Fall in Walker County
The sunlight flickers beneath the trees
And dances on the ground
While in the woods the rabbit sees
The farmer's trusty hound.
The crows give their lonely cry
That echoes in the wind
As the falling leaves go by
Marking the summer's end.
The squirrel scampers to his den
With an acron that he'll store
While nearby the watchful wren
Sings a song unheard before
Baskets filled with apples
Upon the porch are set
While the sunshine dapples
A brook where children met.
The sleepy owl softly calls
To a friend who isn't there
While field-mice feast on puffballs
There's plenty for all to share.
The farmer stops and listens
To the sound of a cow-bell's clang
Across a field that glistens
With dew, where summer's crickets sang.
Dusty pumpkins lie in a meadow
Where snow will gather soon
Among wild flowers of bright yellow
Beneath a harvest moon.
The gossamer shimmers silvery-grey
As the stars begin to glow
Shining like fire-flies at the end of day
High over the fields below.
And dances on the ground
While in the woods the rabbit sees
The farmer's trusty hound.
The crows give their lonely cry
That echoes in the wind
As the falling leaves go by
Marking the summer's end.
The squirrel scampers to his den
With an acron that he'll store
While nearby the watchful wren
Sings a song unheard before
Baskets filled with apples
Upon the porch are set
While the sunshine dapples
A brook where children met.
The sleepy owl softly calls
To a friend who isn't there
While field-mice feast on puffballs
There's plenty for all to share.
The farmer stops and listens
To the sound of a cow-bell's clang
Across a field that glistens
With dew, where summer's crickets sang.
Dusty pumpkins lie in a meadow
Where snow will gather soon
Among wild flowers of bright yellow
Beneath a harvest moon.
The gossamer shimmers silvery-grey
As the stars begin to glow
Shining like fire-flies at the end of day
High over the fields below.
The Gospel
My name is Jesus Christ,
My friends call me the Lord.
I am a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine.
I am a young sheep.
I am a drink of water that will last a lifetime.
My parents weren’t married.
My father is a part of speech.
People say that they can’t tell us apart.
The first man that ever lived
Was a ball of six day old dirt.
He was breathed on by a bush
That had been set on fire.
His wife was a bone.
They lived in a garden
Until they got kicked out
For listening to a snake
Who told them that they could eat apples.
The first lawyer was a mountain climber
Who didn’t like to wear shoes.
He had a talk with that blazing shrub
And got a bunch of rules
Written on a rock from it,
But he got mad
When no one would follow them,
And he threw them down
And they broke.
I spent my life telling people
Not to throw rocks.
One of my best friends was a rock
And I built a church on him.
I can teach you a language
That no one understands
And we’ll go fishing.
My friends call me the Lord.
I am a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine.
I am a young sheep.
I am a drink of water that will last a lifetime.
My parents weren’t married.
My father is a part of speech.
People say that they can’t tell us apart.
The first man that ever lived
Was a ball of six day old dirt.
He was breathed on by a bush
That had been set on fire.
His wife was a bone.
They lived in a garden
Until they got kicked out
For listening to a snake
Who told them that they could eat apples.
The first lawyer was a mountain climber
Who didn’t like to wear shoes.
He had a talk with that blazing shrub
And got a bunch of rules
Written on a rock from it,
But he got mad
When no one would follow them,
And he threw them down
And they broke.
I spent my life telling people
Not to throw rocks.
One of my best friends was a rock
And I built a church on him.
I can teach you a language
That no one understands
And we’ll go fishing.
The Morning After
Time is strange;
The world is strange.
Behold the world!
Behold the strange, timeless world;
Spinning, madly spinning beneath maddening skies;
Beneath the star-strewn heavens of blackest night,
Like a bird in flight.
Like some dark, nocturnal bird in flight;
Flinging itself against the night.
Behold the night!
The suffocating, exhilarating, intoxicating night.
The sightless, nameless, blameless night.
Erect the altar, commit the rite!
The sacred rite of night;
Hidden from the view of God and sun.
“Where are you, Adam?”
The Word was unheard,
Unheeded, unneeded, undone.
“Can you tell me how to get to Park Avenue?”
I asked the man in dark glasses smoking a cigarette.
“Turn left at the next red light” he said,
Shaking his head as I drove on,
But the light was not red.
I woke the next morning to the smell
Of coffee from the downstairs café;
Staring at the ceiling, at the paint that was peeling,
And at the paint that lay beneath.
Through the window I noticed
That the sky was gray.
When you sit silently you can hear
The sounds of the world outside:
The passing cars and the train,
A plane flying overhead,
The barking of a dog,
A whistle, a siren,
A symphony of horns – the sound of a traffic jam;
The Italian man at his vegetable stand,
The church bell’s toll,
The crack of a bat at a baseball game;
And maybe, the song of a bird.
The world is strange.
Behold the world!
Behold the strange, timeless world;
Spinning, madly spinning beneath maddening skies;
Beneath the star-strewn heavens of blackest night,
Like a bird in flight.
Like some dark, nocturnal bird in flight;
Flinging itself against the night.
Behold the night!
The suffocating, exhilarating, intoxicating night.
The sightless, nameless, blameless night.
Erect the altar, commit the rite!
The sacred rite of night;
Hidden from the view of God and sun.
“Where are you, Adam?”
The Word was unheard,
Unheeded, unneeded, undone.
“Can you tell me how to get to Park Avenue?”
I asked the man in dark glasses smoking a cigarette.
“Turn left at the next red light” he said,
Shaking his head as I drove on,
But the light was not red.
I woke the next morning to the smell
Of coffee from the downstairs café;
Staring at the ceiling, at the paint that was peeling,
And at the paint that lay beneath.
Through the window I noticed
That the sky was gray.
When you sit silently you can hear
The sounds of the world outside:
The passing cars and the train,
A plane flying overhead,
The barking of a dog,
A whistle, a siren,
A symphony of horns – the sound of a traffic jam;
The Italian man at his vegetable stand,
The church bell’s toll,
The crack of a bat at a baseball game;
And maybe, the song of a bird.