Dinner With The Devil

Darkness bites a quarter chunk
Out of Harvest Moon
Whittling pink, pale flesh
Down to size
Down to size
Down to size

Streams of moonbeams
Dribble down his chin

As I feel
My penance start
My darkness follows suit
Down deep inside
Down deep inside
Down deep inside

Streams of heartbeats
Dribble down his chin

The Moon's eyes
Old and tired
Reflect my own
They cannot lie
They cannot lie
They cannot lie

Streams of regret
Dribble down his chin

A starving darkness
Consumes us both
We wonder who'll be
First to die
First to die
First to die

Only stars know who won
But they'll never tell


Copyright © 2009 WML

Morning Garden Guests

Inside the perfect purple trumpet streaked with lilac pink
Glittering drops of dew wash flowery veils of velvet sink
Psychedelic gramophone speaker hums with poetry
There nutritious nectar feeds the hungry bumblebee
Gathering pollen for his poem, he hums his humble story
And mumbles, grumbling when I reach to pick a morning glory

The heavy husks of sweet sunflowers hang staring sadly down
Their yellow petals fallen now; their heads bent to the ground
But pinstriped seeds revealed beneath are now a dinner plate
Where anxious finches come to feed and flutter as they wait
Hummingbird wings the bumble’s tune and as the day gets hotter
Sits on a limb so prim to prune his beak of sticky sugar water

Appalachian Apparitions...

I stumbled across this today and it sure takes me back. I've been thinking a lot about my mountains lately. It seems that when the fall of the year rolls around and the woods are on fire, I get a yearning to go home.

These is where I come from, this is my heritage, these are my people. I didn't know this old feller, but I know thousands just like him.

A friend directed me to this photographer; Shelby Lee Adams, who has dedicated a good deal of his life capturing the true essence of mountain culture. Memories run over me like rushing water when I look at his work. My mind flashes pictures from the past in front of me of faces I knew long since gone but still alive in his subjects. I think you'll them, too.

Second Savior

There is a special reserve I keep for the dull and dismal hours
When the cold rain beats on my window pane and the milk of kindness sours
The memory is of friendship cherished far beyond the grave
A certain face that has its place in every treasured thought I’ve saved

I laugh to mimic his familiar voice and speak his words out loud
My dearest friend whom I depend upon, alone, or in a crowd
Soldiers do not make profession like star struck lovers, in sensual wiles
But one, who gives, so you might live, his life, is surely worth a smile

The chaplain spoke of a savior as they lowered him into the ground
He died for me, well it would seem, that I have two of them now
When overcome by troubling thoughts in my most gloomy hours
His face appears and my countenance clears bright as a field of summer flowers

Fall In!

I just happened to look at the calendar a few minutes ago and realized today was an anniversary of sorts for me. Thirty-six years ago today, I was spending my first night as a US soldier at Fort Jackson, South Carolina.

Not much of it really stands out in my memory anymore. We were policed up at the Columbia airport and shuttled to the reception station in a pale green military van.

Once there, we were each given a brown paper bag with two ham sandwiches, a bag of chips, several cookies, an apple in it and some juice to drink. We drew linen and were taken to a big dorm-like bay sleeping area, given about 10 minutes to get squared away and then the lights were out.

I remember lying there amid the soft buzz of everyone talking; too excited to go to sleep just yet. The room grew strangely quiet as off in the distance over loud speakers Taps began to play.

Somehow, it was at that moment that I first actually realized where I was and why. That bugle call's somber duel nature brought on the realization that not only was it used to put soldiers to rest at night, it was also used to usher them into eternal rest.

I don't think I was the only one to have those thoughts as the bay stayed quiet after it was done playing. Our country was still at war in Vietnam and the serious nature of the oath we swore that morning took on a whole new meaning.

It was in those few brief moments of time, initiated by a simple song, that I laid my boyhood aside and became a man.

Cry Havoc! And Let Go the Dogs of War...

9/11/2001 (Revisited w/video added)

Lest we never forget...


I remember that morning like it was yesterday. I will always remember the intimate details of it; the sights, the sounds, the smells. It was the day that the world changed forever.

I was married at the time and had stepped down to our pond to try and catch a mess of fish for supper. I had several nice ones in a bucket when I heard her call to me that breakfast was almost ready. I pulled out for the house with my pole and bucket in hand, stopping to sit in a chair on the porch to remove my wet boots. The windows were open and the radio was on and I half-listened, half-ignored the announcer talking about a plane crash in New York. I remember thinking that it was only a matter of time before something like this was going to happen. Sooner or later some pilot was going to screw up and hit one of the massive buildings jutting up out of the ground across America...the numbers were just with it.

I went inside and turned on the television and they had a live feed of the events going on. It was just about then that the second plane hit. And my heart broke. God help us all. My eyes clouded with rage, pain, fear, sorrow and a thousand other things all at once as a tear ran down my cheek. In that instant, through all my years of training in the military, I instinctively knew that we were at war. My wife asked me what was wrong and I couldn't find my voice, or my stomach, to tell her what I already knew. I just stared at the screen in silence and disbelief.

As I tried unsuccessfully to choke down the meal she had prepared, I watched in horror as first one and then the other tower crashed to the ground. And I prayed out loud where I sat. I prayed for those in and around the towers, but more than that I prayed for my friends that I knew would soon be placed in harms way once again. Their faces and names raced through my mind; I bet he re-enlisted, he's not retired yet, either...

I got up from the table, walked out the door and pulled my wet boots back on. I picked up the bucket of fish by the steps and walked past the flag flying at the front gate towards the pond. I remember thinking as I turned those fish loose that there had been enough killing for one day. I turned the bucket upside-down, took a seat on it and thought about all that had just happened and was going to happen. It was probably one of the saddest, most helpless feeling times in my life.

I often find myself on the US Army website, reading the names of those who have died in southwest Asia. And yes, I recognize some of them by name and all of them by trade. They were my brothers and sisters and always will be. And I love them all. I would urge each and every one of you to go there for a visit and pay your respects. They are the last barrier between you and the next attack. They gave 'that last full measure of devotion' for you and me.

I think I might take my pole and a bucket down to the pond this morning and try to catch a mess for my friends. I know that they would like that, taking comfort in the fact that they are not forgotten. God love 'em.

Alan Jackson More CMT Music More CMT Music Videos

Labor Day

When George Pullman invented sleeping cars for the railroad back in the 1850’s he build a name for himself, but he also he built an entire town.

If you happened to live in Pullman, Illinois in the 1880’s chances are real good you worked for George Pullman. And if you worked for George Pullman, you probably lived in a George Pullman row house. And you probably went to a Pullman Church and did your shopping locally at a Pullman market.

All was cozy for a little while, but eventually the recession hit and he laid off a large percentage of his workforce. He reduced the wages of the remaining employees. I thought automated deductions from pay was perhaps something new to our era, but he was doing it way back in the 1880’s. If you worked for him, your rent was taken out of your check before you saw it. With the high rent and low pay this didn’t sit so well and his employees began walking out.

When Pullman workers joined the American Railroad Union and began striking and boycotting, President Grover Cleveland called the strike a crime. He deployed the Army to break the dispute. When the strike was officially declared over, the employees promised not to unionize again and this remained true until the great depression.

"The day for which the toilers in past centuries looked forward, when their rights and their wrongs would be discussed...that the workers of our day may not only lay down their tools of labor for a holiday, but upon which they may touch shoulders in marching phalanx and feel the stronger for it." ~ Samuel Gompers, head of the American Federation of Labor 1898