#appalachian
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
i’m a woman born where the hills roll like old records,
where the dirt’s thick with stories and the air tastes like whiskey and wildflowers.
the mountains bleed black tar, poison dripping into creek beds,
and the government’s promises stink like rotting meat in a locked fridge.
but the women, ******* — they keep moving.
sideways, under, through the cracks in the system.
they’re not saints or martyrs — just survivors with sharp teeth,
ready to bite through the ********
ready to carve out their own **** place
in the raw, relentless hills they call home.
Jun 30, 2025
Jun 30, 2025 at 1:32 PM UTC
I sit watching brown eyes
probe affectionately through the haze
at the mirrors created by close family.
I think the intimacy that is made possible
by the sharing of wine, **** and space
in a dim room full of sad love and smoke
will never ceased to amaze me.
The men see themselves in each other
and are both heartened in their own ways
I am drunk now in my way
and The Mirror is ****** in his
and Brown (Green) Eyes is both at once
Appalachian mouths move in turns
to take a hit or a drink or a shot at wisdom
Suddenly the truth of our three souls is laid bare
on the tiny table there between us.
My heart tightens around the words
as they echo through each chamber
growing louder with each reverberation.
“Happiness is being able to breathe”
Love you, Frank.
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 11:52 AM UTC
the river winding down below
the rushing sounds of rapids flow
while high above the trees I stand
to breathe the wonders of this land
vast pines outstretching toward the sky
give shelter to the fowl that fly
the covered rocks and earth that stay
stuck forever in their place
for years on end this place has been
untouched by man, untouched by sin
to some it may seem boring, though
to be in such a place alone
hidden in hills, surrounded by stone
but, for me,
it's coming home
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 9:01 PM UTC
Dolly Parton: bright as waters
cleft before the Israelites
may your matrons, sons, and daughters,
bluegrass saints and satellites
crown our country, brim our fountains
long as your lyrical honor reaches
from the Appalachian mountains
to that land the Bible preaches.
Hear our thanks for all your singing
all the years of Faith and Glory
lifting up the Lord – then stinging
like a psalm (imprecatory).
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
I dug a little and I cried a little
On a hillside that was steep,
So my mama could sleep.
Each dig I dig it‘ll
**** me, gotta dig a grave six feet deep,
I dug a little and I cried a little
The birds I hear them tweet,
I don’t want to see her go so I piddle,
I want my momma to sleep.
Someday on this hill we’ll meet
The dirt is hard and rock riddled,
I dug a little and I cried a little
I’m the only one to do this deed,
The worms will have their nibble,
but my mama will sleep
I’ve finished my job and I’ll have to venture,
I’ve dug so long the ground is sleet.
I dug a little and I cried a little
So my mama could sleep.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC