Tweety

My sweet petite bird, in my hand I keep
Your eternal company, my dear treat
A love and devotion, ever so deep
Morning's light starts, with a beam and a greet

I smile thinking of you, throughout my day
My little queen, in her cottage on isle
Reigning, over monkey and many fowl
Floral and treasure, from athwart the mile

I trek back to you each day, land and sea
By wheels two and four, returning to meet
Lovely greetings, which you do oversee
Tired, I relax to lips, tender and sweet

You’re the one, that ensures my very best
Finding new ways to amuse you, my quest

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Epitaph

One Thing You

Can Bet

He Rode Life Hard

And Put It

Away Wet

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Another Port, Another Dancer

I awaken, in the early morning
The sun, shining into your sleeping face
The smell, of your lovely perfumed scent

Untangling from your clinging arms
And your bleached strawberry blonde hair
Looking close at your fine mustache

My elbow, knocks a champagne glass
The sound, of the cheap flute breaking
Stirs your sweet, heartshaped, pale behind

I smile, as the door slowly clicks
Creeping down the hall, like a nun
Off for coffee and cigarettes

Another port, another dancer

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series

A Day in the life

The old farm house had been standing since the nineteenth century
I would arrive at the base of its tall wooden steps each morning
Climbing to the massive porch, which surrounded three of its sides
I could smell the wood smoke from the weathered chimney in the air

Entering the screen door, I would pass the idol old porch swing
The living room, warm with a gentle fire and heated stone hearth
Rocking chairs perched on each side, one holding my great uncle’s smile
My Aunt, calling me from the kitchen to come and get breakfast

Sitting at the table, with warm biscuits, eggs, and fresh sausage
Reaching for the coffee pot, on the wood burning kitchen stove
She’d tell me to eat plenty; it'll be a long time ‘til lunch
I made a couple of biscuit and sausage snacks, for later

After breakfast, I would tread down the western porch stairs to work
Stopping, before reaching the barn, I turned and gazed at the house
Thinking of the history of the grand old plantation place
With its classic design, complete with the endless high porches

It was painted white, although it had long since faded, to grey
The screened in back porch, led from the kitchen, and back bedrooms
I had passed through the western hall through more bedrooms and a bath
Latter having been installed in recent years; no more outhouse

In front of the great north porch, stood an ancient giant oak tree
Planted by a quiet ancestor, it towered above the house
Its huge roots provide a seat for one to sit and have a chew
Turning back toward the barn I walked for the old sleeping tractor

I would spend the day in the field, until dark, plowing the soil
Returning to the house at midday for another great meal
Mashed potatoes, black-eyed peas, and a slice of home butchered ham
Then back in the evening for supper, with hot fried chicken

I would stay for a short chat and a chew, sitting on the hearth
Spitting into the fire and listening to tales of distant past
Eventually, saying my goodbyes and out to the truck
Riding home, I smelled the soil and fresh air through the cracked window

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series

Yard Friends

Cones of the tall fir
Fall, breaking morning’s silence
A squirrel at play

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series

Jasmine

The smell of jasmine
Blends with mingling wild birdsong
Beneath noon’s warm sun

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series

Bankok

Appearing like a serpent, its mouth opened wide

At early dawn we approached, through fisher and boat
Slowly, we entered this strange new world with the tide
Since forty five, the west had not seen Siam’s coat

The smell of incense along the sweet mossy shore
Beautifully adorned golden temples, they shine
There were large ships moored amid stream, both aft and fore
Making slowly for Bangkok, we stood, our whites fine

Entering the crowded harbor, wonders we gaze
Anchor let go, we were the first since WWII
Liberty launch to shore, we all stared in amaze
Rushing ashore, things to come for us, not a clue

The kingdom of Thailand raises her pretty dress
I leave this exotic jewel, my head a mess

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

Author's Note: Sailor's Sonnet Series

This is from my memory of sailing up the Bangkok river in 1977. We were the first U.S. destroyer to visit those waters since 1945.