Red mud in the tire treads
- A gospel written in clay.
My Ford doesn't purr.
It growls.
The engine knows the way home,
Even when the fog hides the trees.
The radio plays a scratchy tune.
I'm just an old man in a pickup,
Crossing the ridge,
Homebound.
May 5
May 5, 2026 at 9:24 AM UTC
Lord,
Thank you for the road traveled today,
for the miles that were smooth
and for the potholes that kept me awake.
May Your grace be the fuel that sustains me,
and Your Word the map that never fails,
even when the fog rolls in from the mountains.
Watch over the ones I love,
and maybe give Ryan Blaney a little extra drafting help
on Sunday.
Amen.
May 5
May 5, 2026 at 9:15 AM UTC
I saw you swaying in your black monk's robe, Paula
- It was my reflection.
You swayed left,
I swayed left.
You swayed right,
I swayed right.
Suddenly, scales fell from my eyes,
And I was reborn, in spirit.
I must be a beautiful boy
To have such a beautiful girl.
Dedicated to Paula.
May 5
May 5, 2026 at 9:06 AM UTC
They stole your youth,
And they stole your words:
The rockers of Kiiminki
And Oulu
Saw your talent,
And they were envious.
I know your style,
And I know who the thieves are.
The audience doesn't know you:
Your old band mates didn't give you
Any credit.
(The audience is yours, really,
Not theirs.)
With this poem,
I want to tell you about Aadi:
He looked like Kid Rock,
And he was an honest and
A gentle man.
He would've been a great husband and
A great dad,
But he ended up with the wrong gang.
Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 1:31 PM UTC