Home :: Fiction :: Poetry :: Essays :: SHOP :: Blog

On February 2, 2015, while we watch as induction ceremonies commence in Raleigh NC, we recall just a scant two years ago to the day, Feb 2. 2013, when the Dead Mule School of Southern Literature posted four poems by Shelby Stephenson

How fitting to see this inspired poet inducted North Carolina’s new Poet Laureate. Congratulations, sir.

Shelby Stephenson.

Buttermilk Pie

1 ½ cups sugar
1 stick melted butter
1 tsp vanilla
2/3 cup buttermilk
Mix all ingredients and
Pour into unbaked shell
375 for 35-40 minutes

Ole Buttermilk Pie
I’m keeping my lips locked on you
No one knows our secret
I’ll share you anyhow

Ole Buttermilk Pie
Can’t you see me at Maytle’s table
We’re as pleased as mother and son can be
Waiting to slice dessert

Ole Buttermilk Pie
I’m telling you now
Maytle Samantha made the pie for me

We also published five poems by Mr. Stephenson in March 2009. A true Southern treasure and a remarkable Dead Mule contributor. Interesting indeed is Joseph Bathanti’s Pittsburgh connection as the Mule searches for Southern Literary Art in non-southern places. Only the Mule sees such linear moments…

NC Literary Hall of Fame


“I have found that anything that comes out of the South is going to be called grotesque by the Northern reader, unless it is grotesque, in which case it is going to be called realistic.”
— Flannery O’Connor
from her 1960 essay, Some Aspects of the Grotesque in Southern Fiction.

 Let us all consider the Mule in southern fiction
and bless them every one.

What to do with a dead mule…

If you have a dead mule, do not suffer it to pollute the atmosphere by drawing it away to the woods, or any other out-of-the-way place, but remove it a short distance only from your premises, and put down four or five loads of muck or sods, place the carcass thereon and sprinkle it over with quick lime, and cover immediately with sods or mould sufficient to make, with what had been previously added, twenty good wagon-loads; and you will have within twelve months a pile of manure worth $20 for any crop you choose to put it on.

If any dogs manifests too great a regard for the enclosed carcass, shoot them on the spot.
–adapted from a 1895 treatise on manure

OR read it. This Mule ain’t dead, yall.

We’ve got more coming online soon, give us some time to dig through the database.

Home :: Fiction :: Poetry :: Essays :: SHOP :: Blog ::

About | Search | Submissions | Holman's House | ARCHIVES

Southern Fiction, Poetry, Essays & More Since 1995
ISSN 1535-8488 :: Published in The South, USA
FEED on Brain Fertilizer™
The Assemblagist - Valerie MacEwan .