After Psalm 95

Oh come, let us sing to the Lord

Shout joyfully to the Rock of our salvation,

Enter His presence with thanksgiving,

Shout joyfully to Him with psalms.

                For the Lord is a great God

                A great King above all gods.

His left hand holds the Marine Trench

The height of Mount Kilimanjaro is measured with his pinkie

He patted out the Mojave

And cups the Caribbean in His right.

Gather round and worship—kneel down.

He is God

Be silent at his feet.

I went to Newfoundland

The place where cod and cliff and cove

kiss fog and fisherman, where humpbacks blow their

watery horns and puffins dance on peat and locals invite

you to the hearth to warm your damp soul in July

where crumpled piers dot the rocky shore

alongside each fishing shack

and each b’y pulls his dory to dock in the dusk

when the capelin and lobster are done.

The place where crab and sea arch

play tag as the tide serves salmon or

halibut cheek at the Twillingate

theater, family lore lights the stage

peals of laughter are washed down with wine

while Jack was Every Inch a Sailor and Saltwater

Joys are accompanied with Gary’s accordion,

Chelsea belts forth in Newfoundland gusto

guests wipe wet cheeks and notes fade on the

Labrador Sea, Will the Circle be Unbroken?

Southe’n Bones


When you tell me Guys Mills is beautiful, I just want to say,

Honey, yo’ must have eyes like a grasshopper for yo’ sur’

aint never been to Virginia where the mountains run up

one of side of the forest and down the other and where the

curves twist the roads around boulders and across chortling streams,

where hay fields and vineyards border market stands piled with

sweet corn and tomatoes and melons. I don’t blame yo’ if you think

the golden rod colors the swamp lovely, what with the geese flying

over the sumac and a cream moon shining down, there was a moment

to pause. It must be all in perspective, I suppos’.

Must be somethin’ about knowing

Barbara Hudgins that lives in the trailer in the woods with seventeen cats

and first hearin’ then barely seein’ Nick go by on his bike.

Must be more about the peepers and the wide blue sky

fog steaming off the James River hazing an early morning drive

more about Boutetourt and less about peach ice cream and a paycheck.

Are your grasshopper eyes up for grabs?