Red, messy, slick, and a trademark of the American South. By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Drizzle drifted and spritzed as if it were January except it was October. Mists coated my camera. In its viewfinder red mud glistened in rain that slickened it to slip-sliding away status and thatContinue Reading
The horaltic pose By Tom Poland: A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Back roads never disappoint me. Such was the case with a road, paved just a tad, but deliciously dirt the rest of the way. As I suspected, its name, Sardis, comes from the Bible, though it could be a family name.Continue Reading
By Tom Poland: A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Sunday lunch at the Sea View Inn. Forty-five years it had been since my daughters and I were together at Pawleys. While eating I thought about our long-ago days at an old beach house. I could rent the house for a week for somethingContinue Reading
By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Sea View Inn’s fried chicken. As evening shadows fell, I made my way home through woods. Overpowering the peppery smell of autumn leaves, the chicken frying in mom’s cast iron skillet came to me. For the rest of my life no fragrance said homeContinue Reading
By Tom Poland, A Southern Writer TomPoland.net I hadn’t seen him in 10 years. Him would be the preacher who buried dad and mom. He was preaching down South Georgia way in Sylvania. An early Sunday morning journey was in order. My family in Georgia and I would rendezvous notContinue Reading
By Tom Poland, A Southern Writer Another Shady Grove cemetery that transports me to Alabama in July 1936. On a sultry August Sunday I drove up on Shady Grove Methodist Church. Seeing it resurrected James Agee’s “Shady Grove, Alabama, July 1936,” his description of a cemetery in Let Us Now PraiseContinue Reading
Seems a cowboy could hitch his horse and get a shot of whiskey here. By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net June 29, 1956, President Dwight Eisenhower signed the Interstate Act. Nigh 70 years later a grid of steel, cement, and asphalt makes it impossible to see little of interest. DespairContinue Reading
Tree bark’s “tattoos” age more gracefully than human tattoos. By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Young with her whole life in front of her, her complexion was flawless. On her left shoulder in forever flight was the blue outline of a butterfly. Ought to be a story there I thought. “TellContinue Reading
Before the dejection set in. By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net May 2011. Jennifer’s email cut to the chase “We want you to write a play for Georgia’s Official Folk Life Play, Swamp Gravy.” “Me, write a play,” I replied. “I don’t even go to plays.” “That’s okay. We loveContinue Reading
By Tom Poland, A Southern WriterTomPoland.net Besides the solitary confinement of writing, I cut myself off from the world in two places. Hard-to-reach wilderness areas and forgotten churches where a haunting takes over when I see pews, a pulpit, and the occasional piano. A hymnal now and then too. MyContinue Reading
The Maker’s Mark I can’t remember who I signed the first book for but I’ll hazard a guess it was a woman. Not many men turn out for book signings. For sure I remember where I was. At Riverbanks Zoo in Columbia, South Carolina. Thus began signings for thirty-six yearsContinue Reading