Down Home (A Black History Moment) by Ron Porter ©2014/ 2019

Under the Arkansas moon
scent of magnolia in the air
I have seen the hanging tree
the whipping tree
and the wishing tree as well

In the Piney Woods' dark hours
see neon twinkles of lightning bugs
I've heard the Bear Cat's far off cry
sound like a hungry baby's wail
the torment scream of a dying slave
or echos of lovers mourning loss

Way back down home
rich black dirt fertile and warm
hide the bones,teeth and tears
Earth blood sanctified, watered by sweat
of whip driven cotton pickers
and sharecropping growers of corn

it ain't quite that way no more
the old law has gone away
and it ain't coming back
cause every house has a rifle
a pistol and a shotgun
and a memory

of the whipping tree
and the hanging tree
and wishes are just fantasy
desires of little children
underneath that Arkansas moon
way back down home.

Give Me by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Give me a soft, warm, silken thigh;
and a trace of mischief in her eye.
Give me heated passion and a tender sigh.
Give me heaven before I die!

Dying Light, A Tanka by Ronald S Porter ©2017

For a new world to be born
At the world’s demise we wait
At the world’s demise
In the dying of the light
We have tasted joy.

R.S.V.P. by Ronald S Porter ©2017

cryptic apocalyptic visions flip
elliptically across my brain
neurotic exotic erotic robotic mimes
stand in line and kick in time
How do they bear the strain?

Blazing cities collapse in ruin
rumors of war are all brewing
doom and gloomers, in fits of humor
warn of tumors and shed their bloomers

it’s almost the day of reckoning
of melting mountains and burning air
be there or be square; be sure to style your hair
wear gowns and tuxes and a boutonniere
Armageddon will be a formal affair.

Love Song For Lunatics by Ronald S Porter ©2017

sweet decay
beauty so vile
lambs innocent
slashed for sacrifice
profane angels
sing above the madness
weeping ice sickle tears
everything hurts
and all is numb
I fear...
screaming silence
Like Dorothy
back from Oz
the world, the world
has lost all color
awaken to
the kiss of death
come and lie
here in my arms
find hateful affection
and I'll, with rigor and vigor
kill you with my love

Walk In the Rain by Ronald S Porter ©2017

far off thunder in the twilight
hobos dance in cotton fields
an old man on the porch
in a rocking chair plays guitar

Me and Old Blind Darby we
have walked a million miles of starlight
the wolf at the gate, eyes the henhouse-
the bulldog in the yard won’t let him in.
in the abandoned Baptist church
out on Beaumont road
Big Rhonda sips bootleg whiskey then
throws back her heads and laughs

Winding red dirt country roads
neath piney woods dripping rain
Journey down these back roads once
you’ll never see or be the same
And, the thunder is on the mountain now
the hobos caught the midnight train
Me and Old Blind Darby don’t say nothing
we just walk on, in the rain

Of Silent Screams, A tanka by Ronald S Porter ©2017

I can hear the sound
Of silent screams filled with fear
Sunrise is a rose
It blossoms in eastern skies
Silent screaming voices die

Ashes by Ronald S Porter ©2017

burning desire consumes
a man like me
the heat of passion
ever sets my heart aflame
oh how I have burned!
from the blaze i have learned
after the fire is gone
ashes alone remain
and ashes are dead and cold

Hunted / Haunted by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Shadows stalk me through the shadows ;
darkness pursues me in the dark.
Haunted; driven, I fight no demons;
The angels fill me with sufficient fear.
I do not fret that the end is near.
My concern is that the beginning is here.

Down the long, lonesome road of life,
I trudge onward to escape my terror
Each time I think I've gotten away,
I catch a glimpse or me in a mirror
And, recognize my error

Is There Some Hidden Meaning? by Ronald S Porter ©2017

In the desolation of isolation, I look 
into the caverns of my empty soul.
And, listen for echoes in the cold
chambers of my cold empty heart.

Renegade brigades of faithless friends,
march with ranks of deranged strangers,
to take the city and overthrow
the reign of the past and never king.

From slave quarters let freedom ring
I look deep into my own mind;
endeavor to explain colors to the blind
and to teach deaf mutes to sing.

Dystopian Paradise by Ron Porter ©2017

Darkness sates the noonday hour
midnight madness fills the day
the sidewalks all are bleeding
the buildings weep torrential tears
all the fears of sickened minds
walk the street like window shoppers

acrid acid rain slashes down
soldiers fight on the edge of town
housewives perfect vacuum cleaner lives
in times to catch a favorite show
on the Lifetime Movie Channel
while hubby is a zombie marching in
the army of nine to five walking dead 

the kiddies all sit in robot class
consuming indoctrination needed
to grow up to be cannon fodder or
cogs in the machine that turns
to manufacture daytime dark
all the world is a powder keg and
some one, somewhere just dropped a spark

Deeply Hidden Metaphoric Meanings by Ronald S Porter ©2017

There are frogs out in the streets tonight
hamburger falls, raw, from a cloudless sky
and; there's a girl I want to tell all my secrets
but she would never understand;
We speak in different alphabets and 
speak the tongues of unknown lands

The sidewalks are lined with central casting;
they look like they just stepped out of novels.
Stale french fries carpet the path
that leads from freedom and injury.
I'm nobody's child seeking everyone's friend.
It is almost time for the riots to begin.

Fourteen policemen approach from the south;
I had better get in the wind.
And, I run away from my yesterday
As a rabbit runs from hunting dogs.
What else can I do in a hamburger rain
When, the night streets are filled with frogs?

Girl With A Broken Shoe by Ronald S Porter ©2017

She looked like she had fallen
off the back of a Harley or, two
She moved like she had a lot
of experience working on a pole.
He was on his way
from one no-where to another.
He had that kind of well worn
face, stained with years of road dirt
you could see he was nobody's
"wannabe", but hope-to-god
stone to the bone.

She wanted somebody to tell her
it would be all right
He had the need for some one
to hold, to make it through the night.
But, he wasn't looking for a seat cover
just having a drink and passing through.

She showed him the broken spike
from her sequined high heel shoe.
He said "jump on, I'll ride you home"
It was a pay by the week, no hope motel
down on the sour side of town.

They went straight to bed
she gave good head
he did too and they went through
all the usual routines
with beer and conversation
in between.

She was molested by here father
(her mother had to know)
The first husband cheat on her,
the next two beat on her
She left the snow and cold hearts
for the Golden west and found
it freezes everywhere

His wife left after the kid died
the leukemia robbed him of his daughter
the grief stole the last of love
"I can't stay" she'd said "because
I see her every time I look at you.
That keeps it much too raw".
He follows seasonal work in
various trades, it pays the way
and kills the time.

They split up in the morning,
no goodbyes, after all
the gifts were gived
His heart secretly, silently cried
over the lives they had lived.

We hanged Our Harps On The Willows by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Broken hearts; broken windows;
Broken promises and broken dreams.
All together conspire, to inspire
The voices of the silent screams.

Empty stomachs; empty hallways;
Empty eyes cry in bitter streams.
They packed the jail, as families fail.
Our voices rise in silent screams.

Abandoned now, are hopes and houses
Poverty and ignorance, my ears assail.
Starving babies and, bereaved mothers
Fill the night with plaintive wails

Our captors bid us sing
Songs of our ravished homeland
On the shores of Babylon's streams.
In a strange land, all we can voice
Are the sounds of silent streams