Collins Rhōg

Sedona AZ (June 18, 2014) – The following has been randomly taken from Collins Rhōg’s private journal, and reproduced exactly as it was written, by his own hand. The date has been omitted, at his request, but Collins view is always captivatingly honest, full of depth and color, heart, love, and perseverance in times of struggle. Collins spills his soul and captures his feelings with vivid imagery and heart felt emotion that oozes from the pages of this historic text.

The following is but a portholes view, from across the room of “The Life and Times of Collins Rhōg”:

– southern summertime –

southern summertime deeply flows, through the veins of the folk, who like to take it slow.

clack, clack, clack, the lemon-aid is stirred – jumping through the sprinkler.. that wooden spoon is heard – five… thirsty… kids… run up – barefoot and dripping – holding out a cup…they clumsily fumble, to form a line – and each cup poured brings a bigger smile.

squinting… staring through the fence – hands clenched tight, chain link within… she’s reading there… beside the public pool – plays with her hair, wondering what he’ll do…music spills…from the ice cream truck – a swarm of children form…and run amuck…frantically, nervously, he feels for change – turns out empty pockets…her attention wanes – a bead of sweat races, from his brow – as she disappears within the crowd – he slumps down to feel the concrete…hot and hard… – ripped jeans, red and faded… Converse All Stars… – heart broken, he feels alone – looks up to see her…holding two ice cream cones… – and southern summertime deeply flows, through the veins of the folk, who like to take it slow.

the sun blazes down…like a debt left unpaid… – pass the whiskey jug, beneath the oak trees shade… – the hot, stale air makes the rooster groan…the hooch goes down…fierce and slow…someone pulls a harp and begins to wail – rhythm is drummed on an upturned pail – feet stomp… in the dusty earth – callused hands clap… while singing is heard – a Whip-poor-will sits upon a barbed wire fence – and listens to the concert, with full intent – while southern summertime deeply flows, through the veins of the folk, who like to take it slow.

– Collins Rhōg

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