Backward Mutters Podcast

About Backward Mutters Podcast

At Backward Mutters I'll be posting thoughts on various topics of personal interest which will likely be limited to poetry, C.S. Lewis, and Jesus because, try as I may, I can't stop talking about either. backwardmutters.substack.com (https://backwardmutters.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast)

Publisher

Randall Edwards

Category

arts · religion & spirituality

Language

en

Explicit

No

First episode

18 Aug 2024

Latest episode

11 Oct 2026

Latest episodes

27 episodes in the feed.

1. 

   11 Oct 2026

   Just So

   Today’s poem was written in response to sentence I heard at a pastor’s denominational meeting about ten years ago. Community life is not always easy. Church community life is no exception. It is not without reason that God’s people are referred to as a flock of sheep — sheep being dependent upon care and may seem unappreciative of that care. For those in ministry being a shepherd can feel like thankless work. But then again, shepherds (at least in the Bible) were not counted among the social elite of the day so there’s not much leverage in trying to assert any elevation among others. The sentence I heard was, “We like our leaders just so.” As I reflected on the sentence, I got a little miffed. It sounded a little “goldilocks” for me. You know, “This chair is too high,” or “This porridge is too cold.” As I worked out the poem, it worked on me. We do much better when we all see ourselves as the sheep of the flock of the Good Shepherd. So in honor of pastor appreciation month. Here’s a poem for a “leader who is just so…” We’ll I’ll let you decide. Just So We like our leaders just so-- Not too brash, not too bold. We like them humble (but not so much so). We like our leaders just so. We like them selfless, Who serve without putting on a show. Not pretentious, ostentatious, Modest and humble, Not too high but not too low. That's how we like our leaders. Just so, You know from the start, From the get go, we have no issue With receiving, following, heeding, We hope you got the memo. And we like you too, (We thought you'd like to know), We like our leaders. Just so We're clear (and although No one's perfect) we'd like you To be the closest to perfect Of anyone we know— Who'll play their part In our well-imagined dreams, Lead us in fulfilling all our schemes, Who is authentic down to their bones, Who really is, not merely seems, Someone we can trust more than anything. We like our leaders. We like our leaders just. So You'll need to measure up, Exude perfection, Reflect our fronting, our righteous reflection, Our confident, prosperous, self-projection. We like our leaders just. So, why are you wearing that towel? Why disrobed? Down on your knee? Why touch my feet as a slave? Why wash me? Why don't you speak, live up to the hype? Do the deeds which brought you fame? Are we to follow one so derided, disdained? Defend yourself, why scorn the shame? Why bear the cursing, take all the blame? We like our leaders just. So, you'll have to do better; You'll have rise higher; You'll have to break out Of this lamb of God game. You’ll need to make a better name If we're to follow you into your dominion; You may not like it, but that's our opinion. There's just no glory for a lion laid low Because we like our leaders just so. Get full access to Backward Mutters at backwardmutters.substack.com/subscribe (https://backwardmutters.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

2. 

   11 Sept 2026

   Climb

   Today’s poem is a tribute to the victims, rescuers, and survivors of the 9/11 terrorist attacks in 2001, and it was written and delivered at the 25th Anniversary Memorial Service honoring those victims held at the Public Safety Memorial Park in my hometown of Kernersville, North Carolina. In the poem, I mention two individuals whose actions have been remembered. In not mentioning other heroes who gave their lives at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon attack, or the crash of Flight 93 near Shanksville, PA, I do not want to diminish the many, heroic acts which took place. One cannot say enough about the first responders, volunteers, military personnel, and citizens who performed heroically and sacrificially. I have not been able to say all that needs saying, but I hope this serves as a start to what needs to be said. The poem is titled, “Climb.” Climb Just how many steps are enough to climb (https://www.firerescue1.com/9-11/articles/7-things-to-know-about-911-stair-climb-events-W2r84p2kxmxB3gnq/) In honor of the memory of those who died? At twenty-five years has it been enough time For those who ran to, fought back, gave lives? It has not. It is not too much for us to remember The victims and heroes of the eleventh of September. We gather here on this mourn of September To honor the day as the sun climbs, Recall where we were…doing…what we remember When we heard the news about all those who died, Watched desperate rescuers work to save lives, When all we’d known became another time. When Flight 11 (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Airlines_Flight_11) struck, did we know at that time All we would lose that severe September? Did we count our loved ones — the gift of their lives? Did we, when heading out our door, climbing Into that day, think this might be the day we died, Tell them we loved them, not forget, but remember? When leaving his home did Welles Crowther (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Welles_Crowther) remember To bring that bandana—not forget it this time? Those he helped save, though he himself died, Will never forget the man that September Who in a bandana led them out, then climbed Back up the stairs to help save other lives. Rick Rescorla (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rick_Rescorla) had lived many lives, Fought foreign wars (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/We_Were_Soldiers_Once...and_Young); he still remembered, Sang “Men of Cornwall steady*… (https://archive.org/details/78_a-men-of-harlech-b-all-through-the-night-c-david-of-the-white-rock_melachrinos-orch_gbia3041580a).” As he climbed Leading others out, on his cell for his last time With his wife, the bride of his September Saying, “You made my life….” just before it died. On that day 2,977 people died, We stand by this oak** to honor their lives Those who made a choice before that September To serve, their duty of love to others remember Who saw the moment, knew this was the time To do the hard thing, lay down their life and climb. For the thousands who died, we remember. As each toll rings lives, tolls for us: it is time, Honor them this September: choose the others and climb. 11 September 2026, Kernersville, North Carolina * the song which Rick Rescorla sang, "Men of Harlech (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Men_of_Harlech)" is the tune which follows the poems reading. **"the oak" is pictured below and is a tree which was grown from an acorn collected from the World Trade Center 9/11 Memorial Plaza. Recorded Music: Melachrino’s Orchestra. “Men of Harlech; All through the Night; David of the White Rock.” EMI, EPX.5. 78 rpm. Internet Archive. Accessed September 6, 2026. https://archive.org/details/78_a-men-of-harlech-b-all-through-the-night-c-david-of-the-white-rock_melachrinos-orch_gbia3041580a (https://archive.org/details/78_a-men-of-harlech-b-all-through-the-night-c-david-of-the-white-rock_melachrinos-orch_gbia3041580a). Get full access to Backward Mutters at backwardmutters.substack.com/subscribe (https://backwardmutters.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

3. 

   29 Aug 2026

   Fall Again

   For the past month, I’ve had the joy of participating in Rabbit Room Poetry (https://open.substack.com/pub/rabbitroompoetry)’s, Poetry Workshop led by Wild Goose Words (https://open.substack.com/pub/wildgoosewords) poet, Ashlyn McKayla Ohm (https://substack.com/profile/133566914-ashlyn-mckayla-ohm). I don’t know why I am always surprised, but there are so many amazing poets out there putting words together in ways that ignite my imagination and inspire my heart. Over the course of the four week workshop, groups of poets gathered via Zoom to workshop their own poems together. It was wonderful. (Poets are the best!) It was a particular blessing to be able to see other poets enter into the life-giving experience of creating in a supportive and engaging community. I was first introduced to a group of poets like this during the pandemic in 2020 when Rabbit Room’s annul October conference, Hutchmoot, had to go “Homebound.” The Poetry Pub writing community held a Zoom open mic as Hutchmoot Homebound concluded, and I read, for the first time in my life, a poem I’d written, out loud to others. It was an incredible blessing. It has been so much of a blessing that I’ve continued to write with, be inspired by, and get to know those poets more deeply over the six years since a that open mic, and that gathering has continued each month since. During these four weeks, it was especially encouraging to see many whom I’ve gotten to know through that open mic, leading breakout rooms during this workshop. All are such good poets and people: Charissa Sylvia (https://substack.com/profile/242038267-charissa-sylvia), Mark Rico (https://substack.com/profile/7141654-mark-rico), Elizabeth Wickland (https://substack.com/profile/23657667-elizabeth-wickland), Rachel S. Donahue (https://substack.com/profile/179240243-rachel-s-donahue), Ashlyn McKayla Ohm (https://substack.com/profile/133566914-ashlyn-mckayla-ohm), Jen Rose Yokel (https://substack.com/profile/4948960-jen-rose-yokel)… and those are only the ones I personally know. And what’s more, this poetry workshop introduced me to other wonderful people and poets: Madeline Gegenheimer (https://substack.com/profile/531710987-madeline-gegenheimer), Anna Taylor (https://substack.com/profile/23482452-anna-taylor), Daye Phillippo (https://substack.com/profile/14094378-daye-phillippo), and others. (Have told you that poets are the best?) As I said, over the course of the four weeks, we workshopped our poems with one another. The listening ears, encouraging words, helpful feedback, and camaraderie blessed my socks off. The poem I wrote was not the one I started out to write. Our breakout room facilitator shared a draft of a poem she was working on that talked about tomatoes. Did you know that there is a variety of tomato is named, Mortgage Lifter (https://www.burpee.com/products/tomato-mortgage-lifter-prod000998?srsltid=AfmBOorUGXaQWZ3vg4-nvjDgFu-a5EK2AV7MScmpxM2TDfFuNeHje01X)? What a name! —I kid you not. And by the way, Breakout Room 13 is still waiting to hear the next draft of that poem. [Ehem, we’re looking at you Daye Phillippo (https://substack.com/profile/14094378-daye-phillippo).] The subject of tomatoes hijacked my brain. I was taken back to the Augusts of my formative years and later to my own adulthood, when August was the time for canning tomatoes and especially making my Great-Great-Grandmother Sommers’ Chili Sauce. Canning is an all-day production, and making chili sauce is a vinegar, spice, and sugar up to your elbows olympic event. That memory being so personal — especially this year, I took up the season of the month of August. Through the encouragement of the workshop and the challenging of Breakout Room 13’s members, I wrote and rewrote versions of the poem. The poem is (these poems are), what I understand to be an autumnal. It does tinge with nostalgia — longing can and fall does lend itself to the sentiment, and sentiments can take on manifold expressions. Though I won’t read it for you here, I’ve included the first version of the poem at the bottom to satisfy any curiosity. But, I’ll read the latest version for you now. I say “latest” because, as one poet has said, poems set up like jello. And I agree they do take a final shape, but though they can congeal into a shape, they really don’t seem to ever stop wiggling. So thank you poets. Thank you Rabbit Room. Thank you Poetry Pub. Thank you Breakout Room 13 to which I was lucky enough to be assigned. The poem is so-far titled, August, though I am liking, Fall Again. It is dedicated to Jennifer Edwards (https://substack.com/profile/90939120-jennifer-edwards) who is my autumn delight. August August smells like tomatoes stewing, Tangles in spider webs, Foams with hot-breaks like malt-ale brewing, Sounds evening with katydids. August clings damp with practice-field grass, Blows with a hurricane, Cools on the counter to mason jar snaps, Steams like afternoon sun-rain. August steps to a marching band’s beat Rolls ‘way with the first school bus Comes parent-proud but leaves bittersweet, Empty nests — now two of us. August grows you, summer now over, Teased gold in silhouette-light, Though wrinkled with years, my fall lover, You glow with autumn-delight. Here’s the first version of the poem. It’s different but same. August August smells like a peck of tomatoes Stewing in the kitchen’s largest stock pot Where the incense-air hangs heavy with vinegar. August tangles like spider webs, Walks you into memories plied with surprise— Wondering, How on earth did I get here? August strings with summer’s symphony; Cicadas tymbal while crickets and katydids Bow in the setting watermelon light. August clings like new-mowed grass, Morning-dew damp, stuck to skin and workout clothes When two-a-day football practice begins. August sounds like canning— Mason jars jostle in their boiling water bath, Lids seal summer with each Pip! Pop! Snap! August chases Bermuda Highs away; Untooths July’s dog days with hurricanes; Hushes the heat and breaks the drought. August marches to a drum line cadence The music of competition echos and calls From the stadium lights that are nearer than we know. August rolls like a first week school bus, Coming too early or late, ready or not, A quick stop at the corner, then gone. August schools. (Can there be too much of a good thing?) The math of weeks adds up to Labor Day When you change out the closet, close the pool till May. August teases with autumn light September’s coming that mirrors spring But now wiser, saving the best for last? August proves, begins to leaven Summer’s green, Ferments ordinary into fall’s wine-reds and gold, Bubbles up, rising now with different dreams. August brings us to our harvest fair evenings Where we walk midways with crow’s feet smiles Into The At Last — gathered up into the welcome arms Of Holiday. Get full access to Backward Mutters at backwardmutters.substack.com/subscribe (https://backwardmutters.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

Reach and audience

Public platform figures. Ratings count people who left a rating, not total listeners.

Apple Podcasts (US)

5.0 / 5

2 ratings

Podcast Authority Score: 11 / 100

A composite of feed quality, social presence, YouTube performance and engagement. Read the methodology.

Quality

10

Social presence

0

YouTube

0

Engagement

32

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