The sun strained against the sea as its last few rays reached out toward the shore fading from red to orange to the familiar gold. As brother sun begrudgingly gave way to sister moon. For an instant they both wavered over the Carolina coast on that one day every fall, when neither held dominion over the sky. From now until the Spring our world would belong to her, as the days gave way, she would hold sway over us from now till spring it would be a long night moon over the Lowcountry.....
     

Poetry/On Nights Like This

    On nights like this the moon reaches for us, searches for us, ever making us feel the center of our universe and completely alone in it, at the same time. Like a far off spotlight it forever makes us feel as if our life's are on center stage in our own most personal play with the whole world as an audience.
   
    On nights like this we bathe in its light, wish with all might and pray to the heavens for just one more chance, of just one more night with those who have left us, here this night. Tides sway at its command, and our blood ebbs and flows with it and this moves our hearts. 

    On nights like this we stare up at the sky, as we reach for the moon, and dream of the day, but its not the day but the night that we crave and the moon that we live for. Nights like tonight, when we might be allowed to touch its heavenly light. Like a mother, she calls to us, and whispers our names. 

    On nights like these we howl at the moon, from the top of sand dunes and live in the glow she affords us.  We live for that night, to hold loved ones so dear, afraid that our nights will be shortened. Soon, all too soon the daylight arrives. as the moon slips away, to hide where the sun cannot find her.

    On nights like this we know who we are, but  wonder  how far and measure the miles in mere minutes. She knows all our dreams, as she knows all our names but grants them only when ever she favors. Still we'd follow her home if she gave us the chance, to look down on the world but just once.

    On nights like this we could make time stand still.

R. Sweat

   

POETRY/When Did The World Get So Young

When did the world get so young--------Its our hearts that keep this world young

Where was I, when time was all I had---------- living in the moment, In the lives of the ones I love

Who is this person who looks back at me now------- Father, Son, Brother, Husband and Friend   

Why did I not notice that the years as they left me behind-----Time stands still when you love your life

What will become of me, now that world has become so young.---- I will teach and work and play, love and pray, and always be young

R. Sweat





 

Trying To Reason With The Hurricane Season

Its that time of year once again when I start to think of past visitors to our fair city.
As August turns to September their names and deeds begin to haunt my mind.
Gracie, David, Bob, Hugo, Floyd, while unwelcomed, certainly left their mark on our town and us.

As the dog days wane, and the days of summer drift away, soon the first winds of fall will begin to make their way from Africa to our shore,... bringing with them the possibility that we might have to add a new name or two to that list of villains. Our coastal sensibilities put our Southern hospitality at bay as we board up our homes and our lives in an effort to deny the unwanted usurpers access to our fare city.

Anyone who was ever raised near a beach knows to hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. We respect the weather but never let a little thing like a hurricane change the way we live our lives. It's in times like these we put on Jimmy Buffets "Trying to reason with the hurricane season", check your batteries and water, stock up on plywood and make sure that old generator still works, then put it all in the back of your mind, and hope that Eddie , Flo or Willie will make their travel plans to visit other places this fall, I hear Europe is nice this time of year,,, Y'all are not welcomed here.

R. Sweat

Poetry/ The Rain

He sat there and watched the storm gathering over the water.
Cicadas slowly faded away only to be replaced by the rhythmic croaking, of bullfrogs sending up their. prayer for rain.

The wind was the first to arrive, bringing in its cooling breeze, the first scent of the of the downpour to come and causing the boats to thump against the dock.
Lightning splits the sky far out into the whitecaps, as the echo of thunder rolled across the water and through his soul.

Then it was here, first just a few heavy. drops that made the tin roof rattle with that metalic tune he knew so well. He tilted his back as the rain fell faster . He had no thoughts of going inside to the protection of the tin roof, No today he leaned back in his chair and let the storm have its way with him, cool him,cleanse him, revive him, after that's why he had come to sit beside the water.

R. Sweat

Poetry/Gaurdian Angel

I dreamt an angel came to me and laid upon my bed.
She kissed my lips and closed my eyes and held my weary head.
In soft sweet tones she sang to me and this is what she said.
Sleep tonight in my arms, and dream of days ahead.
Always am I here for you, love and comfort till I'm dead.
And even then I'll come to you, my husband that I've wed.
So dream of Angels late at night and you'll find me in your bed.

R. Sweat 

Poetry/ Going Home

I felt like being by myself, no one around to share this night.
Sanctuary,a place to rest where the ghost of her cant find me.
A place of secrets,hidden well, far from all the worlds sight.
Somewhere I pray, not today the ghost of her wont find me.
A quite spot, known to few, where dreams they do take flight.
Somewhere, anywhere. where the ghost of her wont find me.
When morning comes to me again and promises first light.  
 Another day, I've hid away, but soon her ghost will find me.
She looks for me when days are done, she dances with delight
I go to her, she leads me home, her ghost has finally found me.

R. Sweat