Stewart Acuff

Jan 29

The River will bring you joy

Flyin’ across the Atlantic, middle of night Levon Helm’s voice cured by cigarettes and Whiskey comes on my earphones. He’s singing The Weight and his soul enters My own, this man from Helena, Ark just a Little downriver from

Jan 29

Flight to London

Flight to London ready to shut the door Gonna hawk some books in England Get around, sing my songs and more Read the verse, the prose and raise sand While we try to catch the bosses Whose tricks for

Jan 25

Healing

She wanders the world Healing as she goes The earth, people and shows Love that sustains and gives, curled Out of her soul and heart A well that never runs out, part No, the biggest part of who she is.   ©

Jan 22

Another Weekend

So here we are on this historic weekend Our nation will inaugurate a second time our First Black President while we remember Dr. King and all those who marched with him Traveled with him, lived with death While preaching

Jan 22

Happy Day

Waking this historic day in Atlanta The day our nation formally Inaugurates its first Black President for the Second time – hallelujah, hallelujah! Waking in the hotel I slept so many parts of Nights in his first history-making run Waking

Jan 16

Dr. King

Dr. King They will tell you he was a drum major. All about service and leading the band. He was that. But Dr. King was so much more. Warrior chief for justice and peace and radical love. Jesus love. Nonviolent fighter,

Jan 10

Small Bar

Sliver of a table in a small, noisy bar Or tavern we chatted: life, loves our Loves, especially, frustrating, mad Though they make us and as bad As they can be Necessary it seemed to us key Critical maybe not

Jan 8

Coffee At Night

I wonder in the tiny night-morning hours If the Ethiopian coffee tonight, ours, In the shop of folks getting ready for church Was worth the sleeplessness and the lurch And the seamless trip between sleep and Dreams.  Except I

Jan 7

Anti-Fracking Poem

This poem I wrote last spring is reprinted from Blue Collar Review, a great journal of working class and progressive poetry. In Pennsylvania They punch into our ground To blow up our earth and release gas and

Jan 1

Late at Night

Sometimes late when sleep is held at bay All those memories come to play You know, they’re never far When a chance comes the night to mar And the memories reopen the breaks in the Heart unhealed and time

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