Book of Jamez

55 y/o malcontent, something of a writer

Author: Jamez

  • Dismal Peak

    As small towns go, you can’t get much smaller than Dismal Peak; one thousand people lived there, give or take a few. No roads went through the town, as the town was off to the side at the base of a snowy mountain peak. The main attractions in town were four taverns and a bowling alley on the outskirts; the closest school was a fifty minute school bus ride. Not that it mattered that much, not many people in Dismal Peak had children that still lived close by, most people moved from the area as soon as they were of legal age. Nothing exciting ever happened in Dismal, or so it seemed to the folks that were in a rush to move; and for the most part they were right.

    The Felstone family could trace its roots from present day to the founding of Dismal Peak, a proud Norwegian family of blond haired women of blue eyes and perked lips, and men made of barrel chests and bulging biceps. Well except Ray, at eighteen he was an anomaly, a toothpick in girth with dark hair and glasses perched over his nose. His family didn’t understand him with a book in his hand inside his room rather than the outdoors like the rest of the family. The second child of four, Ray just always felt out of place. His younger brother could beat him in a wrestling match, if Ray would actually partake in the challenge, probably even his younger sister. In school he belonged to the choir, frustrating his teacher who could hear his perfect pitch and baritone only if she were standing next to him in a room all alone.

    His older sister Julie was an old crone at the age of twenty, having already married the local football star, she took every opportunity to point out how Ray didn’t measure up or just wasn’t good enough. Julie was solely responsible for a nickname Ray had been branded with since elementary school-Germs, many people still snickered at him as he walked down the street in remembrance of that name.

    John, his younger brother, was the talk of the town; a real jock a member of all the local sports teams and the youngest member of the volunteer fire department at the age of 16. Every girl in town could be found writing “Mr and Mrs. John Felstone” over and over again on their notebooks. John used this charisma to have any of the girls he wanted, like kites he would keep them dangling in the sky hoping to be swept up in his arms forever. His contempt for his older brother was apparent to all, all he ever wanted was a brother to compete with and lead by example, certainly not Ray.

    Of his entire family, Denise was the most understanding and supportive of her brother. She always took the time to find out what he was reading, and tried to engage him in activities that would lead to the outdoors or just with people outside the family, the attempts usually met with failure, but she never gave up. Denise shared the common characteristics of most other Felstones, her long blonde hair and blue eyes were admired by the boys in town, but she was a bit shy still at twelve.

    And while Pa Felstone would have approved of a more active, masculine son he never pressured Ray to do or be anything. Each afternoon upon returning from the factory, where he crafted steel tanks, Pa would sit in his recliner and fall fast asleep, his snore rattling the windows ever so slightly. Pa’s naps always lasted until Ma would call for dinner, he get up and come sit at the head of the table a glass of buttermilk already there waiting for him.

    Ma Felstone was a homemaker, and she loved every minute of it, her quiet times were spent in her special sewing room making this or that, creating new looks for rooms with drapes, pillows or throws. One of the best cooks in the county, she had won awards at the fair, and was always the most sought after for local pot lucks. Ma always had dinner ready at 5:30 sharp, and the kids were always on hand, savoring the scents that would emanate from the kitchen. Ma always went out of her way to prepare meals special for Ray, he was the pickiest eater she had ever seen, no onions, mushrooms, sauces, or seasonings… she always worked to make everyone else happy.

    Ray might have never left Dismal Peak or his family home, he was content to spend the rest of his life remote and distant. Of course that was before the big snowstorm and the avalanche that changed everything…

  • Individual Writing Conferences

    ENG 112, today we had Individual Writing Conferences, to let each student know how they are doing in class.

    I sat down across from Professor Theile, written works collected in my folder, my journal ready for his inspection.

    “You’re getting an A in this class.” he says “Do you have any questions?”

    “No,” I say, and then think… yes. “Why am I getting an A?” I press

    “You’re a great writer and you participate in class.” he answers.

    “Yet, none of my papers have been given an ‘A’”

    He assures me that my poem, Foster Home is an A poem, and after looking at my work again, says this is great work you have no worries.

    OK, I guess he can live…. for now!

  • My Pa

    I don’t know how old he is, but today is my Pa’s birthday.
    The only real father I’ve ever had
    always there for me
    showed me things I didn’t know
    got me to mow lawns
    made me laugh
    taught me the value of naps, procrastination and eating

    I guess it’s appropriate that my poem “Foster Home” was read today in class, and given an asterisk saying I should have it published.

    Happy Birthday Pa, I love and miss you.

  • Fresh Coffee and Broad Grins

    It’s cold and I’m tired, hat pulled down low over my eyes I step into the 7-11. I can smell the coffee brewing right away, my destination is just ahead I can almost taste the coffee scalding its way down my throat.

    “Hi.” comes a voice, through the fog that is my morning. I glance up and see a handsome man, nice goatee and broad smile, he works here, I see the 7-11 name marks him Ray. “Hi.” I say in return.

    Fill up my coffee, two packets of Splenda and three creams, stirring them together till the color is a milky brown; I know it’s still to hot to drink, but God I want to, place one of their lids on and head toward the counter to pay for it.

    “I love your shirt.” Ray says, I have to look down, so tired I’m not sure what I’m wearing.

    “Oh, yeah this is one of my favorites,” one of my many Superman shirts, this one portrays him on a comic book cover, “I have a tattoo to match.” I say and start to roll up the sleeve of my jacket.

    “Your hat too,” he says, I realize I’m also wearing the hat and feel the fool. He probably thinks I’m a dork, “are you a collector? It looks good on you.”

    “Thanks.”

    “That’ll be $1.53.” he says, still grinning broadly.

    I pull two wrinkled one dollar bills out of my wallet and hand them to him, he punches some numbers into the register the drawer pops out and he slides the money into its place.

    “People collect stuff, it’s cool. I collect some stuff too…” he says and closes the drawer. Suddenly he realizes my hand is out waiting for my change and his grin disappears, and his face turns crimson. “I’m sorry, can’t believe I did that.” and hands me the 0.47 cents he owes me.

    “Thanks, I hope you have a great day.” I smile and start to walk out.

    “You too, you too” he says as the door slowly closes.

    As I enter the car, I turn one last time… there he is looking at me, that broad grin fresh on his face.

  • Spring Break

    The beach, the sun; scantilly clad, tan men …. ah, Spring Break.

    But not for me, I’m old and in Chesapeake, where its a little too chilly to wear a bathing suit outside. But there is good news, the trees are all blosoming… eyes are all irritated and itchy, sneezing… ah, spring.

  • DJ

    his tongue drops brandy on my lips
    heart pulses
    hard, hot, steel rod
    in my hand

    trace fingers over silken chest
    sweat trickles, salty sweet
    migrate to manhood
    thirst, hunger, greed… or need

    panting, groaning
    twin bed creaking
    pain and heat,
    friction so sweet

    legs a vice around him
    pulling him deeper, harder
    tempo, crescendo
    white lava spurts

    he growls and thrusts
    pain and need fulfilled
    with lust

  • An Hour Away

    It’s Wednesday, an hour away from Test II in Algebra II…
    I’ve done my homework, studied and studied some more, but still feel very unsure of myself.
    Math people, I’m convinced, are from another planet… or just plain crazy. Who else would find 600 different ways to add 2+2?

    Handed in my three original poems, two of which have been posted on here, the last one I’ll probably post when I get home.

    The only good part of today-it’s the last day before spring break… an entire week off from school… woo hoo!!!

  • Children's Hospital of Hopes and Dreams

    Rainbow halls and cubical stalls
    Ms Elliott’s smiling face
    Pink Flamingo’s in Chen’s space

    Nurses to the left, hearts full of love
    “Hello Mary Lou”, he coos
    Kim and Keetra, Diana too

    Marianne, Sonia and Donna right there
    Purple office is Ann’s, always will be
    CDC peeps come next, Von, Waldo and Z

    Social Workers en mass, near the fax
    Courtney, Allie, Sarah
    Albert, Cardia and Rashida

    Jacquelyn’s gone now, sent to heaven…
    Project CHAMP is down the hall
    With Denise and Phyllis, and Donna’s stall

    Debra having to hear me sing,
    Julia sneaking in the back way
    A different intern every day

    Janique and Denise, come and go
    Ebony behind the curtain… snore
    Oh so very many more…

    Five years is a long time
    To share hopes and dreams
    I sure miss my team

  • Recovery…

    I’m getting the impression from the news media that New Orleans is ok, as long as people can get drunk and rowdy! Hell, as long as we have alcohol and women flashing their tits in public… the American dream is still alive and well.

  • Curious George

    “People don’t need to worry about security.” George W. Bush

    Ah, but we do Monkey Boy! You and your people have been telling us to worry about security for 6 odd years… You can’t have it both ways! We can’t rely on Dick Cheney for security, he only shoots American’s.

    Attempts by you and Brokeback Cheney to get your terrorist/oil rich friends access to our ports will fail… I hope.

    Yes Mr. President, we have to worry about security, you and Dick are busy shooting old men.