A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,
WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC
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SITTING IN THE BLACK JACK BOUGHS
Out beyond the orchard gate,
Beyond the remnant ruins
Of the old flagstone foundation,
A black jack oak tree stands.
Older than the weathered homestead,
Older than the rotten fences,
Older than the highways
That segregate this land.
And on it grows a grapevine
Wider than two hands,
That creeps along the tree trunk
And bends back toward the land.
It made a great sitting place when I was young.
It gave me shade from the Oklahoma sun.
I built myself a little wooden fort,
Using only ropes to lash the boards
To black jack boughs and branches way up high,
And the grapevine was my ladder to the sky.
I'd sit up there until the day would end,
When mother's sing-song voice would call me in.
And always before climbing down the vine,
I'd ask her for a little bit more time.
To watch the setting sun instead,
To see the western sky grow red,
To see the eastern daylight fade,
And clouds turn pastel violet shades.
Just to smell the new mown hay
Upon the evening breeze
That finally broke the sultry
Oklahoma summer heat.
And with a good day ending
I would then be satisfied
To climb down the old grapevine
And leave the day behind.
It made a great sitting place when I was young.
It gave me shade from the Oklahoma sun.
Antlers, Oklahoma, 2006
(lyrics co-authored by John Mark Ramsey II)
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