Coon Hunting

Coon Hunting

All around the porch they sat.
Some’ers close, tobacco spat.

Carbide lantern cans all filled,
moonshine sipped, a little spilled.

In the yard the dogs wound tight
ready to strike out through the night.
They could tell what was up
old Streak, and even the pup.

A little darker and off they’d be,
ketch’n a coon up a big tree,
the boys their guns a ready,
ther’n heads a little unsteady.

Soon to be off down the holler,
dogs first and then they foller.
But now’s time for another swig,
while chew’n a black gum twig.

Charles yells, “ a time ta be go’n
full moon’s up an now a show’n.”
Coy you’ns take out ‘long the bank
Harold throws back a nuther drank..

Down the road the dogs and boys lit,

All a  runnin an holler’n likety split.
One group fast over the ridge
th’other uns  across the bridge.

The dogs had em on the run
the fight had just begun

Where’s hit at some un yells
O’er to Hamp’s, backun his wells.

Below the chicken house says another
Not there, them barks got’ta be further.

Down by the creek and the old oak tree,
come boys, follow me, you’uns’l see.

And there in a tree sure nuff it were,

one young coon festooned in fur.
High up, eyes like yellow gold
and all them dogs a getting bold.

Send Billy Joe up sez Frank B.

He’ll get it down, shake it free.
Up he climbs lantern held tight,
nary a sign of fear or fright.

Shaken, the limb was shook.
Ole Billy gave it all it took,
but the old coon held on tight,
hanging on with all it’s might.

“Shoot em out”, a yell from below.
We got em treed, no where to go.
Sensing, the dogs begin to scream.
A howling panic it would seem.

Pow!  Down he come a crashing
dogs teeth gnarling and gnashing.

The coon rears back a hiss so loud,
fearless, enough to make one proud.

Dogs a rush’n from side to side,
nipping and ripping chunks of  hide.

Then one gets a hol’t round the neck

surely a death by dying you expect.

But the old coon tough is he.
Scrambling back, getting free,
a hissin and clawing at the eye.

Each dog being a skeer’t to try.

Then Bam! Off goes the 4-ten.

With that the coon can’t win.
Lying there kicking in the dust,
nary agin that coon to ever fuss.

John Mullinax May 2009

Christmas Thoughts

Christmas Thoughts

It reminded me of long ago. 

The smell of pine bough
and candle light
on a cold winter night
with a fire warm we were kept
and in a cold bedroom we slept.

Wondering what the morning would bring
after family had gathered to sing
traditional songs like Holy Night

a tree decorated yet so bright
but the shoulders on which it all stood
was a manger of hay and wood -
the innocence of childhood long gone past
looking back a smile at last.

John Mullinax 2007

Christmas Card

Christmas Card
 East Point, Georgia 1946

This is such a beautiful card
of happy times so long ago,
money short, times so hard,
but a time our love to show.

A time of joyful anticipation
seen in glowing happy faces
celebrating the Son of creation.
Of anger there were no traces.

Even to a stranger on the street,
ragged clothes, shoes so worn,
no where to sleep,  little to eat,
yet to us with heart so warm,

"Merry Christmas", he did greet. 

Mom looking back took pause,
opened her purse taking her time.
In there was to be our Santa Clause
for deep inside lay that lonely dime.
"Here sir, Merry Christmas", said she.

That Christmas stands out to me.
A stocking with some nuts and fruit
and nothing else beneath the tree,
a lonely dime, a man with no suit.
So much the father we never had
drunken somewhere, shabbily clad.

By a warm fire, family gathered near,
laughs sprang out, and carols we sang.
It was a happy time, not even a tear.
To us the bells tiding Christmas rang 
a meager meal, love and good cheer.

John Mullinax December, 2009

Butterflies

Butterflies

Butterflies, they flutter in flight
where do they sleep at night
flitting about flower to flower
place to place hour by hour.

Their beauty no one denies
yet no matter how hard it tries 
it lays its eggs and then so soon
a caterpillar in a dark cocoon.

John Mullinax August 2009

A Bird Nest

A Bird Nest

With the pollen come the birds
by hundreds to build their nest,
bringing up twigs one by one,
back and forth no time to rest.

In my chair by my window view
their constant work watch I.

From their perch to fetch another
and then back up again they fly.

And wonder I of certain things
as was their love in the past
and now the fruit soon to come
requires the effort to make it last.

Or is it after the nest is built
then the egg and tender touch
that makes the circle round
ordered it with love so much?

In any case it certainly takes
that of both, the work of two.

By one, eggs close by kept warm,
the other brings food his job to do.

And then comes the day
the shells pecked through
mouths wide and chirping

A cycle made, and life anew.

John Mullinax April/2010

Forward to The Past or Back to The Future

Forward To the Past
or
Back to the Future Reversed

  Some may be apt to say,
“What was the name of our senior play?”
Those of sound memory reply,
 “Our Hearts Were Young and Gay.”

 And that we were… back then.
Surely you agree and when,
you stop to think; it comes to mind
that now it’s a past long left behind.

Back then we had no idea what “now” would be,
all the things that have become of you and me.

But the Play told a story of looking back
when white was white and black was black.

We did not swim in a sea of gray

It was a time to dream and a time to play.

 So, here we gather round, and talk drifts back
to a simpler time, with right and wrong still intact.

And some may wonder where we went wrong
forgetting our dreams and losing our song.
But it has always been this way,
this looking back, on an earlier day.

 Others may feel with false sense of pride
that they’ve done well, this 50 year ride.
But in the end, what does it mean,
all these years gone between?

Clothed not, we started the same,
only made different by our name.

 And so too we’ll share a common end
where what we did or might intend
counts for naught and is measured in
who we could count as our friend.

 John Mullinax 2007

An Unheard Song

An Unheard Song

To her I said, “Wish you were here.

I have my quill in hand in need to sing
of her bottle in which to dip I think,
to lubricate and fill it full of ink.

For then, a tune would sing
 bringing forth a mighty dance.
And as it strutted in and out
slowly first but faster then
in a mighty crescendo, one final shout.

An embrace so tightly held
to reveal all that it spelled.
The heavy breathing all so spent

in one last gasp a squirt of ink

and now in search of a blotter
so that with recaptured breath,

we, a peaceful night is lent.

John Mullinax (date unknown)

A Spark of Life

A Spark of Life

The first breath is a begin
beyond which lies a last
to be applied to all men
a short play and we the cast.

From nothing we came
and from where not known
and in the end also the same
to meet the seeds were sown.

Almost as if were never here,
only those left to shed a tear.
Covered by a stone so cold
with short words a story told.

As summers and winters pass
above the body grows the grass.
The snow does melt; time goes by,
until sadly there's no one left to cry.

John Mullinax (date unknown)

A Lucid Moment

A Lucid Moment

Fonder is the day so clear
and clear makes the day so fond
that I see through myself
so my self to be seen.
Then awaken I from the dream,
 dreaming that I am awake......

John Mullinax Mar. 2009

A Hikers Song

A Hikers Song

Of the thought not spoken,
lies ahead a path never taken.
Focused eyes on the next bend
to me what unknown might lend.
Of these ramblings, a benefit do I get,
chasing a goal in front but not yet met.

From felt stress the body cries,
but of that, the mind denies.
And in the pulsing heart is found
a rhythm much like an ultra sound.
Muscles complain, the mind is clear,
as blood surges past an ear so near.
 Of all these things is built a test,
bringing closer the time to rest.

Then the goal sought comes in view,
it’s sight ushering up energy anew.

The feeling, slow at first, then an event,
invigorates tired fibers of muscles spent.
It springs from awareness glad
that arrival achieved is finally had.

Perspiration trickling down a face is traced,

a sweated brow wiped by a smile replaced,
and in no other way is understood
how tired bones feel so good.

John Mullinax (date unknown)

A Garden Path

A Garden Path

Should I awaken by her side
to you then I must confide
that if it be of a day so clear
and she stands beside me near
it will be a special day for me
a day, a wish to forever be.

I imagine then we take a walk
down a lonely garden path.
Hand in hand we softly talk.

A walking path made for two,
grass yet wet with morning dew,
and nearby sounds of bird song
where all is right, nothing wrong.

A light breeze up from the lake
to freshen up this walk we take,
against her gown gently pressed
to reveal her form so caressed
by a fine fabric gossamer thin
causing in me a feeling to begin
to which I must say, not yet
more of this feeling still to get.

And we pause by a scented shrub
against her warmth to gently rub.
Then a single flower she does take
on the garden path to the lake.

And from her hand
should the flower drop
beside the path we would stop.

And by me the flower fetched
and then with deliberate care
to place it carefully in her hair.

Of the cause I had no way to know
if it was the scent of her or the flower
by some token it was to overpower
so that I swooned and almost fell
but then I knew it was that feeling
the one put away but now could tell
had returned with gathered strength
ushered on by her intoxicating scent.

But this I must stop before too late,
to save for another time
when from her to me
she opens wide her garden gate.

John Mullinax (date unknown)

A Fleeting Thought

A Fleeting Thought

How am I this
 to ever understand,
when thoughts of you
are close at hand,
such that I am made
 to wonder why
because no effort
 was made to try,
just in the midst
of another thought,
to my consciousness
your name is brought.

John Mullinax Feb. 2010