Fried chicken, beans an’ taters, an’ shoo-fly pie for afters
then took me to a snoozin’ some whilst waitin’ for the moon.
On the porch where I in keepin’ with evenin’ in its sleepin’
an’ the weepin’ willers weepin’, a melancholy tune.
When woken with the jitters, them goddamn buzzin’ critters,
they’d rile ye up in bothers an’ they’d bring to boil yer blood.
Twixt them an’ I beratin’, to liquor, I’d be takin’,
to calm me consternation ’till me protests understood.
Mellowed in me bourbon, to observe without disturbin’
the stars when they appearin’ in a mess of far-flung lights.
’Tis as if they’re entertainin’, a million years in trainin’:
mad ye’d be complainin’ mid the charms of southern nights.
I chewed me some tobaccy as would have done me pappy;
still miss him some, for he up gone, too, long he’d been forlorn.
Mama, too, done passed away, broke pa’s heart or so they say,
buried them beneath the clay where the weepin’ willers mourn.
’Twas I, who left in needin’ in the remnants of me grievin’,
where hopes rely, the by-an’-by, whatever comes to hand.
Though dress me evenin’s easy, whatever comes let please me,
if the reaper comes to seize me, well, I shall understand.
I who of the moment in the mellow moon’s atonement,
for wait I not the morrow comes when I may be no more.
’Tis how I live, always done, the ways that them rivers run,
flow into what they become ’till they meet the ocean’s shore.
Remember well, that lonesome cry, was lost on me ownsome, I,
when she, as if like flotsam, aye, washed up on my lament.
Was near to tossin’ in me lot, round an’ round the hangman’s knot,
in madness nearly lost the plot, when she from heaven sent.
Dressed in cloths of calico, all the way from Mexico,
a maiden fair, a songstress an’ a lover of the moon.
She took me hand an’ wedded me, pledged, loved an’ bedded me,
when fevers came, she dead from me an’ buried her too soon.
I’ll take me head to pillow for I the weary fellow,
for much too much a thinkin’ ’bout, ’twould sink a man too deep.
Yet deep is the sadness though I won’t allow the madness,
remember them with gladness, let them weepin’ willers weep.
-
Author:
Tony Grannell (
Offline) - Published: July 28th, 2025 13:25
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Lorna, sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange, Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments5
God this is brilliant.............
Hello Lorna,
Your response caught me off guard and once again, I am somewhat giddy. Lovely of you to read and respond.
Fond regards,
Tony.
BRAVO
Hello, Tony,
Another, bravo, and I'm not complaining. Very kind of you indeed, truly.
Fond regards,
Tony.
You're welcome
Maybe it's the Irish in my ancestry but this one seemed a bit close to the bone. It felt home in some ways and the language helped to make it more so. A sad but all too real feel to this epic. Once again masterfully done it calls out to me from the past as if I knew these folks. Hat's off to you Tony
Hello, Soren,
I'm somewhat overwhelmed that this one touched you so. When writing this, I became very fond of this man, an ordinary hardworking man. He, the only one left and how bravely he lives through the grief of the loves he lost. A gentle fellow at heart. Your heart warming review gladdens the heart.
Fond regards,
Tony.
Some time ago I wrote a poem similar but less grand. I think I may dig it up and rework it a bit. It is always a pleasure Tony
Tony, this reads like Southern elegy wrapped in bourbon and grief. The rhythm’s thick with memory...gritty, ghosted, and tender. You let the dialect breathe without losing the longing beneath it. And, those weepin' willers are sight to behold indeed. Had one right next to the elementary school I attended as a wee lad, though I grew up in the northeast (New Jersey). This, my friend, is a porch hymn for the brokenhearted. 🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛ A fave.
Hello, Tristan,
An uncle of mine was a forester and he called the weeping willow, a crying sap - not very poetic - hahaha! Thank you very much for your splendid response, you are truly generous and a poet at heart.
Fond regards,
Tony.
Indeed, they are cryin saps! They make for good whips too! LOL! You are most welcome, Tony! You are too, my friend! I appreciate you!
As the words cry out with an abundance of tender memories rising from faded time, the reader is left to think nothing else except this is a work of art, enjoyed the read
Hello, Tobani,
How lovely of you to say so, truly. Thank you ever so much.
Fond regards,
Tony.
You are very welcome
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