Friday, February 24, 2012


Buy this ALBUM..every song..It ain't simple, bit it sure is real.

Love ya,


When I write this stuff..

these prayers for humans....

for that is what we are,

but of course you know this.


I never say "I am right.."

I am not confidently proud..

I am a hoper..

I am a slave of justice and mercy..


I wear so many masks I fool myself

Once when driving across this country,

our Basset hound howled in the darkness.

She knew where we were going would lead to disappointment


God is not yet God is

The law of the human heart bleeds like a waterfall in the spirit

Sometimes the woman at the well comes to me in my sleep

I never know what to say


Our cat Maggie just crawled through the pet door..

She growled a wild growl to let me know

Isn't that a miracle,

how everything needs to say something?



Oxford MS

Wednesday, February 22, 2012


I have often wondered what prayer actually does..
Not in a cynical way,
Not in a doubtful way,
but in a way.
I have read the Saints,
and not one ever changed God's mind.
But prayer always changed their minds.
That is the reality.
All this "name it and claim it"
"If you only believe!"
is bullshit.
Prayer is about a relationship with God
And you know what?
God is never wrong.
If we ask for something that will eventually kill our souls,
He will not want us to have it..
that doesn't mean we can't get it to some extent..
we have free will and that allows us to swim in excrement if we want.
We are all Prodigals in our daily struggle.
It ain't a one time realization..

Oxford MS

Monday, February 20, 2012


Deep in the woods I found something..

A gate.

A red gate.

There is no fence..

Just an old rusty gate hanging on two post.

And I feel something when I look at it..

I wonder who put it up and how long ago..

there is nothing to keep in or out now.

Jesus called himself a gate..

for sheep.. for all humans.

But this gate is closed and locked for nothing at all..

Just there, forgotten and lonely.


Oxford MS

Sunday, February 19, 2012


blah blah blah
blah blah blah
blah blah blah
blah blah blah

somewhere there is meaning
and there it is,, softly screaming
drifting back into mystery
then back again into certainty

which is not certainty in the least
blah certain blah the curtain
The sound of the drum is hypnotic
Blah shadows devour the feast

 Is that an alter?
Is that a holy?
blah blah baloney
hear the song,

so lonely



Have you...........?
Do you ever wonder?
about the moment....?
(I) Of course you do.

You look all around your moment...
You see hypocrisy, understanding, lying.....
Over there is resolve and reflection..
And look!, there is humility!!

But over there is pride and hardness....
Yes, there it is...
Just where the heart sits..
So???,,, What does this mean?

Bubba walked over with snuff in his mouth...
"Uh, it means this is all a damn curiosity!"
His father took him away and screamed....
Leave my son alone!

Wisdom is not a car we drive down the road...
It is not the engine...
It is not the tires...
It is the road....


Oxford Ms

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Wildness (Moon Creek)

Whole pieces of moon fell into the creek at dawn

I watched them float feather like through the opaque mist

If you don't look you won't see...she said


Deeper into the woods

a compass

and an oak stick I have worn smooth where I grip with my right hand


Jack stops at Moon creek and drinks,

Cold water up to his dew claw

Pig leaps across and darts into the thicket after something


The woods has a wild silence

Though unseen, the animals are there, watching,

wild animals




Thursday, February 16, 2012

Lost Birds

A blue bird with a tuft of black feathers shaped like a Mohawk landed on a bush this morning.
Just outside our bedroom window, I froze not wanting to scare him or her away.
I have never seen this bird before, and I feel as though I am a "bird-watcher" of sorts...
Nothing like Jim Harrison or Dan Gerber, but I notice a bird every now and then..

I have heard that many species of birds were blown here during hurricane Katrina..
Maybe this is a Gulf Coast bird, or a Key West bird, or a bird from South America...??
After 'Googleing' "blue birds with Mohawks", and finding nothing that resembled my discovery, I called a friend.
He felt it must be one of those hurricane Katrina birds saying he would bet on it.

Can you imagine being blown thousands of miles into an environment where you are a stranger
Where you look differently than everyone else, new food, new weather, new anxieties..??
At times we are blown here and there, near and far, by the winds of change..  Topsy Turvy...
And once we land we start looking for food, for shelter, for friendship, for love,, happiness, security..

When a man or woman coverts to something that they weren't before, they grow a spiritual Mohawk.
Blown into the shadowy gray woods of calling, wondering, "why I am here and what blew me this way?"..
No matter how young we get, our ancient souls still hunger for meaning and purpose, thirst for reason..
Once I thought I could have been a monk, a mystic, but came to realize my feet and hands would not do well with the stigmata..

So I am going back to fishing and will wait for God to cook me some fish on the shore, asking me three questions...


Tuesday, February 14, 2012


"What is a simple life now days?", he pondered.
He walked out onto the screened porch, wondering why he had never smoked.

The moon hidden behind a low humid winter dark sky
His dog ran out the screen door, trailing the smell of some animal that had been in the yard

"Is the mind a simple thing to understand?" he asked out loud to god and to himself..

He waited for an answer but none came. His dog came back wanting in.

"Do we really get to choose with all the baggage we carry that affects our decisions?"
A truck went by on the wet highway, tires singing their lovely tune.

"Simple must mean normal, and normal means following the rules of the day." he mused to his dog
The dog looked at him and wondered if his master was ok, wishing he could use his master's primitive language to speak..

The wind kicked up and his cell phone buzzed, a text message... 'Hey dad, can I borrow your Lucchese boots?"
He typed back, "Yea, but please don't get them muddy or wet."

He wondered why God is so silent and hidden, and then he said, "Hey God, why are you so silent and hidden?"
His son texted back..'I will treat them with care."

He sat down in the swing and took a sip of his drink..

His dog jumped up in the swing lying next to him, wishing he could explain what "simple" means..


Monday, February 13, 2012

A Fox

All day Saturday and Sunday in Clarksdale Mississippi
I saw a beautiful Red Fox out behind the house we stayed

The Clark House B&B is a charming place with ghosts in every room
Tom Waits and Robert Plant stayed there last year I am told

We stayed in the "Big Daddy" room
It has an antique bed the size of a 1970's Gran Torino

Delta avenue is where the music is
Ground Zero is a cool place with kind folks running it

Rust has amazing cuisine, grilled Asparagus resting on a dark Balsamic rue
Crunchy catfish tacos with pineapple salsa, cold ale from a local brewery

Red's Blues Club is a real Juke Joint, in every way.
So cold inside everyone was bundled up listening in the red haze of red lights and steaming blues licks

Abe's BBQ is too good..Lucille is the kindest server with a smile that makes God smile
I had Tamales buried in a salad of tomatoes lettuce and onions with mild BBQ sauce...a cold Ultra,

The cradle of the Delta, the home of the Blues, a sleepy little town oozing with art and culture
Its history is cool, and its pretty dang cool today as well...


Thursday, February 9, 2012

Running through the Woods

A gray sky morning

Low moving clouds creeping along just above the trees


The wind blew late in the night, falling a few small Poplar along the path

Thinking a moment of going back and getting the Jeep it to pull them out of the way..


Instead, the sound of something moving through the woods distracted me

It sounded like a man running, not a deer..two feet not four


I ran toward the sound as the hackles on Jack and Pig's back stood up rigid,

which made the hair on my neck stand up, feeling the blood pump harder in my veins


Both dogs ran ahead, stopped, ears back, unsure of what it was they were seeing..

It was a huge Gobbler..


He flapped his wings and made it across the large creek to our left..

He hit the ground running, vanishing, blending into the dense forest, camouflaged like a hunter.


A Turkey walking or running through the woods, I will confirm,

Sounds like a person walking or running through the woods.



Oxford Ms

Monday, February 6, 2012

a Balm

I cook every morning, early, around 5:30 or 6:00
Two eggs in olive oil, garlic, peppers, onions, cumin

Sauteed morels in garlic, onions, butter with olive oil
A slice of Provolone melts, melding all into one..

Cayenne pepper, salsa, and crushed black pepper
blanket this concoction
Food aroma blends with the dark roast coffee brewing, Leonard Cohen sings deeply in the background..

As I chopped onions I spoke to God
"I am contemplating abandoning musical aspirations, if you agree,,, don't say anything."

The dogs were waiting by the Jeep when I walked out with my to-go mug of green tea..

Jack barked until I put it in reverse and backed out of the drive..  "RUH! RUH! RUH!"

This morning was incredible and crisp, the sun's rays easing on and off my path through the trees..
42 degrees, deer move in herds through the field on the hill, camera in pocket...

God did not speak to me. He did not tell me to do anything, feel anything, His silence is comforting.
Joy comes when we pray for others, help others, halting the damned inward stare that ponders the black whole within

The woods tell me this, the dogs tell me.. the hope of others tells me..
Mass tells me..
Wish I were more cogent with these thoughts, I am trying terribly to be so.

Jack is snoring, lying here under my desk..
His peacefulness is a balm to my soul, possibly like the one in Gilead?

Oxford MS

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Winter Trees

We are Winter Trees
Stripped bare

Naked, waiting, silent, abandoned
Crows nest upon our limbs

We are Spring Trees
New leaves of color, seasonal hope

Filled with life and movement
clothed again

We are Summer Trees
Sweating in the heat and humidity

Languid limbs in the heat
creaking in the relentless sun

We are Autumn Trees
Embracing our slow coming death

Windswept and stripped
The confident cold our destiny

We are Winter Trees...

Oxford MS

Thursday, February 2, 2012

American Idol

Wake up from your slumber!
Sinner sin with focus and commitment to your path
Saints serve and love with commitment to your path
This generation shall not pass away
it will linger into oblivion from laziness and mediocrity
no art
no poetry
no irony ( maybe except for Colbert)
nothing stirs this generation's soul except profit, politics, and porn..
Wanting is the music, the literature, Broadway, film...
but of course, there are exceptions..(Big Bad Love)
Sinners who give their all find fixating forks in the road,the severity of the mirror, the need for love, within and without...
Saint who give their all find mystery, the hilarity of the mirror, the need to love, within and without..
from this comes the candid confession..Charles Bukowski, Larry Brown, Robert Barron, Jim Harrison, Mother Teresa...
"Nothing pristine comes from American Idol"...she said as she poured a glass of Bordeaux.

for Jim Harrison

Hush Puppies

As a kid growing up on 60 acres of woods, a lake, and pastures,
I spent 90% of my life outside..eating fresh fish, fried green tomatoes, peppers..

Home cut fries, watermelon from the garden, along with Black Eyed Peas, String Beans..
Billy plowed the garden with an old horse named Maude.

My five dogs went everywhere I went, out till after dark alone with my canine siblings,
Horses, cattle, deer, motorcycles, Go-Carts, an only child, never watched television, three channels...

The lake was 20 acres and it was stocked with Bluegill, Bass, and Perch.
We fished whenever we wanted, I would take either a pole or reel and catch enough to fry..

Billy, my old man, had a large "Fry-Daddy" filled with oil, frying fish was a passion
Nothing in my life has ever tasted like those fresh fish from our lake on a warm evening.

He would fillet the Bass, and sometimes the Brim if large enough..
All of this took place near the large wooden picnic table close to the shore

The smell was wonderful, the air clean, the sounds of dusk on a summer day
My mom would bring the Hush Puppy badder in a large white plastic mixing bowl..

Fresh onions mixed into the badder, salt, pepper, a light sprinkling of Tabasco,
All blended perfectly, little dough balls dropped slowly into the bubbling oil.

My old man had a system, cook the fish first, then the Hush Puppies..
the most beautiful golden brown morsels you have ever put in your mouth..