Category Archives: poetry

LUDDITE

Technology is not the enemy

I believe it is instead the test

To leverage its capabilities before it lulls us to sleep

Its infancy is all we know, a waking giant

Our minds cry out for balance

We are creatures of the dirt not the diode

Those elements that sustain us

within the palm of a fiber optic hand

opportunity awaits

Look too deep and you could be snared by copper digits

with charged lithium nails

Grab ahold of the rocks and weeds

Even the stinging nettle will be a welcome sensation

Anything to tear you away from the monochromatic screen

Find your balance in the creeks and the streams

and those elements that sustain us

 

APE MAN and BEAST

 

Is ape man and beast

Like God to Man?

Is it loyalty

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We mistake for worship?

Is it gratitude

we mistake for idolatry

I have been blessed with great courage

Alongside my canine

Just the same

When my eyes fall their way

Those four legs are capable of miracles

When they are pups we feel like they couldn’t survive without us

But in actuality it’s us who needs them

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The ape man’s soul is lost without the ability to show affection

Forever at war with instinct and carnality

Inside this rigid and foreign world

The paradox is that we built this prison ourselves

But the beast, the canine can pull us out

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I challenge you

Blur the lines between the ape man and the beast

When the World Becomes Edible

When the world becomes edible

It will open your eyes

You will drive by thickets and smile

In the spring you will seek out young shoots and pods or

The beautiful morel mushroom

After those Spring rains other fungi will appear

The fire like chicken of the woods mushroom

As they burn bright on old oak trees

When the world becomes edible you will finally know variety

Not of the type that lines the market shelves

Common plantain, lady’s thumb, dandelion, wood sorrel

wild strawberry, blackberry, Mulberry,  elderberry

Natures seasonal inventory will keep you coming back

As the heat of late summer begins to wane

The paw paws are ripe and a treat all to themselves

The chantrelles and oyster mushrooms appear in the fall

Stinging nettle, Jerusalem artichoke, black walnut and wild grape

The truth is you’ll never look at the forest the same way

When the world becomes edible

 

The divide bleeding us dry

We are all monsters. Beasts of out own device. Some of us making efforts to be better and others to be worse. Who am I to judge another man’s faith when most days I AM unsure of my own.

The politics, the gods, the very insignificant pigment of our skin have us at each others throats. The division is reaching critical mass. All the while those with a wild desire to manipulate the masses are laughing all the way to the gold vault. We’ve been had. Don’t you see?

Let’s not parse words, freedom is the hardest job on the planet. You have to work. The important thing is that we all have the ability to pluck an idea or desire from thin air and paint it into existence. The work to keep this up is our only guarantee.

Don’t miss Friday’s live show on prepperbroadcasting.com as we examine division in the nation and how we are losing ground in this battle because of it.

Demon Under the Street Light

In the distance it watches me

Bathing in the street light, yet incomprehensibly dark

Deceptively human in form it beckons me

I must have run all day, weak

It calls me through generations of sin

I move closer and it tugs at my every vice

I know its wrong but still I approach

Under its dark robe I recognize the cloven hoof

Still I move forward

The spell is broken by a white flash of innocence

My son beyond the Demon

He is running to Daddy but the beast is between us

The choice

Do I open robe and invite my son in

Into the pleasure, the excess, the satisfaction of sin, or

Do I strangle the Demon under the street light

 

 

 

GET HIGH!

I wrote this poem while I was waiting for Mike D to arrive at our campsite atop the Appalachians in Western Virginia. It was late, cool and all the stars were out. I scribed by campfire light while cheese tortellini with kale, garlic, red chili and sopressata cooked in a cast iron pan.

Get High!
calling back and forth
shooting the breeze from tree top to tree top
i am below but still so high

have you seen her? modelled from the stars
dressed in black with heavens in her eyes
i watch heat dance around the ash
as a whisper blows through the party

should we burn another or should we retire
one more breath of this sweet air
i feel it deep in my lungs
now this is nature, this is enlightenment

what i would give to have her here and now
though Mother will have to do
let the night cast its spell over me

The Menu

Never forget your host was a chef. Food has been and still is such a big part of my life. It’s all my mother’s fault and this is a poem for her.

Italian sausage, broccoli, cheddar and shells

I still dream of cabbage leaves draped over ground beef and rice stuffing

The old French chefs called their stoves “the piano”

My mother was a master soloist performing nightly for a family of 4

Linguine with olives, peppers, onions and tomatoes

A calfs liver from the meat market, smoky bacon and love

Mom was a living subscription to Bon Appetite

I stirred the my first bechemel with her at my side

The mother, the son and the mother sauce

The swanky chefs downtown saw Einstein in the mirror

But mom had been braising short ribs since before I could talk

4 gas burners in a Marcus Hook row home

Churning out le Grande cuisine 6 nights a week

And the meatballs, the sausage, the homemade sauce

That still brings me home today

From the kitchen of a blue eyed American woman without a drop of Italian blood in her veins

Stuffed steak and “Lazy” dumplings

Cheeseburgers you had to fight into your mouth

Apple pie and her loving eye

The Menu of my childhood

Where fruit fall from trees

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What if there were a world where fruit fell from the trees? Would you take the time to go there?

This morning on the great James River my dogs and I shook these beauties off some paw paw trees. The ripe fruits are sweet and taste like over ripe mangos to me. A treat at the end of the summer.

Get off the Xbox. Stop watching horrible baseball and get out in the woods. Get to know the world around you. That’s all. Now I’m going to eat.

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