Hollersong

Down in the holler was damp and shady
and filled with Indian graves,
The brook ran deep as the winter sleep
of the bears that lived in the caves.

Down in the holler was soft and wavy
with breezes and birds in flight,
The trees of red were a noontime bed
for the owls that came out at night.

Down in the holler was cruel and rocky,
the sides were thorny and sheer,
The lightest day was the menacing grey
of the wolves that hunted the deer.

Down in the holler was cold and bitter
as none but a place to die,
The cluttered ground could muffle the sound
of the wildcat's mournful cry.

I once stood looking down in the holler
so ending my pain could begin.
How could I miss as much as this
a place where I've never been?

Ode to the R.E.A.

Every rain that drops, it stops, Rural Electric. Every wind that blows, it goes, Rural Electric. I do give thanks for my Coleman burner And battery lamps that some slow learner Misplaced, and dark is no discerner, Rural Electric. Hear the thunder cough, it's off, Rural Electric. See the lightning crack, it's black, Rural Electric. I sit in the cold and dark and write, All livid and wroth, by candlelight, When the powers that be be not tonight, Rural Electric. At the sound of hail, I pale, Rural Electric. With tornado threat, I sweat, Rural Electric. Hopefully nothing I do or say Insults the intent of the R.E.A., But they're going to bill me anyway, Rural Electric. So when you hear it thunder, Don't run under a tree. Come sit in the house in the dark With me.

Where You Find Me

I can see the line of fire at the bottom of the sky,
And the trees in spindly black against the red,
But the rooftops I have counted are so many and so high
That I can't imagine peacefulness ahead,
And my home is where you find me.
Home is where you find me.

I can hear the thunder rattle in the corners of my mind,
And the winds that rush to strip the prairie bare;
Now the roaring of the engines that I thought I left behind
Only follows me and meets me everywhere,
And my home is where you find me.
Home is where you find me.

I can feel the heavy waves of heat or piercing of the cold,
And the muscles that protest the work I do
With the breathlessness of waiting for the patience of the old,
But I cannot feel the stillness that I knew,
And my home is where you find me.
Home is where you find me.

If I touch the old familiar things in these surroundings now,
I can learn to hold the part that makes me free,
But I never gave up wandering and never figured how
To adapt to what will not adapt to me,
And my home is where you find me.
Home is where you find me.

I don't see the darkness roll away to show the morning light,
I don't hear the whispering pines before the rain,
I don't feel among the elements a single one that's right,
So I know I must have everything to gain,
But my home is where you find me.
My home is where you find me.

The Old Woman of the Hills

There was an old woman of the hills
who lived in a house of stone,
Who had so much to do with her days
she never did feel alone,
Who planted a few beans in her garden
and picked all summer long,
Who raised a family of beautiful cats
that grew up proud and strong,
Who tended chickens that paid their rent
in eggs and chicken stew,
Who canned and pickled and baked her bread
and ate only food she grew,
Who split the wood with her own bare hands
for the fire that kept her warm,
Who had no wagon but walked to the creek
with buckets in the storm,
Who sat at night and made her pillows
and quilts in her granny gown,
Who had some troubles, so all her children
made her go live in town.

Then there was on old woman from the hills
who lived in a tinder box,
Who planted a pound of peas in her garden
and brought forth bugs and rocks,
Who raised a family of lonely cats
and the papa cat ran away,
Who tended chickens with loving care
but the hens just wouldn't lay,
Who had to eat from a grocery store
and work at a job in town,
Who built a gate with her own bare hands
and the wind gusts blew it down,
Who had a wagon to go on a trip
but the tired old guzzler broke,
Who had boring days, an hour to farm,
and a night to sit and smoke,
Who still had trouble, and so little help,
she didn't know what to do,
Who left her children in town and went
back home to live in a shoe.