discovered some most Majestic Pines...pines that were cut out by the 30's and then the economy began to diminish. At that time,the various one room school houses were combined in a newly built WPA building, which should have already been declared a national treasure, and historial landmark...To see that building and its 50 acre campus, is a site to behold...it is a twinkle in the creators eye...

Since the inception of the school, a combination of "rural" communities, WE have been strongly judged these many years by the "correct" despots of De Ridder, the parish center some 30 miles away..."They" considered us clodhoppers, ect...we are not...WE are Sabine...WE are Sabine...PROUD...our lineage arises from the Celts,the French, additionally we inherit both Cherokee and Choctaw blood...Many are seeking to regain their status as Cherokee/Choctaw through Four Winds Tribe of Louisiana Cherokee...

Through my own research, I have learned in the past two years, of that link to this native blood. This discovery is attributed to another woman who has been researching on the mystery "GORE'S"...our discovering our common grandmother Mother Ellen...who she through her own research, believes walked the Trail of Tears, forced to become outlaws...The Cherokees and Choctaws settled with the other displaced traumatized Southern's after the war of the civil in these majestic, wonderful and most serene piney woods...Our beloved NO MANS LAND became a safe haven for both the traumatized Southerns and the Native people who refused to go to Oklahoma...re:Chief Bowles and thus Bowl(e)slough, whose banks I was raised on...

Recently, those who have and continue to JUDGE us so strongly and harsely, have decreed that they would shut this community school down...Their meeting was held almost in secret, in De Ridder on a Thursday night, a 30 plus journey. They expected those who worked 60 miles away from our beloved communities of Bancroft, Fields and De Witt's Eddy, to attend this board meeting in De Ridder,another thirty plus miles, a near almost difficult task,and again,this was planned on a Thursday night,days before Thanksgiving...

Their, the schoolboards action was both an immoral and illegal action...They declared with little community input and with scant evidence, that they had the power to destroy this community (a combination of commun-ities whose center is Hyatt)...This nearsighted elitist board has failed, for there is a higher authority...a higher power...and there is that personal power we all have. This combined personal power becomes WE, and oft it rang out from voices many years back...POWER TO THE PEOPLE...

Yes, I walked in those marches...fist raised to the heavens...and have stood in front of the National Capitol in July of 1974 most proudly, with 2000 other
Vietnam Vets...John Kerry was there in March, I do not know if he was there in July, he could have been that vet who stood next to me...Prior to my revisit to Washington DC in 2001, my journey took me to Ebenezer Baptist Church, in Atlanta, placing my hands in the waters...to heal...My journey continue to the WALL in Washington, to touch it, and completing at the head of the line, as a Disabled American Veteran, (having been with the other 2000 vets in 1974 denied the right to enter the capitol building), I entered the capitol most proudly, for so many of these warriors have died since that day in 1974.

While visting the capital building, I discovered a marker declaring it to be the center of the building, and center of Washington. I stood at the center of
power...the center of power...to be centered is a most powerful experience...often the hardest journey in one's life, is to discard that excess baggage of which we have laden ourselves,and this journey was to complete that mission of 1974, and I found myself centered. Life is termendous when we carry about fresh straw to which one can lay...to sleep, to dream, but first we must muck the stall of our lives.

What is most parammount at this moment,is that those that discover this blog...to go to friendsofhyatt.org....interesting, I entered friends of fields.org and found a site devoted to Marin County...south of Sonoma County where I spent so many years, making many friends in Marin as well...Again,it is paramount that information get out, both the illegal and immoral action taken by that incompetent school board...just because we can...and
friendsofhyatt.org
needs both voice and monies that can be given,and especially,legal assistant...

Three years ago, a young man walked across the stage in Washington DC, with his mother and grandmother, finishing 7th in the Scripts Spelling Bee...This young man is my great-nephew...his grandmother is a Who's Who of American Women...Who walked off that stage at Hyatt in 1958 with little more than a 50 dollar scholarship to McNeese...A woman who should have gone to Harvard or Yale...those that be, those power people in DeRidder...chose not to do anything to direct her there...Their concern was with "their precious" children in De Ridder...This is my indictment. An indictment against the board,in behalf of all the native blood people who have been denied their just, and especially those rural inhabitants who make the best of America. WE are strong, WE are Sabine, WE are rural. WE are AMERICANS, WE are the spirit of the native people.

My sister succeeded by her own determination, as did my older brother, who is now an attorney in Houston, our younger brother now teaches computer science at UT in San Antonio.... I feel that there are many more success stories from families who have chosen to stay in the woods, and who's children have not stood in the national spotlight, as drunks, criminals. Childrens who have walked a walk, to be but the best that they could be, to have the Piney Woods People most proud of them...strived to excellence...and many of us have...It is only that "Piney Woods Ceiling" that has been our main obstacle...The problem is not ours,but is their problem, the judgmental despots of De Ridder. Still, yet they have used it every opportunity they can...I speak from personal experience...

Again...these words are but mine, and proud of their intensity...as I was when a friend from Marin informed me to look at the recent column by the now late Herb Caen (SF Chronical), and see his reflections on me. To have received a letter years earlier from this great writer encouraging me to put pen to paper, I hold. Priceless. This post reflects my experiences in life, early life esperiences, and my decication to and support for the best education that one can receive, which is a rural education. Class size does make a difference. And thanks to that writer on that men's bathroom stall at SSU, encouraging others to read Small Is Beautiful, those stalls were the best place to read in the universe...Big is not always better. I feel that Hyatt has proven it many times over.

friendsofhyatt.org...do something...no school left behind...
friendsofhyatt.org...do something...no school left behind...

p.s. {for those that know me, I was the runt of the litter, and could not talk: now, I am a giant of a man, and speak with a thundering voice, a voice that shakes cones off the tallest pines.}

LIFE OFFERS SIMPLE REWARDS

...watching woodpeckers at work on dead pine trees...eating muscadines on the cowboy couch the one that caused Martha Stewart to get a whiplash as she drove past and lastly being cooled by squirrels with church fans that was left at a Holy Ghost filled tent revival with my hounds in arms...

Pine Hills of Louisiana

pine hills of Louisiana...travel this parkway last night to Many...not more...just Many, one of the last small towns in far Western Louisiana, about the only big box is one Wally Mart...They had a Colgate County Show, unfortunately, most of the talent even though it was good, was directed to the new Nashville style; and many of us are very opinionated towards the commercial aspects of that; not being judgmental, but many of us feel that Nashville, as towards the music, was created by high craft musicians, (Hank Williams to Rose Maddox) and without those legends, the "industry" would not be there for these current, pop tart singers with pretty faces to try to make it...the new parkway is not fully completed, but the local blue light crowd was eager to give a welcome with "you were speeding as you rolled over the hill", fully aware to get over those north bound red clay hills, one has to accelerate, its called momentum, and naturally, you will be over the posted limit when you hit the crest and their radar guns...such is the saga of much of rural USA...if the locals were given a free pass, but rarely is this is done, and this being just outside of Fort Polk, where so many have put the uniform on, they two must pay the price to be free, to crest those rising red clay hills amid those pine forests...Liberty is not free...

Cadillacs to Cattleracks

Cadillacs to Cattle Racks

Modes of transportation,
varies as much as the terrain,
fords and dodges,
traverse across the plains,
these pickups of transport,
bringing forth the savage,
and their cargo to town.

Doctors and lawyers,
with their gentleness,
attributes acquired of their fineness,
had big machines,
sedans of glandure,
to parade down the streets of town.

Ladies with their bonnets,
drive past the motley crew,
with upturn snouts,
for what they smelt,
was neither roses or daliahs,
for those children on the racks,
were wenching of stench,
as they drove past.

These fords and dodges,
damaged to the hitch,
rusted from outdoor exposures,
eventually, retired to the back fence,
alters of clinder blocks,
with ententions to salvage later.

Come early Sunday,
the roads are aline with these,
vehicles of transport,
rusted pickups and cadillacs,
all heading to the same church,
stepping out of the Cadillacs,
citizens so refined in their best,
and off of the cattle racks,
enter the herd,with washed faces,
all adorn with ranch perfume.

and thus Andrea Graham spoke:

she spoke, words fumed from her mouth,
a bovine poet she was,
while others stood about,
both sides of the fence she uddered,
and not even a stutter,
as she spokes these words from the stage,
both sides of the fence, not even a craze,
with these words committed from this barb,
the mind raced back, from a distance yard,
as a young pony that raced the fence,
escaping to race to the river so far,
and stand watching at the rivers edge,
a vision across the rivers,
there on the western side.

he stood,there upon the Eastern shore,
watching the bovine herd,
one mighty bull, with cows in tow,
traverse across the Sabine waters,
swimming to this eastern shore,
for they knew on this side of this river fence,
was greener pastures of plenty,
here in NO MANS LAND.

they swam those muddy waters,
all in a movement, a herd,
no bellowing did they make,
with voices that were singing,
I'm leaving ole Texas now,
they got no use for the Longhorn Cow,
we will follow the lead of this Longhorn Bull,
rising upon that eastern bank,
with this Longhorn Bull in lead,
we will wade through catfish sloughs,
and panther filled cane breaks,
to those promised pastures of plenty,
where endless prairie do flow,
amid tall, tall pine trees,
and where the mighty crowfoot violet grows.

we rather be where the way sider lay,
than to march together so afraid,
up to the Llano plateau,
where Comanches gather and raid,
round campfires and bison herds,
with fast arrows that fly,
thru the wind and mesquite,
where many of us will die,
there on that high Mesquite plain.

oh to wade that water fence,
there to the other side,
where prairies of green,
that long and await to be grazed,
by Longhorns who cherish,
to live, to live free,
amid those tall, tall pine trees,
that sway so gently,
in a warm summer breeze.

Were you there, when they dragged Willie from the bus

Were you there,
they they drug Willie from the bus,
so near the Vermillion River,
that flowed into the bay,
where in 1961 his uncle and sons,
shrimped for many a day.

Were you there,
when the bifold doors opened,
and Willie stepped forward,
and invited the officer in,
the officer asked Willie to exhale,
the officer smiled,
and asked Willie to exhale again.

They could have let our hero go,
with the herb and the mushrooms,
which he could have gotten from,
the bovine pasture of his dear Aunt Ruby,
as has many of a Louisiana boy,
after a light rain,
there in the piney woods,
of Louisiana.

Were you there,
when they commandered Willie bus,
searching the suitcases,
there so close to Bayou Teche,
as if seeking some contraband,
only finding those mushrooms,
to be eatern in a morning omelette,
with some feta cheese,
and sun dried tomatos.

Were you there,
when they pulled Willie from the bus,
a long hard road traveler,
bringing Americas music to the land,
the officer could have commented,
I see you roll your own,
just like my father,
who grew his own,
there on Contraband Bayou,
calling its Gods Tobacco,
and mixing it with Mullein,
which is the native tobacco,
growing in every field.

Were you there,
there by Whiskey River,
when they pulled Willie from the bus,
as the bi-fold doors opened,
and Willies smile shone,
just like the morning sun,
a plume of smoke,
came forth from his mouth,
that would have extinguished,
the most ancient volcano,
and killed a Bayou Teche gator,
at fifty yards.

Were you there,
when they busted Willie,
down by Breau Bridge,
while driving across America,
bringing music to the land,
with a smile like the morning sun,
that greeted every lass and lad.

Were you there,
when they pulled Willies bus over,
to the side of the road,
went through his boxers,
hopeing to find some illegal cargo,
green horned troopers,
with little to do,
pulling Americas bio diesel off the road,
their politics dont add up--to two.

Eunice and Blue

Eunice, a town that stands with a view,
in Eunice, there are no skyscrapers,
There are rice dryers,
where the grain is store,
after it harvest,
these monoliths of wealth,
of Eunice and Blues bounty,
as the thrashers beat the straws,
and the rice is shot like bullets,
in the trucks as they wait in line,
while drivers listen to KJEN,
with fingers tapping in rhythm,
upon the window sill,
and feet in beat,
and the sounds float across the fields,
the announcer breaks to tell,
of a impending car sell.

In Eunice there are no skyscapers,
as the grievers stand silently in the rain,
a rainbow touches the horizon,
the priest blesses the gathered,
to place the matron in the crypt,
to spend eternity with her husband,
who danced upon the porch,
many of a saturday morning,
to a fiddler and accordin,
who stood in the yard,
as the crawfish started their boil,
in Eunice there are no skyscrapers,
in Eunice there are no skyscrapers.