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J. Allen Wilson

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Books by J. Allen Wilson
  A Southern Sunday Morning
by J. Allen Wilson
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Not rated by the Author.

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Six days shall work be done: but the seventh day is the Sabbath of rest:...Leviticus 23:3

A Southern Sunday Morning


There is a sweet softness to a Southern Sunday morn.

A softness which fills the senses, and brings a peace to hearts forlorn.

And then there is the smell of home fried chicken…

with radio sermons which drift aimlessly in the air.

Even the dogs and cats up and down the street

 nap lazily this day without an iota of care.

It is a day when one can see young children all bright and clean....

 Standing on the street corner, dressed in their Sunday best,

 waiting patiently and uncomplainingly as children can be,

 for the church bus to take them to the Lords house to be blessed.

Yes, it’s a summers Sunday morning in the Bible belt, deep down south.

It is a place where the “blue laws” still exist on the books

And all the businesses around town are silent  

As the hustle of the bygone week is for this one day forsook.

Oh yes, there is a special softness to a Southern Sunday morn,

It is a softness that fills the suffering soul and renews the spirits torn.

It is a taste of life as sweet as the peach pie mama cooked last night…

Oh sweet Southern Sunday Morn.


J. Allen Wilson © SEVEN 2006



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Reviewed by Taylor Ryan 7/12/2006
A well caught touch of Bible Belt nostalgia...pretty sunday dresses and sunday school gatherings for lunch and oh my theose peach pies... or maybe a picnic by the river and two hand touch football...bots against the girls.Life in the slow lane cooled by the double sided fans you only found in a country church. I gre up in the heart of this.
Reviewed by jude forese 7/10/2006
your poem describes peaceful and composed surroundings ... thanx for the vicarious experience ...
Reviewed by m j hollingshead 7/10/2006
enjoyed the read
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader) 7/10/2006
Yes, indeed, there are still places like this down here in the south.
Reviewed by Mr. Ed 7/10/2006
And this is a very sweet poem, J. Allen. It truly makes me yearn for 'the good old days' when Sundays truly were exactly as you describe.
Reviewed by Rhonda Galizia 7/9/2006
Two of our boys live in SC...when we visit, we partake of exactly what you describe...and how sweet it is, when everyone's pace is slowed to a smooth gait, and the sweet fragrance of The LORD fills the air...just like your mama's peach pie.

A delightful...aromatic journey, this one was!
blessings, Brother ~ Rhonda
Reviewed by ROCK-Salt! Proctor 7/9/2006
You coulda used a paint brush, and, not provided a clearer, picture. Beautifully, woven, by a master weaver.
Reviewed by E T Waldron 7/9/2006
You give us a beautiful peek into the ambiance of southern life Allen!From having been there I know it's a true one. Well done!
Reviewed by Felix Perry 7/9/2006
I have longed to see the south for so long and this poem only increased my desire to travel to your kind of world someday. It is like the land that kept on being kind.

Reviewed by Connie Hinnen Cook 7/9/2006
I can almost hear the choir singing.
Love this one!
Reviewed by Ed Matlack 7/9/2006
Ah yes, friend Al, you have made me believe in the miracle of southern living...though we may only get about as far south as southern Delaware, bordering Maryland...I may have to write one on a Northern Sunday...LOL, Ed & Rufuz
Reviewed by A PAX 7/9/2006
Well being from the north, and living in Fla for six months when I was young, with my grandparents who were from Europe originally then via Manhattan......well I never experiences this part of the south.....but now i hav.....thru your words of grace......ty pax A
Reviewed by Lew Duffey 7/9/2006
Yawn.....No, I'm not bored. I'm just really relaxed.
That was beautiful
God Bless,
Reviewed by Susan de Vegter 7/9/2006
Oh sweet Southern Sunday's...indeed. Mariah and I went house hunting today in Macon's historic district and people were lazing on the huge porches of, the historic homes...walking their dogs and the smell, from somewhere of ham permiated the air. The south is rich in the senses department and thank goodness we respect them enough to still provide avenues for our senses to play. Great poem about a southern tradition...Sundays!!
Love and peace to ya.
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