Posts for June 28, 2026 (page 2)

*”Mercy, pity, and peace, Are the world’s release.”
                —William Blake

it’s true:

i may not bend the world,
          but the world will not bend me

together we can tip the scales
        from wasteland of dust-dry throat
to world of blossoming loveliness
        wherein every plant receives
                            fair nurturing to thrive

*Copyright Credit: William Blake, “Eternity” from The Poetry and Prose of William Blake, edited by David V. Erdman. Copyright 1965 Doubleday & Company. Page 461.

Further Thoughts On Biscuits

Most of my friends who know,

Know how biscuits stand with me,

In a grand ranking of bread,

They’re the pinnacle, you see. 

Now, I know these days,

Most folks just get ‘em from a can,

But “whop ‘ems” won’t cross my table,

I’m not that sort of man.

It doesn’t take that much time,

To sift out the flour,

Work in the dry ingredients,

Sugar, salt, and baking powder.

Cut in a stick of butter,

But leave a few good buttery bits,

They just make for more flavor,

When that biscuit passes your lips. 

Then comes a bit of milk,

In the middle to form a pool,

Then work the flour from both sides,

With your fingers as the tool.

Don’t never stir the mix, you see,

That’s how you make ‘em tough,

So lightly fold to make good layers,

Until they’ve had enough.

Then roll or mash ‘em out a bit,

To about the thickness of your hand,

Then cut the dough into shape,

With a modified Clabber Girl can.

Pop ‘em in the oven,

Fifteen minute is the wait,

By then you should have the sausage fried,

And the gravy for the plate,

It makes me shake my head to think,

And I’ll try hard not to boast,

But when good ol’ biscuits are that easy,

Why would anyone want toast?

Under enough magnification
every coastline
becomes
longer.

Fractal geometry tells us
the closer you look,
the more there is
to see.

I suspect people behave similarly.

We keep pretending
there is
a threshold.

Enough conversations.

Enough laughter.

Enough honesty.

As though intimacy 
could be
completed.

The body
may arrive
long before
the mind.

You kiss.

Then wait
to discover
what actually
changed.

Water freezes.

Stars collapse.

Phase changes are wonderfully obedient.

People,
less so.

I have become less interested
in deciding whether to sleep
with someone.

More interested in whether
we wake
wanting
another
conversation.

POETRY AND PROSECCO

Today, June 28, 2026, 2-330pm
at A Likely Story in Midway, KY
is the day Kevin Nance, LeTonia Jones
and I join together to read poems
from our Accents published collections.

There will be free cheap champagne,
prosecco, triple sec and orange juice
to lubricate attendee’s ears
for ultimate listening and enjoyment
purposes and in case hunger overcomes the rapt
lite bites like cheese and crackers will be available.

Poetry readings can be quite lonely
mainly because most people don’t know
how much fun hearing poems read well
is and how well written words draw
a person in, paint pictures, tell stories,
show worlds many people never see.

Please join us, invite your friends,
share our event with non-poet
populations. We are profound,
humorous, and serious poets
who promise to appreciate fan love.

https://www.facebook.com/share/1EAosW2EAi/
https://www.instagram.com/p/DaF3VA-uu3r/

The mountains taught us long ago
What richer lands forgot to know:
A stranger’s just a friend delayed,
Until they’ve shared the bread we’ve made.

The screen door groans, the kettle sings,
The porch swing hums on rusty springs.
No invitation need be sent—
You’re welcome here by providence.

The coffee’s strong, the biscuits warm,
We’ve weathered many a winter storm.
When fields ran thin and mines shut down,
We still passed plenty all around.

A mason jar of beans to spare,
A quilt, a coat, a whispered prayer.
The poorest hands still found a way
To give a little every day.

Old friends speak soft in mountain ways,
With stories stitched through bygone days.
A laugh can echo ridge to ridge,
Like creek water beneath the bridge.

We’ve buried fathers, mothers too,
Watched seasons fade and skies turn blue.
Yet shoulder leaned on shoulder still,
Like white oaks rooted in the hill.

No lock was turned till night grew late;
No child was told, “Don’t cross that gate.”
Each neighbor watched the others’ own,
As if each heart were partly home.

When sorrow climbed the holler road,
No soul was left to bear the load.
The casseroles arrived in line,
Along with hymns and borrowed time.

And when the harvest filled the land,
There’d always be another hand
To stack the hay or shell the corn
From dusk’s first star till break of morn.

So let the highways boast their speed,
And cities praise their wealth and greed.
I’ll take a porch where old friends wait,
A weathered fence, an open gate.

For mountains rise and rivers bend,
But greater still’s a faithful friend.
And every hearth where kindness starts
Keeps home in our hearts.

First Light

In the first light of morning,
The day’s music begins.
Bird song floats while Earth is warming.  

I turn to sneak a peek at my prince charming,
And wish for sounds of a hundred violins
In the first light of morning.  

Today will not be like yestermorning
When skies were dark and good news thin.
I’m hearing the bird song float while Earth is warming.  

I pour coffee, now many years habit-forming,
And wait while minutiae in my head takes a spin
In this first light of morning.  

I find a prayer for the day is forming
As each of my cats stretch out their limbs,
And bird song floats while Earth is warming.  

I am grateful to be here with a lust for learning;
Casting aside all might-have-beens
In the first light of morning
When bird song floats while Earth is warming.

Green sticks in hand,
the excited children wait.
As the fire pit is lit,
to enjoy a marshmallow stake.

anger does not suit me
sure, sure I am bothered
annoyed and most likely, yes, angry
but staying in such a state seems a waste
the world moves quickly, forcefully in fact
revolution in its purity is pristine
yet don’t most of us have an ulterior motive
an agenda
I, anyway, have found such to be the case
systems which exacerbate, difficult to dismantle
pitted against yet additional systems
reminding me why exhaustion and overwork brought me to the present
reality is often ugly until one digs deeper than many of us are willing
beauty lies in the origin
fields of dirt which yield, hard work which produces sustenance

I hope you’ve changed

Really truly changed

I hope you’re so far from the person you used to be

As far as you are from your hometown

I hope you listen when other people talk now

Instead of saying empty words

I hope that your new friends hold you accountable

I hope you grew to be better

And that you don’t get away with treating people like you used to

I hope you never have kids

And that your new girl is sweet

But I also hope you never forget me

I wish you a life full of what you deserve

And I hope you stay far, far away from me

Watching the floaters in both eyes
is like mapping stars      
     
        close an eye to   
        slice the lemon in half  

some in the left                  
                              some in the right

all are on the surface of a sphere  
a world conceived by perception