Thursday, July 31, 2014


Let the scene grow dark, of a day seen no more
Rolling mountains of indigo clouds, that fill the world above
Each one darker, more foreboding than its brother before
Let the Banshees Howl in this world without love

Wash away all that I've known, all that I fear, all I hold, so, so dear
Bring the white hot light flashing from providence to the floor,
Crash through my heart and through the door, rain, rain, is here. For evermore

Turn back the tides and time, and truth of it all and will the Palmetto trees bow and fall
Thunder away at the shore for all times and send yesterday a gift of tomorrows crimes

Drown my fear, Drown my pain, Drown this world without you


Thursday, May 8, 2014

Days End

     Sometimes days end before the night has a chance to pull her blanket of stars tight across the sky. The world gives in and sheds its skin and yearns to be reborn. What the daylight cant repair the night time will restore.
     Sometimes the light refuses to give way and we watch in awe as what was once the master of the day, loses its battle, one glorious ray at a time. Retreating                                                         from our sight until all thats left is yesterday and a                                                              promise. 
      Sometimes we are, but most times we are just dreams. 
Good Night Y'all
R. Sweat

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Pluff Mud, Rising Tides and Sticky Situations

       My cousins and I grew up on South Rhett Ave. Just a stones throw from Noisette Creek. If we werent playing baseball in the vacant lot between Helm and Orangeburg we we were in or around that creek. One summer around 5 PM we started jumping off the bridge, first in the water then into the pluff mud. When you walk around Tidal creeks you always wear shoes because of the possibility of buried oyster shells. On this day I was wearing my brand new and begged for Keds. I watched as my cousins jumped into the waiting mud and sank thigh deep before barely escaping the vacuumous mud, I wasn't so lucky. When I hit, I sank up to my waist and couldn't budge. No matter what I did Neither I or my cousins could break me free and now I had a bigger problem, the tide was coming in. As the boys ran to get shovels they ran into my father coming home from the shipyard who quickly extracted a confession from them. So now I am sunk up to almost my armpits when just about every man in the neighborhood arrive at the bridge and after a quick appraisal of the situation, they decided the only thing to do was tie a rope around me and pull me out. Seems like a good idea except there was only room for 1 person to stand on the creek edge and nobody had enough strength to pull me out. That's when the car backed up. They tied the other end of the rope to my dads 1957 Hillman Minx and not only pulled me out of the pluff mud but up the creek edge and onto the road.Leaving my Keds for all time buried at the bottom of that hole. My dad was a very calm, easy going person and I guess the rope burns and scrapes were enough of a lesson for him. He never punished me for doing what little boys do, but my mom, that's another story. What she punished me for though was losing that brand new pair of tennis shoes. I often wonder what an archaeologist will make of those shoes when they find them in ten thousand years, buried in a creek bed? Anyway I have always been amazed at people who pay for mud baths, when I would have given anything to get out of that one.

Saturday, April 26, 2014

Stepped outside to write something witty and charming and an hour later I find I will have lost that time to the kind of spring day that usually ends up on a canvas or in songs. Maybe it wasn't a loss in time as much as an investment in clarity. 
R. Sweat

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Charleston in Bloom

Taken At My Bike Shop
     The Lowcountry has just exploded once again in another breath taking world of color. Dogwoods, Azaleas, Babies Breath, Wisteria have turned the city into an artist's pallet that Monet would have been proud to have had. Set to a canvas of green grass, both on the ground and in the Pluff Mud Salt Marshes that have returned to life after a Winter spent in hiding. All framed by the picture perfect elegance of our beaches and the endless blue hues of the ocean beyond.

      It's like taking a beautiful Southern woman and dressing her head to toe in the most unique of natures head turning floral fashions. Accented by the elegance and grace that her homes so effortlessly exude. Her entourage is composed of the Plantations that were her history and Charlestons gentile                                                     folk that are her future.
I feel sorry for anyone not blessed enough to be here and see Charleston as she steals the show and waltzes her ways down the  southern coastal runway that is Spring In the Carolina's.

Monday, April 7, 2014

Poetry/Seven Days A Week

Monday whispers in the wind, as Sunday drifts away.
Saturday had done its best, too bad it couldn't Stay.
Tuesday's joys are yet to come, and Wednesdays bring delight.
Thursday sings me happy tunes, for Fridays now in sight.
Saturday wakes up at dawn, and we hold her in our arms
But Sunday meets her in the night and whispers with its charms
Each day brings light, that shines our way, for all the world to seek 
To live, and love, and dream, and hope, seven days a week 
Good Night Y'all

Friday, April 4, 2014

Birthday poem

Started to write something warm and charming, but I am way too shallow and crass. 

So here's to a happy birthday, I hope you enjoy your day.
If you drink far too much and start to swerve and sway.

Remember as you drink your toast and howl the moon away.
The price for seeing God last night, is meeting the Devil, in the day.
R. Sweat 

Have Fun, Happy Birthday!!!!!

Poetry/ Goodnight Y'all

Clouds pass by the moon again tonight.
Like flitting pieces of promised dreams
They pass me by and whisp away all hope.
No sleep, No dreams, No rest this night.
Still the clouds pass by and the moon still shines.
Good Night Y'all

Sunday, March 30, 2014


     Its funny that as you get older, you start to measure time by different standards. When your a kid your whole world evolves around Christmas and your birthdays, When your in school Memorial day and Labor day mark the end of another school year and the beginning of Summer and Freedom. Now I see time in the turn of Dogwoods and the color of Marsh Grass as the seasons come and go with the certainty of a tides ebb and flow, but throughout my life one constant that I could always set my clock by was Baseball.
     I know its silly for a grown man to measure his entire lifes progress by something as silly as a Game played by kids. But its exactly that reason.
I'm not going to start quoting Field of Dreams, though after watching that movie over 100 times, It's permanently ingrained in my psyche.
No, I'm saying Baseball is a game played by Kids, and Men who never forgot what it was like to be a Kid. Look into the eyes of any player standing at that podium at Cooperstown and you can still see that 6 year old boy standing at the plate or on the pitchers mound for the first time. Time stands still. Baseball is a game of eternal youth, a clock reset every April with an umpires call of "Batter Up". "Green grass and the smells of a Ball Park are an elixir that can cleanse the mind and sooth the soul", Babe Ruth.
Time to Listen to the words of the Babe in all of us,,,,,,, I think its time to play catch and be young for just a little while longer,,,,, Play Ball Y'all
R. Sweat

Saturday, February 8, 2014


Trains roll on, stretched from a past so far away that even God doesn't know where they started. They stop my world and force me to think, to dream

Moving one car at a time, like the lives that touched me. Headed toward a destiny on a track leading out over the horizon. Stretched far into the darkness of what we could be, might be.

I see it move away toward someone else in some other town and I wonder if they will see in the train all that i see, and have the same thoughts and will they send their visions on down the line. A great living thing, carrying not just goods, but a emissary of memories and dreams.