New poems on the Mule: March 1, April 1, and June 15. The April 1 (Poetry Month) Issue will have more poets and poems than the Dead Mule has ever published at one time. (NOTE: All poems for March and April are already accepted or in our In-box, unless you have been contacted personally.) Upcoming [...]

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

My heart holds a special place in the South. I love Virginia beach. My stomach growls each time Southern fried chicken is mentioned. And most of all the horse ranch of peace.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

I hail from Jesse Stuart’s Greenup County Kentucky. Growing up, my life revolved around a copper nose beagle and the woods that stretched behind our family home. Stories of my family reflected how I saw myself being; the type of man I might become. One of my grandfathers, “Dad-doll” as we called him, was a barnstormer pilot by passion. My other grandfather, “Hey-dad”, was a man well known for being “The Law” as a State Trooper. You learn a lot about struggle growing up in eastern Kentucky. You also learn a lot about beauty from the land, people, and critters that make that place their home. As a poet, I have been guided by that world and nurtured by its wild spirit.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

I was born, raised and still live in Atlanta but my folks hail from East Tennessee where they take a certain pride in modifying the language to suit their regional sensibilities. I am therefore able to understand the meaning of such phrases as “he’s go a hitch in his get-along, its fixin’ to come a frog strangler, and its colder’n I’ve ever knowed it to be.” Being from Atlanta I also understand that all carbonated beverages are “Cokes” even if they are not. I also enjoy a good chuckle when visitors ask me how to get to Peachtree as there hundreds of streets with that name in them.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

I was raised in the rural Mississippi of summer days spent picking and shelling vegetables from daddy’s garden, of Sunday morning and evening and Wednesday night church services, of riding a school bus down dusty, winding dirt roads. I married at 19 and moved with my husband to New Orleans at the age of 21 where I’ve lived ever since. 32 years. I am a southerner but, first and foremost, I am a New Orleanian. (Doesn’t everyone feel that way about their city?) I’ve walked a 6 mile second line through the city (among many others), drank Abitas at Rock ‘n Bowl while dancing to The Wild Magnolia’s, watched the Indians preen on Bayou St. John and sat on the levee pondering the holy wonder of living in the most exciting and beautiful city in the world. In my wildest dreams during those long, silent days in Mississippi I never could have imagined I would live this life.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

My maternal line stems from Yadkin County (pronounced “Yakin” by residents) where they settled into tobacco farming and moonshining. As a child, I played in the creek (crick) behind my house and stayed barefoot as long as possible each year. I have lived in Richmond, VA (the closest to the Mason-Dixon line), Atlanta, GA, and Winston-Salem, N.C.. I grew up on green beans flavored with fatback and fried chicken fried only with Crisco. I recently discovered that not everyone knows that chicken and waffles DO go together and that fried squash IS supposed to have that slightly burnt color. I must confess that my paternal side hails from the north, but I guess we can’t all be perfect.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

I was born in Rutherford County, NC and lived the first 18 years of my life there before I became the Gypsy. I had a mule named “Ole John” and a hound named “Ole Brownie.” (I have photos of me with each, if I need to show proof!) The earliest food I remember was beans, ‘taters & ‘maters. I can give authentic first-hand information on an outhouse.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

In the far distant past, my childhood memories resound like the thunder of an approaching storm. There were evenings heavy with the smell of a cut hay field ready to bale. In the twilight of evening the cicadas charmed one another with their raucous songs. One of Little Ma’s quilts was spread on the lawn where my little brother and I laid watching the Dragon Flies dart about. You could smell the fragrant bliss of fresh caught bream in the a frying pan being cooked for supper. Mingled with the sounds and smells of an Arkansas evening was the gentle laughter of Momma and Little Ma. Oh how I dearly miss those sweet Southern moments of life. I never envied my cousins that lived in cities of concrete and steel. Never wanted the smell of exhaust fumes, the roar of engines, or the hurried stampede of crowds. I was raised in the comfort of love and the security of my kin. I was raised among the oaks, cedars, and tupelos where the smells and sounds of life still play their music in my heart. As I grow older I welcome the sharp vision with which I view life for these are the observations that have stamped my being with the soul of a Southerner.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

I was born and raised in Alabama. I have to confess, I don’t like grits, but I love collard greens, mustard greens, chard, kale, turnip greens—any kind of greens. I also love fried chicken, hush puppies, peach pie, and icies. I grew up in a neighborhood where the dogs ran free and chased the milkman in his milk truck. The milkman, whose name was Dick Gallegher, used to let kids ride in the truck and he also gave us lumps of the wonderful crushed ice to cool us off in the hot summers.

Southern Legitimacy Statement (perhaps, #5):

I was born in the south. I grew up in the south. I moved away from the south. But even when I was thousands of miles away, I spoke like a southerner, was identified as a southerner. It makes you stand out, even when you are not doing anything to make yourself stand out. There’s no way to stop being southern, no reason to want to. You have an interesting accent and people are never sure whether you are really a dumb hick or if maybe you’re just lying in the tall grass waiting for them to discover they have less smarts than the hillbilly they’ve been pokin’ fun at. Yeah, I moved away from the south but I never stopped being a southerner. Never will. I’m back home to stay now.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

During the Civil War, the eastern border of Kansas was embroiled in dispute, enough so that the state was dubbed “Bleeding Kansas”. I did not live in Kansas at that time. However, I have bled while visiting Missouri. Once while chasing an armadillo around our campfire along the Arkansas line, I slipped on a discarded plastic croc and fell into a thicket of thorn bushes. My southern friends laughed and offered to pull me free right after their supper of sausage and grits. In the meantime, the armadillo escaped below my legs and disappeared into a wonderfully starlit night. In the distance I could hear muscle cars on the highway throbbing into the last liquor store before hitting the first Arkansas dry county. The blood I lost dripped into the leaves of black-jacks and sumac, and there it remains to this day as some sort of testimonial.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

I mentioned the names of my southern relatives — my mama’s folks. LueBertha is the title of my poem. In this poem I am contemplating how she got that name. I always wondered about how my Alabamian relatives got their names. My mother has a cousin named Nine and a sister (one of many) named Minnie Pearl. My mama, she “wrung the necks/of chickens and fed the hogs./She says, ‘I be dog!” She still says y’all and has her southern drawl. She eats chittlins and grits and collard greens and cornbread. I was born and raised in Connecticut, but I’m an Alabamian by blood.

Southern Legitimacy Statement:

Both sides of my family are from Kentucky. On my mother’s side, I’m a direct descendant of Henry Clay. I may be a distant relative of James Dickey. My Scotch-Irish father’s family is also from Kentucky.