February 2012
14 posts
1 tag
2 tags
Mulberry Road
That old silo left standing in the middle of the field. Does it feel the cold air down to its crumbling? I imagine it. An iron plow or a hand… A dry well. Not like her. All flour & prayers. All crow’s feet. Even faded stones left. I can hear the songs.
-J.A. Stump
1 tag
2 tags
Gleo
She sat still like a cloud seatbelted rocking chair delirium Forked hand ruler marked white scarf her classroom She called his name it was not the sun it was memory.
2 tags
A Toy Box Made of Pine
My brother is a box of broken toys. Not his toys, my toys – not toys at all, But a collection of wrecked memories, Forlorn in a box next to old bicycles. His footprints fill our father’s, Heavy, slim and always striding. Mine are wider, light… barely Headed in the other direction. An Osage Orange rooted in his head, Gnarled branches that eat blades. Dry leaves covering the ground And an...
1 tag
2 tags
Old Hendrick’s
He sat alone against a maple, while the colossal whirled above. The winds argued, through broken branches, above all else, about her whispers. A reflection loomed, deeper than him, forged hunger forgotten with age. His words failed, grating the hushed murmuring wild… mattered little to them. His feet cracked, allowed the dirt to confess love, to begin again.
-J.A. Stump
January 2012
28 posts
1 tag
1 tag
2 tags
Custodian
Those soldiers of old, sepia despite the light, armed with hammer and sickle. Mechanical creatures, all rickety and roaring. The pounding of smoke rising. The graveyard of wood, green seas of sustain. Mists on the morning hang idly Endlessly waving, as if to say hello or farewell. Cawing, a kind calling, for them.
-J.A. Stump
1 tag
2 tags
I Dreamed My Father Was Wading the River of Death
The moon was there— languid cow eye. The woodstove reeked of dust and death A windmill needed grease and wind… was lonesome. The garden, over-grown again a spade forever rotten. A shed that was once red peeled and pleaded. Split oaks were piled waiting for their funeral fire. My old man yelled— his shadow laughed....
2 tags
2 tags
2 tags
Brackish
We walked by the river that night. A steelhead warned of our migration— our undoing in the upstream. Lonely beddings later in life… A gray fox yawned. Our steps echoed off dying willows and called back to everything. It was heaven. It was empty graves. The water calmed cooled the skin. Light lingered through branches with black birds and promises… half afloat half gone.
-J.A. Stump
Boll Weevil.. testing out the new fiddle mic.
Stump, Miller & Dube - Lonesome John (live)
Stump, Miller & Dube - Rabbit Where’s...
9 tags
2 tags
Knoxville
There was green amid the brown as the old man shrugged the rain off his too-warm shoulders. The sun looked over tired through a blanket of gray like a soft-light bulb. Power lines hung from crosses cut the hillside like a born-again friend – not really a friend. Somewhere a bird sang solo native-tongued cawing sounds it was high and lonesome.
-J.A. Stump
2 tags
Alarka
Like stones piled a hearth steel blade against her hip Naked ash and oak moan The old man smoked another some star quit blinking again Mist danced on the hillside Dogs barked at a black bear like misery making love Leaves rotted like organs
-J.A. Stump
December 2011
8 posts
How I Came to Be a Fiddler →
Interesting article written by old time fiddler Wilson Douglas.
1 tag
Name change
Just a quick heads up, changed the name from “for the beard” to EndlessFields to reflect my domain name. Will be posting a bit more of my own music and poetry as well as the same ol’ randomness. Thanks for the continued following folks.
