Amelia A. Allen-Ray 

Orangeburg, South Carolina, USA 

Amelia A. Allen-Ray D.O.B March 3, 1963, in Bamberg Country; Parents; Johnnie Allen Jr., Julia Mae Allen (deceased); Married June 23, 1990 to Darnell Ray; Educated; South Carolina State University, Orangeburg, SC, B.A. Degree Drama, English 1986. Occupation; Agent for Blue Cross Blue Shield of SC, Medicare Supplement division; Memberships; Disabled American Veterans Aux. chapter #57-Horry County, Conway, SC, and Alpha PSI Omega Dramatic Fraternity. Honors and Awards; numerous awards as an undergraduate student in Professional Dramatic Arts. Writings; first and only publication of a poem to be published in The National Library of Poetry Anthology, 1996 Fields of Gold, other poem pending publication, Veil Over My Eye in Best Poems of 1997. Other poems; Fruit Man, Workin de Fax Machine, Soul For Sale, Witnessed, unpublished. Unfinished works are; Moss Creek, May December and Green House At The End (Novels); Personal Statement; I clearly know that given the opportunity, the pen can be the most powerful tool in the expression of ones views and a potent weapon in defense. It speaks when the voice is mute. I believe that only past experiences make us wiser and stronger and from personal experiences stems good writing.

Fruitman

Fruitman, Fruitman, did'n' I see yu lass' week, 
ridin' up an' down ova dare on coopah street. 
Dem plums I ate wuz too tart fa' me, ya know plums 
an' grapes iz mosley whut i eats.  
Lack 'em yella an' juicy red, lack ma appa's hard an' sweet. 
I'm afraid de peaches did'n' yeal a good crop dis yair, 
de bite wuz awful hard on ma parshuls an' ma airs. 
an' de waddah milon yu sole' wuz jist alil' too ripe, 
but dem tandareens man, dey wuz jist rite. 
Fruitman, say Fruitman, got any nana's dis week,  
saw ma doctuh yestiddy an' ma tassium' bit weak. 
Give me two dozen nana's an' a poun' a green grapes, 
add in dem plums, oh, haw bout sum dates. 
Jist add up de rest, yu know whut tu do, put tit on ma tab  
an' I'll see ya real soon.

Possum N' Greens

Lick, lick, lickety, lick, de cat licks from de spoon—Lob, lob-lob, 
lob, lob—Pots boilin' of knuckles n' greens in de early afta noon. 

As mama would say in an ole' foke rhyme—"boil dat cabbage down," 
"boil dat cabbage down, ain't got time fa foolin' gal, "boil dat cabbage down." 

Just a slab of poke fat, a pinch uh salt here n' there—bit of shugah 
n' peppah tu taste, creates uh perfect family affair. 

Serve uh mess uh baby bass, n'sweet patatuh by de side—n' possums always best, stewed or baked, but nevah fried. 

Lick, lick, lickety, lick, de cat licks from de spoon—"Git down from 
there!" Git down from there!" She swats him with her broom—he then splits in uh nick of a second, squealin' from de kitchen n' out de 
otha room. 

Lob, lob—lob, lob, lob, hear dem pots, smell dem pots, boilin' 
down knuckles n'greens n' possum stew, in de early afta noon.

Roots Of A Tree

Life's full of complexities, never knowing how or fully understanding 
the reasons for mere existence. There must be a purpose. 
sh!-sh! hush I tell ya, don't say a wurd, membah naw, id whut'n me who tole. 
all I know iz whut dey tell me, an' dey tell me de gal had dat chile  
ova 30 yez ole', an' a prittie lil' thang yeh, as prittie as can be. 
naw whay he be, I don' know. say he took 'um a wife, lef long time ago. 
whut I du know iz, whuts done iz done. babie jane bone, claim de 
granmammy, an whut she nuw. 
naw de bed been laid in an' id done maid, an' de stakes stackd high, 
a prittie price been paid. 
but id ain' nut'n nuw, dis stuff heh so ole' as gole, membah de storie 
tole back in Beulah, up de hill on massa Kendrik's ole' place, fo' our 
airs wuz free. massa, de missus, an' de in law maid tree, dats haw babie lou got tu be. 
but id don' much maddah no mo', cept'n doez who care tu know. cuz anutha 
seed been planit, an' de root done sprawdid intu a beaudiful flawless tree. done blossum intu full matuidy. du tu de impahfeckon of ids 
nadive kin, an' dats de nakid truth. 
an' de tree haz rizen an' id shall rize agin' an' agin'. az long az Gawd be 
ids creadah. cuz widout Gawd de Fawtha, no man, no lan', no islan', 
an' no seed tu plant a tree, wud eva eggzis tu be.

Rhue's Place

Mood Indigo Blue serenades the social scene as quiet coffins sleeps, 
A family like atmosphere of chatter and chuckles, from friday 
through sunday...and sometimes in mid-week, meetings are held at Rhue's place. 

Clinking glasses of Crown Royal, Hennessy and Rum, to 
smokeless cigars, and snapping suspenders...stomp on heels of 
winged tipped toes in hearty good laughter, is what you'll find at Rhue's Place. 
The acoustical synthesizer bounces against the wall as Anita 
thrills the soul to sultry ballads round midnight. Then body in motion 
tapering down to Rhapsody In Blue in deep mellow bass, while the baritone mimics the strumming guitar
into early dawn, is what you'll hear at Rhue's place.
Serenity discreetly huddles in softly lighted corners, but, in casual form 

So as bodies do slumber into eternal rest off into the other
wing...is what you will view in a very fine, quaint
establishment when you come down to Rhue's Place.