Summer in the Smokies

It’s summer in the Smokies,
She lives just up this hill;
And if he goes there now, then she
Will break his heart and will.
For she has done it many times,
And she can do it still

It’s summer in the Smokies,
He should just drive on by.
But he knows that this road & her
They both can get him high;
He’s bound to make his old mistake,
But could not tell you why

And so the smoky summer eve
Is falling in the glen.
He’s headed up the hill, to find
The doom of many men;
To know his weakness – know it well –
But still do it

A Far And Favored World

Come to a far and favored world,
Where guide-less friends can meet
To walk among the singing stars
And smell the apples sweet

That hang from rich and luscious boughs
Along both hill and fen —
Yes, come to a far and favored world,
Where we can start again.

Come to a red and dusky place
Within the inner rim,
Where music’s sung by everything,
A universal hymn —

Come to river, come with me,
The sunrise never ends,
Come to a red and dusky place
Where we can still be friends.

Once, we sang for our supper when
These worlds were unexplored —
Once, you could trust the things I said,
And you could rest assured

That I would be where I said I was.
Yes everything was fine:
But that was before the great divide.
The fault – all of it’s mine.

Here on a far and favored world
It is my fate to stay
In all of it I wish that you could see,
But you won’t come today,

For everything broken, all that’s lost
Wherever all you are —
For here on a far and favored world
Your favor will

Stay far


She said
Perhaps you’d like to stay
I said
I really shouldn’t

She said
You never used to say
You couldn’t or
You wouldn’t

I said
It’s been a long, long time
She said
But now we’re here

Our object’s closer
Than it might, at first

And we, once lovers
Then long friends
Became again
As one

The morning sun then
Shone on what
I wish
I hadn’t done


Evening Falls Upon the Heart

When evening falls upon the heart,
And all we’ve loved has vanished with the light,
Our pathways, separate and apart,
Converge within the muteness of the night.

And there, within our solitudes,
We reach for things that beckon to no peace;
Obeisant to our sports and moods,
Uncertain, though, of what might bring release —

We lash ourselves to masts, and wait
For storms that our mythology requires;
And gradually devaluate
The warmth we’ve known, and felt, from homely fires.

What always ends, must always start,
And every wrong is born from some new right —
When evening falls upon the heart,
And all we’ve loved has vanished with the light.

My Waitress

One night, I took the waitress home.
I really couldn’t tell you why;
It wasn’t on my bucket list
Of things to do before I die

The only thing I felt, I guess,
Was between lust and loneliness;
And I can only now confess
The depths, then, of my selfishness

Why she said “yes,” I couldn’t say.
But recall as though yesterday,
The hope that I saw in her eyes,
That in dismay and with surprise

I knew meant she was wanting more.
A more I did not have to give:
I should have ordered some dessert
And kept my peace, and let her live.

But that was many years ago.
She has moved on, and so have I:
But once, I took the waitress home,
And I can’t really tell you