Category Archives: Updates

The Ninemile House was renowned for its T-bones and prime rib. Max Huff’s recipes,   Roquefort dressing, spaghetti with grilled garlic-buttered French bread. Butterfly prawns shelled   by hand, and the fries like the burger patties were pressed fresh daily. … Continue reading →

Where else can you go when the sweet dream turns on you, hair up, baring teeth, eyes dead- cold, the low growl from frothed lips . . . as it slowly skulks away?   Nothing can be put out of … Continue reading →

I am comfortable lying in the weeds looking at the sky be it warm summer or musty fall. I like watching the bugs crawl, the flight patterns of butterflies and bees, chewing stems and smelling the grass- earthy scent around … Continue reading →

  it’s all a mystery what makes us tick   what matters the whys   how we deal with each other how we handle ourselves   one man cries one woman hits   one billion-plus will never quit two billion … Continue reading →

Sally opens the door and jumps on my friend, hugging, kissing, and dragging him into the kitchen. I follow. She yells, “Polly! Mikey’s here!” tells my pal to take off his shirt. Paul strolls sleepy-eyed out of the bedroom, gives … Continue reading →

edges and centers rivets and feathers nothing holds ever so let it ride unfold slouching gyres come and go laving on paint thick as Vinny Van Gogh from Top Sail to York from Flagstaff to Cork nobody sings like Aly … Continue reading →

What I like about Ray is the way he notices the little things that don’t count toward the business end of the day: peeled paint, mossy shingles, pine needles & cones, the freshly dug hole & mound of dirt beside … Continue reading →

Throw things at the wall and see what sticks!   My Old Man knew the artist’s mantra, so he tossed my mother’s hotcakes at the cupboard door, called them “dough-gods,” “sweat-pads,” and “pot holders.” He did it for a laugh, … Continue reading →

questioning gods and wars are acts of treason. hell is the reward for questioners; death for traitors; prison for not playing by the rules. not doing what you’re told can get you killed in war, and isn’t it more or … Continue reading →

  To write poetry is to know   comfort, the temporary calm, security   floating in the eye of the storm,   to be left alone, the slipstream   gatherer affording time one needs   to imagine empathy, the privilege … Continue reading →