Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Near as I can tell, Uncle Crawford
was a hayseed savant.
His Virginia-baked way with words
dug deep inside a young boy's head
like the midnight searches for earthworms
in the back yard, to take along on those
early morning treks to Jackson's Pond.

When I would, as he would say,
fly off half-cocked, my uncle would calm me
down by saying something like, "Son....
never put your carte before your blanche."
I'd pull out the Websters, the General
Store encyclopedias and think hard and long
for days on end, just a thinkin' and thinkin',

fascinated by his downhome genius.
I'd think so hard and rethink, that I'd
get to squirmin' and fiddlin'
til a wore my overalls all in a-tatter,
but at least I tried, and was now sure
that his vital message had sailed over my head
like a red-tailed hawk swoppin' down

on a woodchuck. I'd go back at these times
and Uncle Crawford would astound me again
with his front porch brilliance, yeah he'd
kick back in that dilapidated wicker rocking chair,
spit a little of that nasty coal-black chewin'
tobacki, take a long slow very deep breath
and speak, "Son, always remember,

nothing difficult is ever easy."

pure inspiration, steve

I love the dialect in this. I can visualize and hear it as being spoken on the stage with a bit of a west-virginia-like country draw.

Nice job, Steve! A well executed narrative and portrait piece.

(My dad always said, "Nothing is easy," then shrugged, like oh well, that's the way it is, gotta accept it. That was one of his mantras. And he wasn't just referring to the difficult stuff.)

a hayseed savant. a poem in itself. killer!

...made me grin, this one

the yogi berra of the south...wish i had one as a chiild, thanks for making room on his knee steve.

thanx fellow poets.....nice to hear from you...peace and wisdom.....