Trying to make my way in the world –
Dealing with daily cares,
Inundated with news
From faraway lands –
I become scattered, forgetful.
‘Who am I?’ I ask.
And the question repeats itself.
Under the hot summer sun
In Sorghum Corner, I remember.
Beneath the shade trees,
Beside the placid water of the pond,
Eating a plate of slaw and watermelon, I remember.
With cousins big and small,
A baby with pretty pink cheeks,
A bigger one keeping the power grid up, I remember.
In my sweaty t-shirt,
A passing resemblance
Of Pa-Paw’s button-up
As he barbequed the chicken
On the charcoal grill, I remember:
I am part of the Walton clan,
And every part of me,
From the salty tears in my eyes
As I dwell on all these things
To the salt on my back,
Rejoices in that.
And through the mystical love,
In God, that ties us
All together, I take you all
Home with me, in my heart,
A quieting consolation,
Like a mother singing
Softly to her child,
Until I greet you all again.

​Piles of bloody, dying bodies –
Women, men, little babies –
Pierced by bullets,
Ripped apart by exploding bombs.
Such an exquisite sight;
Such delicate beauty.
To touch that warm blood,
To feel it between my fingers,
To taste it on my tongue –
The delight is . . .
Inexpressible:
I am in ecstasy!
Gliding through the astral plane
With the beings of light
That have visited me and taught me
While in my vile, disgusting flesh.
I am special, they tell me,
I am chosen.
I will recreate the world
In my own image,
And none can hinder me.
I am invincible,
Unstoppable,
Indispensable.
My truth is deceit,
My light is darkness,
My love is hatred.
My closest friends
I make my enemies.
I am the only blessing
Upon the face of the earth.


I am an American.

Many times I have longed to cultivate the earth,
To dig the rows and plant the seed, and watch them
Grow and grow. But Christ our God bid me take another task,
To make the furrows in my mind, and place in them
Idea-seeds, fertilizing them with reading and asceticism
Till they beget the fruit of a written work – an essay, story, poem.
And though meagre, like sheaves of wheat grown during drought,
I offer them to those who will accept them, to the Glory of God.