A Country Rag--Rivers Side

A Country Rag

Rivers Side

by Steve and Barbara Eberly

Poets, playwrights, and active contributing members of the Appalachian Writers Association, the Eberly family lives in NC's Smoky Mountains. Barbara Eberly's professional interests include genealogy, writing and computer technology. Steve Eberly serves the English Department, Writing and Computer Centers, and Hunter Library of Western Carolina University, one of the "100 most wired campuses" for students in the US [Yahoo's May 2000 Internet Life]. They may be contacted via e-mail at eberly1@gte.net.


"Things That Matter"
 -- Barbara Eberly

There's a rumor going around that
We lost everything in the fire.
But that's not true.  The car
Was packed for a trip
So we had clothes
For everybody but Dara and me.
And in a bit of a frenzy
I tossed out everything close
To the front door --
Including two bags of garbage.
Then time stretched.
The boiling smoke
Rushed toward me
Obscuring even the
Voracious flames already
Eating pandas
And koalas
And teddy bears.
I thought of the lace tablecloth
Steve's great-grandmother made,
My cameras only a few feet away,
My purse and my glasses by the bed.
Then I looked toward the children
Waiting in the car
And knew that we were getting out
With everything that mattered.
I shut the door and walked
Barefooted through the snow.


"Uneasy Rider"
 -- Steve Eberly

Wave on wave of bikers,
riding Harleys through my garden,
dropping alligators in my pools
Exhilerating, at first,
supercharged processions
of wild images--exciting dreams by night
and fascinating inspirations in the light
then more and more,
piling image up on image till hogs
were rooting in the kitchen
and God only knew what went on in the cellars
while fires broke out in the attic
and garden sheds.  Someone screamed
and I was kidnapped into the weirdest
spots with no clear way back
and people died like rats.
I burst out crying, then, and couldn't stop;
a wave of Angst so deep
I'm drowning.

The doctor gave me little pinkish
granules which float along
my bloodstream and find their way at last
inside my brain, where at each wayward synapse
they lubricate gates, repair hinges,
let wrought iron barriers swing
closed.

I'm well.

But somewhere, just outside the gates,
I hear the snarl of Harleys.


"The Director as God (or vice-versa)"
 -- Barbara Eberly

The stage is set,
The props prepared.
I've done my job,
I even came down on stage and
showed you how to play your part.
From now on,
if you have any questions,
the stage manager has the book.
Check with him.
There are no "bit" parts.
Every single one of you can
make or break the show.
I expect you to go out there
and do your best.
We'll party when the production's over,
but now it's time to go to work.
I want to have a show
we can all be proud of.
It's up to you.

This is the big time, guys.
L'Chaim!

(for Steve, Opening Night Fiddler, 2/16/93)

"Slow me down Lord, ease the pounding of my heart by the quieting of my mind. Teach me the art of slowing down, to look at a flower, to chat to a friend, to read a few lines from a good book. Remind me each day of the fable of the hare and the tortoise, that I may know that the race is not always to the swift, that there is more to life than increasing its speed. Let me look upward into the branches of the towering oak and know that it grew great and strong because it grew slowly and well. Slow me down, Lord, and inspire me to send my roots deep into the soil of life's enduring values that I may grow toward the stars of my greater destiny." -- Anonymous The Eberlys hardcopy chapbook, Appalachian Monologues, includes Things that Matter, Uneasy Rider, and The Director as God (or vise-versa).

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