Dogs

I don't think I know what it is about dogs,

that wraps my heart strings all in a bind.

I'm not sure why my heart gets so attached

in spite of the thoughts, saying no, in my mind.

I can't figure out why there's something inside

that responds so fast to a dog's wagging tail,

or why I fall so easy and quick 

but I do it ever and again without fail

Could it be their eyes so brilliant and dark

that see through my shell and know I will fall?

That look up at me with mischief aglow

that remind me of every dog I recall?

Do they see me and know that I've had dogs before 

that left great memories of days in the sun,

of running and walking through fields and wood,

and wandering in the dark when the day is done?

Could it be that they have such  energetic zeal?

They think each day is a great day to live,

and life is a grand big game that they play.

Or is it the joy in abundance they give?

Maybe it's  the instinct, though they see it as fun,

to chase every bird, every squirrel and rabbit.

Though seldom successful they go every time

trying to pursue that deep seated habit.

Maybe it's the way they look lying down

in a bright sunny spot or in the deep shade.

How they stretch out and circle and let out a yawn 

then  drop all care like they've got it made.

Maybe it's the tongue all hot and sloppy 

and wet and smelly with doggy breath.

that they try to use to lick hand and face,

a happy assault,  trying to lick you to death.

I think it's all of these things, and more.

I think it's the way they sit by your side

just being your friend that you so badly need

when you're sad and alone and wanting to hide

It's it's the way they're there and ever true

and always support you when push comes to shove

It's companionship on every road

But most of all it's unconditional love.

dedicated to all the "good boys" that have each enriched my life

with something only a good dog can give 

every dog is different and they always take a chunk of your heart 

when they go.

(c) May 4, 2021.  James L Frady 

Shaconage (The Smoky Mountains)

I lift up my eyes unto the hills.

Beneath the blue sky, they quietly lay

Rolling into the distance soft and still

The mountains called Shaconage.

Ancient long before man found them here

One can feel how much the years do weigh

How the ages come and disappear

Yet remains primeval Shaconage.

I see your forests coat your gentle slopes

A canopy that blocks each golden ray.

And shades in mystery the grounds below

And the dim-lit paths through Shaconage

The waters spring up in its hollowed hills

To gurgle and flow down their shining way

They water the valleys below as on they spill

Through the land they call Shaconage

The moon shines full on valley, ridge, and Dale

The land is haunted, dark, black and grey

By memories misty, thin, and frail

Of ages past here in Shaconage

The Ancient hills and valleys roll away

the smoky haze across this land does lay

My thoughts come here any time they stray

My heart belongs to Shaconage

(c) James L. Frady April 15th 2021

 The name “Smoky Mountains” is derived from the Cherokee word “Shaconage” (Sha-Kon-O-Hey), which means “land of the blue smoke”.

 

I Want to Go

I want to go somewhere wild

Somewhere men don't often go

I want to see the empty land

In a silent sunset glow

I want to see a million stars

Undimmed by city lights

I want to feel the edge of fear

In a dark and silent night

I want to roam the broken hills 

As old as time and more

The high and lonesome ridges

So close to the heavens' door

I want to breathe the frigid air

That blows down from the heights

Of snow capped rugged mountains

Beneath the star-filled night

I want to walk on ancient paths

Forgotten in the mists of time

And talk to the forgotten gods of men

Who trod them, then left them behind

I want to go and not look back

I want to find my soul

I want to find what was lost and left

On civilization's rocky shoal

I want to live and breathe again

The air of freedom so fresh

I want to try my strength and skill

Against nature's untamed best

I want to go somewhere wild

Somewhere men so seldom go

I want to be in solitude

Myself to find and know.

© James L. Frady

February 2, 2021

Building a Full Wolf Moon

Building a Full Wolf Moon

Dreary and cold
wet and dark
the year begins
in melancholy mists
deep dark evenings
deeper nights
frozen breezes
and fog that drifts

Bitter cold
velvet skies
diamond stars
scattered across
Milky Way
a misty band
of frozen stars
loosely tossed

Winds that blow
through baren trees
limbs that rattle
a boney tune
Far out in
the dark of night
an old hoot owl
calls for the moon

The moon wanes
and fades away
and disappears
from earthly view
lost to night
hid by day
It can't be seen
when it's called new

But days roll
and Earth turns
the moon goes round
its eternal path
it waxes Cresent
it quarters once
the gibbous follows
then full at last

the January
Full Wolf Moon
mounted high
in the frozen night
it shines intense
and lights the land
casting shadows
with cold hard light

Deep in a hollow
the old owl hoots
and coyotes howl
in pure delight
The light is pale
and gives no heat
the Full Wolf Moon
rules the night

(c) January 13, 2021
James L. Frady

Morning Rain

The mountains are ghosts

Distant in the rain

The trees, like bones

Rattle in their pain

The morning is grey

The sky is flat and plain 

The raindrops fall

A monotonous refrain.

Forlorn and downcast 

The day comes around 

The falling of raindrops

And wind, are the sounds

That drift about softly

With the mist across the ground 

Which hides it all thinly

A wafting translucent gown.

Clouds overhead

Are featureless and flat

Unbroken, a blanket 

An endless grey matte

Pouring forth rain 

A million dripping splats

Washing over the land

And dripping off my hat

I take the morning in

I soak in the lonely flavor

The solitude is delicious 

These moments that I savor

These mornings in the wild

I count a special favor

I wander off into the mist

No thought to turn or waver.

© James L Frady November 12, 2020

Late Summer Crickets

Sing Crickets!

Sing Crickets!

Play your bucolic symphony to the night

Play your dark-fall music to the stars

Raise your cacophony toward their dim light

Sing to the misty moon and even Mars

Sing Crickets!

Play a lively tune as if to say

You have forever to live and chirp till dawn

That summer isn’t soon to fade away

And winter comes as hard and cold as stone

Sing Crickets!

Make your song fill up the cool dark air

Stopping only when you see a movement pass

Far from view you think you have no care

Hiding in the green and dew-damp grass.

Sing Crickets!

Sing as the whippoorwills fall quiet.

And the last few lightning bugs go quietly dim

Sing into a deeper, longer night

Your slowly fading last-uplifted hymn

Sing Cricket!

I hear you as you make your final song

And, as solo, in a hidden place you play

Taps, to the summer nights all dead and gone

You face alone the chilly autumn days.

You sing a song of hope for future Spring

And to that final song you sleep and cling.

 

© James L. Frady Sept 14^th 2020. 

Working the Beans

Working the Beans

In the rows between the plants,

I work the dirt with care

to dig away the weeds and grass

getting started there.

Weeds creep in and grow so fast

in a day they're popping out

it's very soon they're growing tall

and spreading all about

They start so small, just speck

of green against the dirt

but neglecting them for very long

is always to your hurt

for just a little slothful time

is all the time they need

to form a foothold hard to break

and choke your crop with weeds

So mind your garden every day

use your hoe discreetly

kill each weed as soon as you can

and grow your garden neatly

For when the harvest comes at last

and you have plenty to store

you'll be glad for all that work

though it seemed a heavy chore.

In the garden of your life

sow good seed and care

and let that life when you are judged

be rich with a harvest to share.

(c) James L. Frady,  May 2020