Book of Jamez

55 y/o malcontent, something of a writer

Author: Jamez

  • foster home

    brown house now blue
    gray hair then and now too
    Ma in rocker knitting
    Pa in recliner

    fear crawls up my spine
    my bags packed, all that is mine
    social worker pressures shoulder
    keeps me from running

    dinner together, conversation and laughter
    alien world, foreign notions – food a plenty
    tears delay that first night,
    though hard fought, buried deep

    rules, responsibility, chores
    wake up myself for school
    wash dishes, mow lawns
    allowance? what’s that?

    foster brother and i
    share smokes and stories
    on the front patio
    now enclosed, then exposed

    three years teach me, show me love me
    five years gone, back i come to make right
    show them i’ve found the light
    love unconditional, no exceptions

    dc bound, to find my way
    just call anytime
    no questions asked
    you can always come home

    breast cancer scare,
    tears unhindered
    stream down my cheeks
    fear strikes deep and hard

    twenty years later, college bound
    ma and pa, rhonda and greg
    come to see the sites,
    nope!
    to see me off, wish me well, show me love

    the family i didn’t choose
    forced upon me by action of youth
    became the one that mattered most
    showed me the truth of love itself

  • Rain

    Then:

    Water streams down my smiling face, my bare feet slap against the blacktop. The cuffs of my jeans the darkest of blue, drenched from the endless puddles I’ve walked through. The Lightning flashes in the blackness and a trickle runs down my back, raising the level of excitement, the fun, the rain.

    Now:

    Cars drive through the puddles, sending a cascade of water on my slacks. My tattered blue umbrella-two of its spires bent and rusty-assist the water onto my pressed shirt. My rage rising with each drop of rain, my briefcase bombarded by the wind-comes undone. Papers float, just out of reach landing in the cold wet street.

    Somewhere it all changed, rain ceased to be entertainment and became a nuisance. What was once a welcome friend, a refreshing play time, bogs me down drenches my work, my life and engages my rage.

    I wish the rain would wash away the taint of man and return me to the time rain was a joy.

  • Half Way

    Half way through the semester almost, the point where you can still withdraw without penalty from a class is nearing fast… But, so is spring break!

    I’m having the write poetry for class, not to sure of myself, but I attempted to write three poems, one I don’t like at all… perhaps one more try.

    Self defense is still kicking my behind, wow, its a real work out.

    Cats are good, readjusting to life after dog sitting.

  • Gravity pulls on my eyes

    The dog sitting is over, but the dogs did manage to wake me almost every day at 3:00 ish in the morning… as a result, my sleep pattern is a little wacky and i’m tired.

    This morning snow is falling, the grasses and cars are covered with a light coat of snow and the roads are wet.

    Nothing else new… but thought I’d better post something…

    tired

  • Ah Love!

    SUCKS

    Sure, it’s Valentines day and I could write about how wonderful it is that couples like Donna & Chris, Cristy and Peter, Mark & Robert, Michelle & Neil, Pat & Brenda, Suzanne and Randy, Zelda and Harlan all have their true loves at their side… YUCK! Screw you all!

    Those of us single, lonely trying to stay warm with only the nearness of a cat or blow up doll as the case may be… WE are the ones that need something today… would a box of chocolates be out of the question for us loveless? Us forgotten? Us terminally single?

    So take your flowers, your candies, and romantic dinners… food poisoning upon all of you, wretched, love struck fools!

    Ah Love!

    By the way, Happy Birthday Zelda!

  • Why I Hate Destiny

    You do things for friends, things you wouldn’t normally do, like go to that wedding just so she has a date or eat at that restaurant that only serves fish when your allergic to seafood or watching her dogs while she’s on a cruise.

    I’m not a dog hater, I like most animals and find they like me as well. Hell, I have two cats at home (Q and Mouse) who adore me. I love Suzanne’s dogs, Cotton and Simba and I loved Rocky… Its Destiny I hate.

    Destiny, the Shih Tzu with the mother of all oral fixations, she’s been licking everything in her path for the last 12 years. She’s a black and white hairball totally dedicated to her mother. She knows she’s the queen bee, she is the favored, the one that goes with mommy on trips the one that is always on her lap.

    Why do I hate her? Simple, at 3:02 a.m. she had a conversation with her siblings, placed a bet I’d wager…

    “Want to get a treat out of Uncle Jamez?” she asked

    Cotton and Simba both look doubtful that she can accomplish this task, but the confidence in her eyes persuade them to believe her.

    “You two just play along, and we’ll have a week of extra treats and luxury, Uncle Jamez is easy.”

    At 3:08 a.m. she sets her plan in motion, runs up to Uncle Jamez’s face and starts licking away, he pushes her away and says stop… not to be discouraged, she barks, not once or twice but 37 times right into his ear… the other two dogs, move around, Cotton paws at him and whimpers just a little… Simba, just standing up makes noise to wake war zone.

    Sure enough, Jamez wakes up, assuming it must be 5:00 or 6:00 to let the dogs out for their morning business… but on his way he sees the clock… 3:10 a.m. Lets the dogs out anyway, lets them back in and sure enough gives them a treat….

    This scene repeats at 5:00.

    I HATE DESTINY

  • With Great Power…

    The wind slams against frosted windows this February morning. The smell of a hickory fire, and sizzling bacon emanate through the kitchen, in my hand is a scalding cup of coffee, grounds from the bottom speckle my tongue.

    The dog, Hermes, scratches feverently at the door, needing to do his business. Had I known he would be this much of a handful, I would have left him homeless on the street. I reach to scratch behind his ears as I rise, truly appreciating the companionship he offers, and open the door to the blustery wind long enough to let him out. As I sit to enjoy my bacon and coffee, I’m interrupted by the dogs barking, he can’t be done already, I know the cold must bite through his mane as it does my bones.

    I arise to permit him back in, but as I do I see what the dog has been barking at… a woman, a white shawl covers her head and she is facing away from the wind, sheltering what I don’t know. Her shoulders slumped, head heavy, I rush out the door in my long johns to rush her in; the winter is enemy to all God’s creatures this day. I don’t notice until I’m upon her that she is black, a slave, a runaway perhaps.

    Well, regardless of her color, she must come in from the cold. I cough to get her attention, the howling wind had masked my approach, as I cough she turns suddenly, almost dropping a package… a bundle, a child. God has sent me two lives this day.

    I bring the girl child and her young into my home, Hermes following, tail wagging his message delivered.

  • Sounds of Silence…

    My MP3 player broke on the way to school on Wednesday, which is kind of sucky. I tried to reset it, it said: Reinstall Firmware. So I brought it home and tried to reinstall it’s programs, but then it said: internal hardware problem… which I’m not sure what that means. Kind of a light rattle in there now, means something came loose I imagine.

    So, my ride to school will be a lot less music driven. Means I’ll have to pay attention to the cars, birds and sky.

    I have my first Algebra test of the semester today, and boy am I unsure of myself. Graphing, ordered pairs, lines, slope of a line… Yeah, I can see where this will come in handy in the real world.

  • Becoming a Woman

    The growth of her breasts and the coming of her “monthly visitor” are significant changes in a woman, but they are not the crowning moment of womanhood.

    It’s not sex, any boy or girl can have sex foolishly, sloppily, mistakenly. Are there fifty year old girls? Yes, and 50 year old boys out number them three to one.

    Where is the divining line of womanhood? It’s when they stand up and say “I’m the same as you; no less, no different. My worth is your worth and my rights are your rights; my destiny is my own to make.”

    A woman is a woman when they accept who they are and stoically steer their own course.

  • Mother's Milk

    My first essay this semester was entitled Mother’s Milk, I had to find animal symbolism in the story “A White Heron”. The professors comments were: I LOVE (underlined twice) this interpretation. You might also see the cow as the opportunist that Sylvia is not.
    To read the short story: go to http://www.public.coe.edu/~theller/soj/awh/heron.htm

    My essay follows:

    Mother’s Milk

    (Animal Symbolism in A White Heron)

    Though not the white heron, the heroine or villain, the cow in the story; A White Heron, plays an important part nonetheless. Introduced in the first paragraph as a “plodding, dilatory provoking creature…” it represents in this story hope in an otherwise struggle for life.

    Almost every night of the summer, Sylvia or her grandmother would have to search for the cow that had hidden itself far from home; the continued search for continued sustenance. The cow, like the end of any journey, keeps itself hidden by learning to silence the bell, making the search and the journey home that much longer. Never even so much as a Moo until your patience is spent, that’s the way with all life, the cow and its milk support these two. However, once you find it the cow strolls steadily along, as if the game were fun, but now its time for the comforts of home.

    When first approached by the stranger and his whistle, she abandons the cow to its own fate; fear often makes us abandon our hope. One out of the ordinary whistle, not the friendly love song of the bird, but a determined whistle of a man (she says boy). Bring the cow and the man home together, meaning the man brings home the bacon (OK, no pigs in the story, but I had to).

    Even after falling in love with the villain the cow remains a central character, the villain (as I choose to view him) and Sylvia bring the cow back together. Wonderfully symbolic is that she “smiled with pleasure” driving the cow home together, running into the spot where just the night before she had been frozen in terror. Terror is gone now replaced by the ease at which her livelihood is brought home with the aid of the man.

    The cow, a symbol of hope and sustenance, searched for and brought home each night. The end of each days journey, and made that much sweeter with a man at your side. The man enters the picture, but the cow (hope) still hides each night in bushes far away, waiting only for us to seek it. Not the central character, but it helps us to make the $10 that much of a sweeter reward, knowing that each days struggle would perhaps lessen a bit. “Many a night Sylvia heard the echo of his whistle haunting the pasture path as she came home with the loitering cow.” Even after the man leaves, hope remains, but we have to journey for it and make it home.