Poetry and stories inspired by the Red Tractor picture

(c) HilLesha O’Nan

Red Tractor by David L O’Nan

Hazel Willett grew up between country and town before the Carmi, Illinois roads. A right red arrow sign points “Corn Seeds and Corn Sold here”, the left black arrow sign on the other side says “The House of Prayer” all you see are fields. Where are these places?

Well Hazel got married a few times to Ol’ Red, Ol’ Roy, and Dwight the drunk. She had a few kids, a few odd girls and a couple of country punks. She had one son the cook, Willie Buck and one son that knew how to crook ‘Lil Clyde. Together them boys could steal some hearts, skinny dipping like frogs out in the pond while mean ass Dwight drove around drunk mowing a mess of crops with his rusty red tractor.

A few years in the boys got through school or left before the final bell tolled and enlisted into the Air Force. They learned the game, got married and got a divorce to two Lindas 2 weeks before they left off to their first mission.

Well Linda Jean and Linda Darlene moved on quickly and got hitched up with the Grawlikee twins. Sean and Shoney Grawlikee. The best metal head country loving boys with the coolest motorcycles and the coolest 8 track system playing the Allman Brothers Band until the birds fell from the sky to their death from the Ramblin’ sounds.

Well back to Willie Buck, known for his cooking the best Scrambled egg chili and blood red puddings, but Clyde felt lonely out there near the Philippines. They began to hear about the rumbles of the wars in countries nearby. Clyde fell in love with a girl from Manila. They talked about babies, farming and building a home back near his mom. Well this girl didn’t feel quite the same for Clyde. She didn’t fully like his idea. She said “no, no, no red tractor, I’ll stay here” then he saw her walk away to another man about a mile away at the corner store. The man was wearing shades and smoking nearly 2 packs at once. It was Clyde’s enemy in the Force. Jimmy Wesley, the self proclaimed loverboy who could convince any women that walked by that he was quite the investor. “One day baby! It’ll be me and you in a big mansion and we’d have all the horses you want”

Well, Clyde got mad. Escaped away. Beat up a greaser style man on the dirt road. Clyde stole his coat and his car and made a skip-hop-and a jump to the nearest Aeroplane. He made it home back into mama Hazel’s arms and her ripe red flowery moo-moo dress.

Hazel said “Welcome home baby, Daddy Dwight is missing…or maybe the ass is in jail… I tell you what Clyde, find you a gal down at Birdie Brown’s bar, marry her up and you can have Dwight’s farm since I’m down for the count and falling more ill everyday damn it!”

She took a silent breath of wretched smoke straight into Clyde’s ear and whispered “You can save up and get you the newest red tractor on the market”

Clyde got giddy and got him a factory job and began singing Buck Owen’s tunes to hippies in the bar that were stoned and tipped him torn dollar bills. One of those Friday nights he saw Marie Smith, a childhood enemy who know was smoking about 2 packs at once and dancing around. They got to talking and next thing you know they were dancing to “Summer in the City” he said “baby, all this scotch has gotten you looking so pretty”…”and it would be an honor if you come to my horse farm estate and become my wife” Well she thought Clyde was full of gold…but he just sold her a pack of lies with wandering eyes.

The couple got married on a rainy El Dorado night. The slick haired preacher got them all wedded and ready to go. 2 weeks later she is looking outside. Clyde is outside yelling “Baby! look at my new ride” Hell…it was the best red tractor around.

4 years later, 6 kids yelling, and a deadbeat neighbor who keeps inviting Marie over for a weed break and a jean shorts photo session. Clyde is walking around, hands in pocket, brass knuckles and a lucky rabbit’s foot in his clutch. Instead of fighting his neighbor Kenny for a lost cause he kept walking up that hill and sat by Mama’s stone. He talked for about an hour and said sorry Mama…I just wasn’t as successful as you wanted me to be.

A few minutes later his brother Willie Buck pulls up with his famous Dr. Thunder Cherry Pie and his family of five. He says “Hey Clyde it’s going to be a great Christmas ain’t it?” Well before Clyde could answer in shame, Willie Buck pulls out a check and says here’s 50 bucks…buddy it’s time to tow away that motherfucking red tractor!”

Clyde begins to hitch the roads and hopes to hit Hollywood to stalk Dolly Parton.

The Red Tractor Micropiece from Spriha Kant

The Red Tractor 
stands polished
excited to assist
his driver’s nominee
in plowing the fields

(c)Spriha Kant

Small town Whitley City, Ky from Marilee Poppins (Lena Saunders)

Ol'Red 

Childhood memories take me back to the winding roads of Kentuckys holler. 

Summers spent running amuck with our cousins

Balancing buckets on our tiny shoulders to bathe ourselves

Taught to handle, load, and shoot guns so young, knocked me on my toosh 

Seeing our Uncle riding back on the red tractor, we knew it was time

Uncle Buck would bring laughter to hurt your belly and cheeks

Aunt W would sing her angelic songs, motioning for us all to sing along

The red tractor still sits in their yard today

Old, duled in its lustrous red, grass grown knee high, weeds twined with the tires and grill

As old and dull as it may look, Red still starts and runs to give its best just to be chosen. 

Life doesn't end as we grow older and wrinkled.

Life doesn't end as our bones do not cooperate as they once did

Life doesn't end when we choose to settle in our lives

Let things grow and get wrapped up in different ideas

Turn that key 

Start your engine

Be present in the body and world your in.

(c)Lena Saunders 9/8/2022

Hot red tractor by Ivor Daniel

I love your hunky tyre track ruts
in clagging mud or
droughted dust

your Wrangler shirtsleeved
diesel trail

your hoarse rough
rumbling horsepower

hotter than a red
Corvette (to me)

in the heartland
the prairie

in sunset Shredded
Wheat
or Marlboro

Country 

“Cursed Houses” Part 2 Poetry Showcase from David L O’Nan  

A “Cursed Houses” pt. 1 Poetry Showcase from David L O’Nan – September 2022 

 Inspired by Bob Dylan poetry by Ivor Daniel 

A Review of “Before the Bridges Fell” by David L O’Nan (review by Ivor Daniel) 

2 poems by Spriha Kant from Hard Rain Poetry Forever Dylan Anthology 

Poetry based on photography “The Lone Road to Moloka’I” from Maggs Vibo 

Poetry based on photography Challenge from Ankh Spice pt. 1 

Bare Bones Writings Issue 1 is out on Paperback and Kindle 

Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan Anthology available today!







Bare Bones Writings Issue 1 is out on Paperback and Kindle

Cover photo by Paul Brookes of Wombwell

Bare Bones Writings is an extension of http://www.Feversofthemind.com . Themes we are Looking for Poetry/prose/articles/other styles of writing are for Adhd Awareness, Mental Health, Anxiety, Culture, History, Social Justice, LGBTQ Matters/Pride, Love, Poem series, sonnets, physical health, pandemic themes, Trauma, Retro/pop culture, inspired by music/songwriters, inspired by classic & current writers, frustrations. Artwork. Music, Poetry, Book reviews.

Issue 1 includes tributes to poets/writers that contributed to Fevers of the Mind in the past including Kari Ann Flickinger, Scott Christopher Beebe & Dai Fry.

A Fevers of the Mind Musician Spotlight on the albums of Marissa Nadler.

Short Interviews from the Quick-9 interview series with Khalisa Rae, Ron Sexsmith, & Shaindel Beers.

Poetry/Writings from Kari Ann Flickinger, Dai Fry, Scott Christopher Beebe, Paul Brookes, Bill Abney, Ankh Spice, David L O’Nan, Robert Frede Kenter (with poems about Lou Reed), Glenn Barker, Rc deWinter, K Weber, Robin McNamara, Elizabeth Cusack, an art/poetry collaboration between Lia Brooks & Phil Wood, the first 5 poems from Hiraeth Series by Kushal Poddar, Barney Ashton-Bullock, Spriha Kant, Jennifer Patino (with a poem inspired by Audrey Hepburn) and artwork by Maggs Vibo, Matthew M C Smith, HilLesha O’Nan, Lily Maureen O’Nan, Ken Benes, Jessica Weyer Bentley, R.D. Johnson, Ojo Victoria Ilemobayo, Norb Aikin, Andrew Darlington, Liam Flanagan, Christina Strigas, Lorraine Caputo, Conny Borgelioen, Adrian Ernesto Cepeda, Colin Dardis, Petar Penda, Helen Openshaw, Matthew Freeman, Christian Garduno, Eileen Carney Hulme, Colin James, Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal, Marisa Silva-Dunbar, Kate Garrett, A.R. Salandy, John Chinaka Onyeche, Doryn Herbst

Links:

https://tinyurl.com/ypax2vte United States

https://tinyurl.com/54datkad Canada

https://tinyurl.com/mt2h72aj Australia

https://tinyurl.com/ye5mvrfh India

https://tinyurl.com/mvcuxe8c U.K.

https://tinyurl.com/54sjsnxv Spain

https://tinyurl.com/zesshx9a France

https://tinyurl.com/28h47hdd Italy

https://tinyurl.com/4a8ta8f5 Mexico

https://tinyurl.com/mrya4uww Japan

https://tinyurl.com/yvuz8thd Netherlands

https://tinyurl.com/y65mt5c3 Poland

https://tinyurl.com/5ee9dh3b Turkey

https://tinyurl.com/2v26mwuj Sweden

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog.

Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan Anthology available today!

Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren

1968 by HilLesha O’Nan

1968

It is 1968
and
Tammy Wynette is somewhere crooning -
on the jukebox
"Stand by your man"
I stood by man
and all I got was a fat lip
and a broken jaw
I served him his bacon and eggs
for one last time in a frying pan -
to the back of the head! one morning.

I stood by him
and watched as he fell
into an endless slumber.
Like most fairytales,
mine comes with a happy ending.

My chariot awaits at last -
to whisk me off to my own
6x8 fortress at the IWP.
When the clock strikes 12,
I'll be standing by my man
through heaven or hell.

Bio: HilLesha O’Nan is a blogger, writer, photographer & marketer. She is co-editor/founder of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art. She runs the blog tothemotherhood.com for over 15 years

Disco King of the Appalachian Mountains by HilLesha O’Nan

Disco King of the Appalachian Mountains

Bouncing
up and down
like the old station wagon
the night my cousin 
Lily was conceived. 9 months later, my Aunt Pam would have her in the parking lot
at the disco where Uncle Buck would
try to make a point to her that he still got it. High from hillbilly coke and the euphoria from the ladies swirling around him, he swirled for one last time and pointed up at the fading disco ball at the tavern. Disco reached its peak, but you couldn’t tell this to Buck Williams. He was the Disco king of the Appalachian mountains! He made a swift exit to take a puff on a Pall Mall. When he opened up the door to the station wagon, he was in for a surprise. There was Aunt Pam holding baby Lily in her arms.  

Bouncing
up and down
5 years later
Lily was spry as a creek in spring. With her gutter mouth and venomous tongue, her words could slap the taste out of your mouth and shoot any ‘old man down - just like her daddy. No one ever dared to mess with Lily Williams. Where was Aunt Pam? No one knew except for Uncle Buck. He’d always say that she was sleeping underneath a blanket of stars. Whatever that meant! There was always a twinkle in his eyes whenever he said it. No one ever dared to ask for further details. They could find her if they wanted to - at an abandoned junk yard in a 1974 Ford Country Squire.  



Bio:HilLesha O’Nan is a blogger, writer, photographer & marketer. She is co-editor/founder of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art. She runs the blog tothemotherhood.com for over 15 years

A Fevers of the Mind Poetry Showcase with HilLesha O’Nan 

Poem/lyrics by HilLesha O’Nan: “The Preacher’s Wife”

A Fevers of the Mind Poetry Showcase with HilLesha O’Nan

photo by Danica Stradecke (unsplash)
The Rose Garden

 I was the rose garden
that you left unattended.
 I still bloomed despite the weeds
Wild and free,
 I had to find my way through -
the wilderness

Every now and then, a passerby
would stop to admire my beauty.
It was the thorns that
kept others from getting too close-
even to give me water, I thirsted for.
 I suppose I don't mind wailing for the rain
as I have weathered plenty of life's storms.

The Rose Garden II

My dear,
desolated rose
You can't understand this world -
without pain,
but just know
that not everyone abandoned you.

You often let the thorns stand in your way. I tried
reaching out, but I got so tired of standing there -
hoping that you'd see your beauty.
You always said Father Time waited for no one, but I'm not
going to either. Don't let irony get the best of you.
You were always wild and free
So why are you here

Weeping
in your rose garden?

lollipop Dream

It was a lollipop dream. There
were monsters in their tiny 
castles made of sand and
rattlesnakes with diamond eyes.
The paper tigers chased playfully
while the bears frolicked in the 
daisy fields. It was a lollipop 
dream. Where the sour hid behind a
        sweet facade.

The Funeral Man

No one knows his real name,
but they called him the Funeral Man.
Tall and slender,
with a dead stare, he'd appear
in dreams out of nowhere, in a hearse.
His skin was 
almost shadow-like 
Was he a shadow of his former self?
He kidnapped unsuspecting victims
and then would disappear,
as fast as he had appeared,
leaving a trail of smokey fog -
that didn't lead anywhere.
Who was this creepy -
strange dream drifter
While those who dreamed of
him didn't know who he was,
it was said that his 
arrival meant trouble
was to come.

Unknown #1

Take me back
to that night
on a cold October
I would have held your hand
I would have listened
I would have loved you
I would have danced
with you under the moonlight
and the blanket of stars
would have kept us warm

The Rotten Apple

She had an ugliness
      about her
yet many
  couldn't see it right away -
like a slowly rotting apple.
Bright and wholesome
  on the surface -
you didn't know what was 
 lurking
underneath her facade
Until it broke down
and she had wormed her way -
to your core.

Unknown # 2

I drank
the delirium
danced with the moon
 and slept
with the wolves.

Unknown # 3

She stares at her reflection in the mirror
Barely recognizing the woman staring back at her.
    Thinning hair
  Time worn skin
Her beauty has faded gradually over the years
like a faded rose petal
dried and pressed -
in the pages of a book long forgotten.

Her memories are no different
Shattered fragments
  sharp and dull
Scattered like broken glass
She then hears music playing at a distance.

"On a dark desert highway
Cool wind in my hair
Warm small of colitas
Rising up through the air"    

A faint smile crosses her lips
To a memory that croons inside her soul
She sways to the music 
and drifts to a time lost 
Yet, not completely forgotten.

 Young, naive, and in love with love
and a childish notion that time was limitless.

The Drunken Ballerina of the Night

The pine trees swayed
     and danced
Whispering a song
     to the night

 A chorus of animals
      sung along
as I drunkenly walked
deeper into the forst
with the moonlight
   being my only guide.

I swayed
I danced
like a drunk ballerina
Singing my own song
       and the crickets
       chirped along.

Past Parades Fade Through All Your Egos

You marched up and down 
the Kentucky roads in your own narcissistic
parade. You waved the red flags,
but no one seemed to notice as they 
caught up your broken boy charm.
No matter how many times I tried
to save you from drowning in your
thought, I always ended up being
the one to blame. You let your folks
talk about me as I was nothing.
Every time there was a problem,
You'd waltz right to your mom's apron 
strings. My feeling was invalid when I 
tried to turn to you.  You turned the
cards around and I was the crazy one.
I always stood alone whenever I stood up
for myself. You let me drown in despair, 
and the one that ended saving me was myself.

2 new poems/writings by HilLesha O’Nan : “In Patagonia” & “These Walls”

Poem/lyrics by HilLesha O’Nan: “The Preacher’s Wife”

Poetry by HilLesha O’Nan : “Small Town Hearts” “Two Wolves” & “Living with the Mirrors”

Bio:HilLesha O’Nan is a blogger, writer, photographer & marketer. She is co-editor/founder of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art. She runs the blog tothemotherhood.com for over 15 years