Ainsley Hall came to America in 1800. “Enterprise and perseverance gave him success in trade.” His “enlightened views,” His” liberal spirit,” His “benevolence,” His “ample fortune,” His “unceasing Source of Relief to the Distressed.” So says his tombstone. 2009, a tour guide takes me through a candlelit tour of Ainsley’s Read more…
2000 years ago Christians met Inside stone caves Secreted in the mountains And they went down Into the catacombs And prayed beside the bones Hoping for the day When song and prayer Would not be confined To stone walls In whispers to old bones For the stone Was rolled away Read more…
Anger is the second stage of grief After denial Day after day she woke up Feeling underwater Stuck in a surreal ocean Filled with strange fish And sad news stories And then came anger A hot boiling current That had been building For years before this And in this strange Read more…
This spring the flowers still bloom but the earth rests quiet a quiet appropriate for winter a quiet usually reserved for forests blanketed with snow. Spring is for sowing. Flowers burst from the soil as Kore returns to the sunlit land. In the joy of this abundance we forget that Read more…
In 2005, I drove great grandmother Home from church Back to our family farm And we talked about rain The plants sure needed it But poor New Orleans The black sky, the dancing trees My grandmother, Told me of her childhood Of woods that children watched But did not enter Read more…
I imagine Papa Al
in the stories he tells
walking to school
(uphill both ways)
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poem compiled with the words of Terrence McKenna Are you interested in virtual realityAnd who will you rememberThe astronautsOr the poetsAnd when if you close your eyesAnd make your wayInto the Vatican libraryCan you stand itIf there is no money in thisEven though moneyCould be made from thisAnd can you Read more…
hold onfor those who burn sage at the end of every dayfor those got burned by mercury retrogradebut who also didn’t feel reborn after their story crashed down,a smashed rubble of disconnected narratives.for those who awake in ashes and never as a phoenixto those who just feeldead. please,keep fighting.hold onthere’s Read more…
The salt water in my rootstastes sweet,sweet with the victoryof overcoming hundred mile an hour winds,sweet with red sapleaking from shovelwounds,sweet from the swinging feet of little onesbreaking the barkfrom my branches.I do not mindthe little ones.I am twisted, and old,and strong.I am salt air,and sea song,and long hot hours Read more…
Making red dirt tracksbuilds up an appetitefor sliced tomatoesand whatever else grew fresh from her garden. Flowers picked, and our bellies full,our tradition was that she would invite me to sit beside herat the piano. The day we walked beneath the crepe myrtles,I did not know it would be our Read more…