I Am a Protean

 

I am a protean and aren’t we all,  

Moods gather us like summer moths 

Our wings fluttering before dodging again 

Through the great green leaves,

To perch on a branch, until the  wind 

With another flutter of wings carriers us, 

In directions unknown, then gone again 

Our mind aquiver, our directions twisting 

Leaving only desires to guide us, 

Leading us, lost aimless in another direction 

To find another tree, another branch.

The word Protean comes from Proteus, an old sea god in Greek mythology. 

Proteus could change his shape.

It also means constantly changing.

The Glory of a Rock

 

A child holds a rock as though it were silver, 

Leaning down to see brightness more wondrous than sunshine,  

Such a wonder to his eyes held in small hands, 

Oh why have I lost the glow and wonder?

His eyes wide as he rushes to show his treasure 

No longer treasure in my impoverished mind, 

Wonders locked away in a remote control 

The beauty of rocks scattered through years

Tell the boy to stop picking up rocks?

And concentrate on growing old?  

But it can’t be said with tears in my eyes 

Tears from the years and  loss of my boyhood

May I hold  your wondrous rock?

It is beautiful but you are the jewel in the crown.

Let’s find some more before my eyes grow weak 

And your boyhood fades, and you become me.

Oh, Love Lovely Love

   

 

Glimpses of love, red, blues of the rainbow, twisted longings,

 

Grabbing bits of carelessness, with stars passing through moonlight

 

Thoughts, and parts of ourselves we cherish follow us

 

And anger, is only love’s blackness shuffling away, 

 

That love may appear in brightness to gather within us 

 

Oh, love how thou doth trouble me with pics and promises

 

With whimsy and tricks, hand in hand only stunned by anger

 

Cherishing careless winds, unfolding as bold gifts for our heart

 

And still, I cannot know love, but with hope it finds me.

 

Dash Away to War

 

Dash away to war, to fight and win

Cut through rippled skies, plagued with angst 

Offering hell to those below, with angry, boiling clouds of conflagration

Leaving our enemy’s green jungle in a smoking pyre 

Return to sip icy beer and sleep in the depths of urgency 

Awaken to offer our lives  again and again

Except those comrades, lost forever beneath a green canopy of ruthless jungle 

Their bodies  rotting alone amongst the ever eager fungal  

The value, lonely scribed on cold, abrupt chiseled stone 

With only their mothers to remember their names.  

Still, we gather restless, meaningless reasons 

For a country that has forgotten why we dashed off to war.

 

Dreams are only as they seem 

 

Cotton drifting clouds, nothing more

 

Floating in winds that capture sleep 

 

Whispers of uncommon voices 

 

Playing notes with tender fingertips, 

 

Plucking the mind through the night

 

Then many we know, calling our name

 

Interrupting, changing what we knew

 

Then once again sunny skies spill into day,

 

Leaving us lost again and aimless.

 

Sometimes you wander into a BBQ spot that’s new to your taste buds, and suddenly the wonderful aroma of gloriously smoked meat! It grabs you! A song sings! Already you’re a believer!

 

Welcome to the Blue Hound in Dillard, Georgia.  Never heard of it? Set yourself up for your taste buds to stop talking and start eating!  

 

This wonder is on the base of the Smokey Mountains, and so close to North Carolina you wonder if you already passed the state line.  You did not. Georgia is Georgia and so is this charming Que!

 

Walk in to the sound of country music that fills the air and fits right into glorious aroma of BBQ. Country folks are seated at every table and the ladies at the counter are so courteous. “Yes Mam” and “Yes Sir,” lets you know, this here is the south Y’all.

 

County music grabs me and gets me set for Que:

 

“A snake done killt my dog and now he took my wife.”

 

And the ever popular, “Your Bucket of Love Done Sprung a Leak!”

 

Also: “I Thought You Said Forever, But You Really Said Whatever.”

 

But enough about the charms of country music. You may want to know something about the BBQ!  

 

My southern gal and I got ribs that fell off the bone and into our taste buds, along with sweet potato mash with pecan nuts, and a couple of different salads to match. Potato salad and broccoli salad, both of which were held together nicely with delicious creamy dressings.

 

Oh, there’s more. BBQ of pulled pork, smoked sausage, beef brisket. Get yourself a mound of all. Then charge on to banana pudding and peach pudding, both covered with mountains of whip cream.

 

Those desserts looked scrumptious, but I didn’t dare. My cardiologist had already told me…..well never mind what he told me. And anyway, let’s keep your eyes on the delicious BBQ you’ll find at the Blue Hound! 

 

Never think it’s just any old smoke pot!  It ain’t ya’ll! And don’t stop reading ‘till you read about all the BBQ awards they’ve won.

 

 

 

 

 

In Food Network’s BBQ Brawl, the pitmaster of Blue Hound, Kyle Bryner, won The Master of the Cue.

 

Kyle also won The Grace Award as the Emerging Restaurateur of The Year

 

Best of Georgia voted Blue Hound the 2025 Best of Georgia Barbeque Joint

 

A Pleasant Little Southern Coffee Show

 

Broiling hot, even in a Georgia morning and even in the mountains.  Walking down the sidewalk, looking for a place to hide from the heat. Turned a corner, after passing a very big Catholic Church. All of a sudden, my mind screamed! Without thinking I did a quick dancing  two-foot leap with a mouth full of astonishment enough to startle a host of sleeping angels, and make a priest pray it wasn't only sweat in his wet robes.  

 

Blame the bright sunshine and the driver who nearly bested me, when his car sent me a screech that thankfully stopped from me from having me to shake hands with St Peter.

 

The driver, an older man, rolled down his window and asked pleasantly, “I know you’re new here. Want some help? Where are you going, son?” I could immediately tell I was in the south. This man was being kind.

 

I was catching my breath, but managed to spit out, “Coffee.”

 

“Other side of the street, son. ‘Bout half a block. Beans and Grounds.  Can’t miss it. Tell Miss Beauford, that rascal Willard sent you.”

 

Nice place, just where Willard said it was. Miss Beauford was out for the day. Gallstones, and her husband was at the hospital getting a colonoscopy. 

 

The waitress, whose name I thankfully can’t remember, but who I silently called Get-A-Bra, decided she should love get into medical details.  “This is the third time this year. You know everything Miss Beauford had to go through? And there’s her husband. I won’t say it all, but it is when they use a long tube….”

 

I had to jump in. “I know. I’m a doctor.” Which I am not. “Breast enlargement are much more fun.”

 

“Well….,” she looked startled.

 

“Or breasts and big tubes …..”

 

“Oh…..I should take your order.”

 

“Did you say Miss Beauford’s husband is having a colonoscopy?  Well please don’t ask me if I want biscuits with brown gravy.”

 

Quickly, Get-A-Bra fled toward the lady’s room, calling to another woman something she wasn’t able to fully say with both hands over her mouth.

 

Soon enough, a very charming young woman appeared.

 

“Are you ready to order?”

 

“Just coffee, please.”

 

“Are you sure? We have wonderful omelettes with large French-fried chicken breast? 

 

“Just coffee, please.”  We’ll talk about the breasts later, and Father forgive me for I hope I know where this his going
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