STEPHANIE

ten little fingers,
ten little toes,
the awe and wonder,
of what i behold.
joy and excitement,
not everyone knows,
to witness your birth,
worth more than gold.
you’ve grown through years,
by leaps and bounds,
with admiration and love,
i hold you dear.
my little girl “baby”,
i have found,
you are the greatest,
daughter around.

Kim VanPelt

STEVEN

His …
little feet
taps a beat
wise young eyes
never ask’s why
gentle heart
won’t ever part
tender age
no fears
or tears
under life’s pressure
heart and eyes only for
… Her

Kim VanPelt

In a Carolina swamp,
sunning on a log.
Loblolly pines,
and alligators, make up the bog.
warm sands, crashing waves,
on a Carolina coast.
Natural wonders abound,
which could raise Blackbeards ghost.
Native Indians,
the Tuscarora and Lumbee.
On a southern heading,
crossing waters of the Little Pee Dee.
Far inland, away from the coast,
hundreds of miles west.
Up, out of the valley below,
a scenic overlook, not time to rest.
above grand trees,
majestic mountain views my eyes lock.
Upon a natural formation of wonder,
known as Chimney Rock.
Misty mornings, cool evenings,

Carolina Appalachian,
To a native son of the hills,
and all his kin.
Black bear and the gray squirrel,
share the mighty oak.
Paw print on its bank,
flow the rapids of the Roanoke.
Prowling with stealth, elusive panther,
stalking, eyes open wider.
In a Carolina swamp,
sunning on a log, the red eared slider.

Kim VanPelt

if you knew
i of the few
with limited view
appreciate what you do
the winds blew
and pigeons coo
cows go moo
some think it’s a zoo
if i had the flu
itchy nose achoo
do you have a clue
you keep me from being blue
haunts go boo
scoomy dooby doo
cheers! a round of brew
with poster paper and glue
i say thank you

Kim van Pelt

on
an
island,
am
i
an
island?
or…
am
i
an
island
on
an
island?

Kim van Pelt

Tethered by gravity, restricted by space.
Over grand mountains, wind in my face.
Yearning to fly high atop the trees.
Like the great Albatross, far out on the seas.
Wind beneath my wings, like wind in a sail.
Flying into a storm, pelted by hail.
Silhouette against the moon, cool October night.
Diving from high atop a cliff, anticipating flight.
Heart pumping, gravity my friend.
Plummeting fast, this be my end.
Learning to fly, warm wind in my face.
Pumping hard, ragged breath, climbing into space.

Kim van Pelt

Weekends playing a new town
Invigorating sounds replace your frown
Doing what we do, enjoy the fest
Entertaining the masses, be our guest
Strings break, belting out that rift
Pursuing a dream rewarded by our gift
Reveling good times without any voodoo
Ecstasy in a pill, no good, watch our venue
Always a blast, watch the great bands
Drums beat, we jump and dance in the sands
Playing the crowds on stage at Lalapalooza
Apex of the eve enjoy it, we are here to amuse ya
Night falls as the gig comes to an end
Invite us back, it’ll be bliss, we depend
Cannabis, peace, love and happiness

Kim van Pelt

MAMA

When sick, you took away my disease.
When hurt, you would ease my pain.
Through tough times, and struggles plenty,
never did we go hungry,
you always made do with less.
I adore you,
and put you upon a pedestal.
On your lips always a smile,
and kind words.
A gentle push,
as the world’s doors opened …
… Simple reminders,
that door will never close.
A reassuring hand,
an ear lent to my problems.
My struggles no excuse,
my problems infinitesimal.
I could have done better by you,
had I not been caught up in my own world.
With money in pocket, shopping list in hand,
little red wagon, and brother in tow.
You always knew when,
to set me on a journey of my own,
or when to keep me close.
Broken bones mend, cut fingers heal,
bruises fade, but not my memories.
I miss you, I love you, Hazel Louise.

In loving memory
Hazel Louise VanPelt
April 19, 2004

Kim VanPelt

MY HERO

my hero came on tiny feet
shook me awake in all the heat
no fear in the little man’s voice
my hero made a choice
sirens wail became clear
my heart pumping with so much fear
on my heroes little face no alarm
as i was awakened by him tugging on my arm
thick smoke acrid smell of pine burning
i awoke from a sound sleep my world turning
think fast think quick find the source
if not for my hero it could have run its course
flames hot bright orange angry and all about
i grab up baby whistle for the dogs
little man hand in mine we’ve got to get out
my hero is with me always to be number one
i am and always will be proud of you Steven my son

Kim VanPelt

Separated by distance,
time, and miles.
Through words delivered,
which always bring smiles.
With night comes the past and,
morning light brings the future.
Our bond has grown strong,
your perils become mine.
Inner aches, longing to touch,
reality is a thin metal line.
You give me your shoulder and,
lend me your ear.
Not having to do without,
my wants and needs a letter away.
For this and much more,
I am and, will … forever be yours.

Kim VanPelt

She is my child
she was
if only for a time
Children are
a
precious gift
but
they belong
to no one
but
themselves
She’s
an adult now
in many ways
She’s taken action
that demand
that
she accept
the
responsibilities
that accompany them

Kim van Pelt

Through the eyes of a child,
imaginations run wild.
Outside the window,
down comes the snow.
Warm thoughts thinking of Christmas,
a warm face all aglow.
Under the tree,
presents galore.
Impossible!
There were none before.
Milk and cookies,
set out for the jolly elf.
While the nutcracker stands guard,
upon the shelf.
Down the chimney,
without a crash.
Out again,
on his way in a flash.
You must be quick,
to catch St. Nick.

Kim van Pelt

BLOODY HANDS ALABAMA
Sung to Lynard Skynard’s song “Sweet Home Alabama”

Criminal courts keep on churning
Carry me away from my kin
Singing songs about blind justice
Lost in Bama once again
An I think it’s a sin, yeah

Well, I hard Mr. Tyson rant about it
Well, I hard ol’ Bill throw’n down
Well, I hope Bill Tyson will remember
Kill’n a man don’t work anyhow

Bloody hands Alabama
Where the skies are dark and grey
Bloody hands Alabama
Where no man gets a stay

In Birmingham Riley’s the gov’nor
We file petitions till we’re blue
Troy King, his puppet is a killer
Does your conscience bother you
Tell the truth

Bloody hands Alabama
Where the skies are dark and grey
Bloody hands Alabama
Where no man gets a stay
Here I go to the slammer

Now Muscle Shoals a bunch of racists
They’re well known to rig a jury
Batson don’t get em off so much
They picked me up and put me on deathrow
Now they com’n for you

Bloody hands Alabama
Where the skies are dark and grey
Bloody hands Alabama
Where no man gets a stay

Bloody hands Alabama
A broken home without hope
Where the skies are dark and grey
And the govÄnor gives no play
Bloody hands Alabama
Yellow mama
Babe, I’ve been taken from you
EJI, yeah Montgomery’s got the answer

Kim VanPelt

One and a half ton of American steel,
my 68’ Pontiac, hold onto the wheel.
Product of GM, assembled in Michigan,
It’s no sleeper, not time for shenanigan.
455 stroker, radical cam,
oversize pistons, lots of muscle.
Lead foot on the gas, no need for brakes,
powerglide shift, I’ve got my hustle.
White drop top, black vinyl interior,
Red is her color, o so superior.
Kissing and hugging,
making out in the penalty box.
Racing for pinks, red light,
green light, hold onto your socks.
Eat my dust, over a hill,
sparks fly, watch out for road kill.
Rear view mirror on the straightaway,
thought I won, red light, blue light,
Busted, gotta pay.
Decked out in leather with hidden lace,
blonde hair blowing, wind in her face.
Holley four barrel pumping,
stereo and engine thumping.
Hear that throaty back beat,
Mickey Thompson rubber, gripping the street.
Chrome Cragers polished so bright,
my 68’ Pontiac is outta sight!
Some folks call it a goat,
but I just smile and gloat.
Whadaya know, it’s my GTO!

Kim VanPelt

Hello, it is my pleasure to know you.
Enveloping your spirit from afar.
Live life, laugh often,
Love …
Of uncertainties, so deep as the ocean is blue.
From your words, experiencing a rapier wit.
Refreshing, like spring showers and autumn colors.
In peace you come, with peace I wish,
Enjoy …
No chasm too wide, here I sit.
Dear friend … hello.

Kim VanPelt

ODE TO MARSHA

There once was a man who sold real estate
Tried controlling his wife who met a quirky fate
She left him for a woman who satisfied her plate
Loaded up the mini van and moved to another state
Left him with the bills, mortgage, and kids, never to get a date
You could hear in his voice, see it in his eyes … oh! such hate
She has a new friend, no cares or worries, and a clean slate
Toasty fires, hot buttered rum, she learned to ice skate
his asinine ways left doubt, her tenacity to abate
Who controls the money now? not up for debate
Living the life free as a butterfly with a lovely mate
Don’t try and guess her name, it doesn’t rhyme with kate
All these years, scheming, planning, lying in wait
You might get the impression his name is crazy nate
Pack it all away put it in a crate
Load it on a train like so much freight
Get up and go, give him no time to retaliate
Off to an island, warm tropical seas, ain’t life great
My patience and silence allowed time to investigate

Kim VanPelt

Convicted of a crime by a jury of my peers,
sentenced to die.
Twelve people in a box prejudiced by passion,
they must be high.
Longing for escape, intimidated by the judge,
drifting off to sleep.
Lawyers for the defense, ha-ha!
They sure come cheap.
Sent to prison, confined by concrete and steel.
Here on the row, perfecting my appeal.
Convicted of a crime made capital
by an antiquated statute.
Holding out for the revolving decencies of humanity,
I stand resolute.
Taking someone’s life with heated passion,
not part of any plan.
The lies and hypocrisies presented to,
and believed by a gullible jury, what a shame.
Justice is blind … justice is not blind,
justice is selective.
Prosecutorial misconduct, hearsay,
abuse of discretion, highly effective.
Convicted of a crime presumed to be innocent,
forced instead to prove my innocence.
In judge chambers, doors closed tight,
my fate decided, deathrow my penance.
I tis better for then guilty men to go free,
than for one innocent man be convicted.
Approval ratings, votes at the poll, pressured by bribes,
convict them all, let the superior courts be contradicted.
Constitutional rights violated, did not know to object,
not preserved properly, deemed harmless error. Oh the terror!
Violate Batson, Brady, or Atkins, you’re in for another trial.
Gotcha! Now feel my terror. Reversible error.
Convicted of a crime sent to deathrow,
ignorant of the law and seating the small stuff.
No law library, confused by Westlaw,
don’t know how to shepardize, sure is tough.
Thanks to Bill Clinton and his Anti-Terrorist Death Penalty Act,
miss a filing deadline. Oh well!
Appeal times cut by half, bogging the courts effectively,
rubber stamp the brief. Go to hell!
An error in judgment, it happened so fast,
no malice, or intent … wish I could fly.
No hate in my heart, no anger in my soul,
the good book says to forgive, as I am lead off to die.

Kim VanPelt

ERRORS IN JUDGMENT

Riding a bicycle, skateboard, or roller blades without protective gear …
Having sex and not using protection, producing a child …
Operating a motor vehicle under the influence …
Crossing a busy intersection against the traffic light …
A child, stealing a pack of chewing gum from a store …
Humans taking the life of another …
An adult, allowing underage drinking …
Committing suicide …
Making a right turn on red, ignoring the “no turn” sign …
Hunting out of season …
Mixing alcohol and prescription pills …
Accepting bribes …
Failing to file or pay taxes …
Convicting and executing an innocent person …
Humans, occupying this earth …

… errors in judgment?

to err is human

all of us commit errors at some time or another, we’re human

Kim VanPelt

Hello to you, you are my friend
Every breath and word, your spirit mends
Like warm spring showers, you’re always near
L-O-L enjoying your humor, I hold you dear
Off we go away from here, to sun, fun, and the end of a pier

Kim VanPelt

Most, if not all people
on deathrow are here for lack of guilt …
not lack of innocence.
They have not accepted life without,
for this would be admitting guilt.
Instead, they continue to
fight the fight for justice.
And with that fight is knowing, that death,
would be better than admitting to
or accepting a lie.

Kim VanPelt

SHAMROCK

On this day in 2011
A man I called friend was sent to heaven
Cold was this day when he died
Tears rolled from my eyes as I cried
to know him, always quick with a smile
Sports and minding his own business was his style
His poetic writings like so many scriptures
I met all his friends and family, in hundreds of pictures

In memory
Leroy White
January 13, 2011

Kim VanPelt

sweat’n in a box
twenty three hours ev’ry day
wait’n on word from the courts
hope’n and pray’n i get some play
haven’t heard from my lawyer
sweat’n in a box
twenty three hours ev’ry day
watch’n and wait’n for the mail
pay’n and cuss’n i don’t fail
all of these years,
been treated like some mangy cur
sweat’n in a box
twenty three hours ev’ry day
pen-friends come and go
friends in agony die very slow
family, friends, and memories fade
sweat’n in a box
twenty three hours ev’ry day

VAN/I-26