I passed by him regularly. Sitting in front of the coffee shop, thin, bad teeth, broken down, weepy-eyed. I never saw food or drink on his table. He only wanted a place to sit and rest, I suspect. Get out of the heat. One day I stopped and handed him some money. I didn’t say […]


Recently I watched an interview with the stars of Ozark, a newish TV show filmed on Lakes Lanier and Altoona. Jason Bateman and Laura Linney gushed about Georgia’s progressive mindset and how the state film commission had done such a fine job of arranging and organizing so new films can be made in our state. […]

Gluttony: A Late Encounter with the Enemy

Chocolate.  Swiss, not its lackluster American cousin.  Stamped with dwarfs, partitioned in precise chunks.  It is 6am.  Do I pilfer a piece before the hemp-chewy, sure-to-lift-your-bowels-to-Valhalla bran? From behind the kitchen door where each morning he faithfully spreads his lipid-quivering loins and waits to tempt me anew: the squinty eyes of Gluttony.  I grip the […]

Psalm 46

At Christ Church Anglican, Savannah, I was touched and encouraged recently by a Sunday school teaching by Father Marc Robertson. Discussing Psalm 46, Father Marc shared a personal moment of darkness in his life and how Psalm 46 had been such a consolation. To me that’s teaching at its most penetrating. The text and how […]

George Whitefield: They Count Now

  Mark Noll, author of “America’s God,” suggests that the foundation for the American Revolution was laid by The Great Awakening. How is it then, without communication,that an awakening occurred? Was there an underground network the history books missed?  No, there was no underground network; but there was George Whitefield.   Mr. Wesley helped out […]

The Wire

The Wire lured me in like a Snickers lures a sugar-holic. Three long episodes on a Saturday afternoon so I went to bed that night muttering street thug lingo like put a cap in that m-f-a, he be the snitch or this here America, man. Some social scientist might claim I was appropriating. Old white […]

Here’s a baseball poem with references to lines from other poets. Cento: The Iterative Shortstop Something there is that will not glove a ball. Mitts fall apart; the webbing is too tight. Wild men who leap and drop it in mid-flight— What but design of darkness to appall? Nor is the art of bobbling hard […]