Wednesday, July 02, 2003

The Things in the Smokehouse

Y'all ever go into the smokehouse
All alone an' by yourself?
Late at night when the hooty owls are a-huntin'
An' tree frogs are a-screamin' bloody murder?

It's a scary thing, I tell you'uns that.
Why, the door itself is agin ye.
Hinges screechin' like they ain't ever seen oil
An' the door's heavier at night than in the day.

Lookin' into an ol' dark smokehouse is a frightful thing.
It smells good, like smoked meats an' sweet woods,
But don't you'uns be fooled an' be off'n yer guard.
They is things what is in there, waitin' for ye.

Them hams hangin' high ain't jus' curin' as they sway,
An' that big ol' strip o' bacon, why'd it move?
Somethin' ain't just right, there ain't no wind.
Things is in there, don't go in.

Y'all can looky 'round the logs from the outside,
See, see 'em move, see them shaders flit and jump?
Don't even think o' stickin' yer nose close to the chink,
Them things will a-get ye nose.

I heerd tell of a youngin' what was sent out late,
Sent to get peppered bacon for next mornin's fare.
His dang brother shut the door on the lil feller.
In the dark, he saw them things in there.

His Mama heerd him scream, beg to be let out,
When that older boy was sent to open the door...
He weren't there, was gone, not a hair.
Them things in there, they took 'em.

All the youngin's reckoned he was a foolin'
Somewhere laughin' an' waitin' fer a while.
Later, his Mama sent 'em out into the weeds an' bushes,
But he weren't there...them things was though, I know.

Now y'all can laugh an' make a lot o' fun,
I know it don't make no sense a-tall.
Ain't nothin' in the smokehouse, ye say,
Ye looked this mornin'...cain't see a thing.

But they is things in there,
I don't rightly know if they is spook or haint,
Could be a smokehouse ghost or booger,
But I do know they is things in there.

Want to see, to listen, to take a lil ol' peek?
You'uns come down,now, late at night,
I'll take ye, an' shut ye in the smokehouse fer a while,
Ye can see fer yerself...if things is in there.

Monday, June 30, 2003

Summer Storm

The sound of thunder troubles but does not yet wake.
Lightning flashes but does not bring the morning.
Throughout the hills critters settle as the storm comes.
Bird to nest, coon to den.

Down the hollers cattle lay on the backside of the hills,
Tryin' to find a spot out of the wind.
In barns old mules wake and fall back to sleep.
Protected as the rains come by oak boards and tin roofs.

Old dogs move to find shelter under the floor of a porch.
The trees bow to the wrath of storm unleashed.
The storm shows an angry scepter of lightning.
The rains come.

On hillsides and down hollers folks barely stir.
Tearing down the creeks, across the mountains.
In fury the storm beats on cabins, trying to rouse sleepers within.
The rains come.

On the tops of the hills the storm stands
Thunder rolls in echoes down the hollers
Furious now that some still sleep, The storm rages and
the rains come.

The storm dances and stomps in the barnyard.
It thunders just over the heads of the sleeping farmers.
Beat, beat, bang, drum hard on the tin roofs, listen!
The rains come.

Finally the storm has an effect.
Sleep flees and the noise of thunder, wind and rain
Wake those within with the beat, bang, drum on tin roofs
As the rains come.

Inside the cabin a farmer, work weary still rolls over.
He smiles as he hears the steady beat of rain on tinroof.
He knows fields lay with mouths wide open, drinking deep
As the rains come.

A smile crosses his sleepy lips for he knows
Even now streams of water flow from the hills to the holler.
Making the mountains clean and fresh
As the rains come.

He is grateful for the steady rain, for the bounty of water.
The beat, bang, drum is heartbeat steady on the tin roof
And he closes his eyes and drifts into content sleep
As the rains come.