Sons of Thunder

The Sons of Thunder

 

There were early warning signs that violence was on the way.  The two boys were untamed, unfettered, and usually unsupervised.  Their mother had disappeared mysteriously, leaving her husband alone with three children. The father refused any help from the community, insisting that the family would work out their own problems.  Alicia, the beautiful eldest child, reportedly kept the house running smoothly.  She and the boys, James and John, were always clean, fed, and well dressed. Their father, known to drink a bit but not to excess, paid the bills and saved money. Although the father was gone frequently and sometimes for long periods of time there wasn’t anything specifically anyone could point a finger at, yet we all knew there was danger lurking behind the façade.

Alicia never went on dates, although at sixteen she caught the eye of every eligible male in the surrounding areas.  Frankly, they were afraid to ask her out.  Her dad made it a point to seek out prospective suitors and let them know their lives were in danger around his house or around his daughter.  Alicia meekly followed orders, kept the house immaculate, and maintained her straight A average in high school.

John, the middle child, had an explosive temper that occurred with increasing frequency. Often I would confront him in school about some infraction and his face would become contorted with rage.  His voice would shake and obscenities would pour out. Sometimes I asked him to walk around the schoolyard in an effort to cool his anger.  I would watch him pick up a stick, point it at me, and pretend to shoot.  Since I knew he hunted the fields around the school and around my house it was reason for concern.  I knew he would seethe for hours until his anger finally abated.  John was also very intelligent.  He did well in his school subjects and also stayed informed about world politics. He had great plans for his future but I worried about his bouts of anger and how that anger controlled him at times.

John and James were unwelcome in neighboring homes because of their destructive hunting forays and their penchant for breaking things just for fun.  One day they followed their dog down the road and into the driveway of a neighbor’s house.  The dog chased chickens while the boys whooped their support.  Finally the neighbor stepped out of his house.  “You boys go home. I don’t want anything killing my chickens.”  The boys didn’t listen.  Instead they entered the barn and began breaking windows while the dog continued his relentless pursuit of squawking chickens.  The neighbor stepped out of his house onto his front porch, holding a shot-gun.  “Please take your dog home.  He doesn’t belong here. You go home, too!”  “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” 

The boys left, only to return a short time later with their dad.  He had two six shooters strapped to his sides, gunfighter style.  He confronted the neighbor.  “If you want to have a shoot-out, then let’s get to it.”  The neighbor backed down, uneasy about an altercation with a crazy man.  And so it went, from that moment the community shied away from any arguments with the dad.

The family business was another strange thing that was rarely discussed.  The dad made caskets.  The boys often bragged about their personal coffins, made from the finest materials and ready to be used. “You should see the polished wood and the blue silk.”  “When I die, dad will make mine even better,” the other replied.

James was known for his antics, his infectious smile, and his sudden angelic appearance.  He could be deeply in trouble and yet somehow escape unscathed.  Once, as a fifth grader, he had been caught peeping over a stall in the girl’s bathroom.  He received no punishment because he was so sorry it had ever happened.

One day in spring, after the fire at Christmas had burned the school totally, and we were in school at the church, a strange thing happened.  On this rare day James was sitting quietly in class trying to decipher the big words.  The teacher,  however, could not focus on the lesson.  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but there’s something that really stinks around here.”  She walked from chair to chair but to no avail.  She eventually walked to the closet.  “I think something died in there,” she announced to the class. She flung open the door and peered in, holding her nose.  The children’s coats were hung on pegs, waiting to be picked up.  The teacher went from coat to coat, sniffing and coughing.  She stopped at James’s coat.  “This coat stinks,” she said.  “What is the problem?”  James laughed.  “I slept with my dog in the bed last night,” he proclaimed.  “A skunk had sprayed it.  My dog was still scared so I hugged it all night.”

James was the center of the universe at times.  He could not read any words with more than four letters.  The principal proudly proclaimed he taught James to read.  Later, when James was discovered memorizing the lessons ahead, the principal was deflated and gave up.  He turned the task over to a young teacher who decided James was a worthy project.  For several weeks she toiled and James struggled onward. The reading project seemed a success until one day after school the woman turned her back on James.  He quickly closed the distance between them, reached around and cupped her breasts.  She was horrified and fled to the principal.  “What are you going to do about it?” she demanded angrily.  “You shouldn’t have been alone with him,” the principal snapped.  The conversation was over.  James and the reading lessons were over, but James continued on, oblivious to the fact that anything was wrong. 

In the eighth grade and in high school James proved to be outstanding in sports.  Grades were overlooked as long as James tried.  There were occasions when those in the stands were pleasantly surprised by his adroit moves and quickness.  There were also occasions when those same people were shocked by his ability to get confused.  When he got turned around he might run the wrong way in football or make the winning basket for the wrong team in basketball.  Yes, James was something of an enigma.

We didn’t hear much about Alicia after she graduated from high school.  The boys said she went to college but we didn’t know where.  And John?  He graduated from high school and drifted northward, working one job after another.  Later we heard he had been arrested in Seattle for armed robbery and would be locked away for awhile.  And James?  I had forgotten about James until one night at eleven o’clock I was awakened by the persistent ring of my phone.  I picked it up and was greeted by a familiar voice.  “Mr. Roberson, remember me?  This is James and I just called to thank you for all you did for me.  You didn’t give up and eventually you got me to reading.  I’m now a lumberjack in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.  I volunteer at a local elementary school when I can.   I just wanted to thank you but I don’t want to keep you up.  Good-bye!”  And with that James was gone, but definitely not forgotten.  He was one of the more difficult students who had learning disabilities and social problems and somehow had managed to rise out of the murky depths. He had taken the next step and was reaching out to others and giving them a chance to succeed.  His persistence also woke me up.

 Sometimes I forgot that school was more than teaching subject matter.  It was about touching human lives.  I slept easier that night and for many nights to follow because I had made a difference in his life. James didn’t give me a chance to tell him, but he also had made a difference in how I perceived things.  I must have done something right, and to this day I still believe I can touch that invisible spirit, and bring it to a higher level.  Thanks, James, wherever you are, for giving me feedback.

 

By Dan Roberson  2/26/09

Choppin’ Cotton

Choppin’ Cotton

 

 

A chance for self-respect comes but a few times during a lifetime and I have to seize those moments and choose the way I want to be. Once that decision is stamped indelibly on my heart, there is no turning back, nor would I ever want to change. Long ago as a teenager I made one of those decisions that shaped my life.

Shivering ever so slightly I slid out of bed and pulled on my faded work jeans. At 4:30 in the morning the irrigated desert land’s air was crisp and cold even in my room. I pulled my arms through the blue cotton shirt which earlier had been lying limply across the foot of the bed. After tightly lacing my cracked black shoes I stuffed my work gloves into my hip pocket and placed the straw hat with the torn brim rakishly on my head. I tied a handkerchief loosely around my neck.

Stumbling into the kitchen I reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bowl. I didn’t have time to make breakfast so my choice was made. Cold cereal in a cold bowl. That’s all I usually had while my parents, brother, and sisters slept. I made my sandwich, two slices of bread with a slice of lunch meat, no mayonnaise, no tomato or lettuce. I dropped the dry sandwich into a brown paper bag. There was no way to keep the sandwich cold without spoiling so I only used the basics.

I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. I was still groggy so I splashed again. I heard a soft knock on the door outside that brought me fully alert. “Dan, are you ready to go? We have to be there before five.” It seemed I had heard those words thousands of times and yet I jumped every time I heard them.

Rushing out I grabbed my lunch bag and my hoe, which I had placed carefully beside the door the night before. The hoe’s blade, which I had honed before going to bed, looked sharp and ready for the weeds. Wordlessly I walked with Bob to his gray dented sedan which was already packed with other workers.

In the morning mists I could see the car, hoes protruding from the windows, and could imagine a Viking ship with oars ready to explore the world. I leaned through a door and looked for a place to squeeze in.

“Well, you took your sweet time, Dan,” a voice called out good naturedly from the back seat. I recognized Jake Smith’s voice and turned to face him.

“You’re just lucky I showed up at all,” I countered. “Otherwise there’d be no one to help you finish your rows.”

We all laughed and continued the banter as I crowded in and we drove away. For a few moments we sat in silence as the car, trailing blue-black clouds of smoke, coughed towards our destination.

Someone finally asked, “Has anyone heard anything about the new boss, Laird?” We all shook our heads except for Bob, Jake’s older brother. “This is only rumor, but I heard that Laird chews nails for breakfast and he bit his dog last Friday.” We all laughed but Jake got serious again. “I’ve heard nothing but bad news from the boys down at the pool hall,” he said. “I’m inclined to take their stories with a grain of salt but I thought you ought to know.”

It was something to think about but as we turned off the pavement onto a dusty road I had already forgotten Laird. The car sputtered to a stop beside a field of cotton and gave two or three last shakes and coughs before dying. “You ought to get that car fixed,” I said to Bob. “It’s about to give up the ghost.”

We grabbed our hoes from the car and stared glumly at the field before us. The cotton was waist high and had been long neglected. There were clumps of Johnson grass, small white morning glories, and patches of Bermuda grass.

 

While we waited, three other cars pulled up behind us. Two black families and a Mexican family got out. We eyed the other groups cautiously and I wondered whether we could all work together peacefully.

A green and white pickup came racing up the dusty road past the four weather-beaten cars and slid to a halt. Covering my face with my bandana I waited a few seconds for the pickup’s trailing dust cloud to dissipate. Both of the pickup’s doors swung open. A young pimple faced boy crawled out of the passenger side. He slapped on a blue baseball cap over his unruly blond hair. His lean gangly body stretched too long for his jeans and his arms dangled a few inches too far beyond the cuffs of his sleeves. Although we were at first wary, his infectious smile made him an instant hit to our often ill-tempered group.

On both sides of the truck we noticed some fancy lettering. W.C. Laird, Labor Contractor, it proclaimed in bold black letters to the agricultural world. The boss man, Laird himself, worked his heavy body away from the wheel and out the door.

His stogie, a cigar tucked in one corner of his mouth, was moving in circles as he muttered. I could not understand him at first and I noticed the others were also beginning to look puzzled.

His already red face grew redder and I could see his small eyes squinting behind the wire spectacles.

He suddenly barked, “What’s the matter with all of you? Can’t you hear? We’re supposed to start this field at five o’clock and by gum, that’s what we’re gonna do. Now git your asses over to that edge of the field and pick your row. I’ll be along shortly to check your work.”

He removed his glasses, spat on them, and cleaned them slowly with the corner of his shirt. He watched us silently trudging to the corner of the field. He continued to stare until we began working our way down the rows.

 

The waist high cotton was wet from the morning dew and before we had gone twenty-five yards I was soaked from the waist down and feeling uncomfortable. Swarms of mosquitoes rose before us and began their relentless attacks, searching for exposed skin. I slapped at them occasionally but tried to ignore them, afraid I would be accused of doing more dodging and fighting mosquitoes than hoeing.

Quickly and efficiently I chopped out the Johnson grass and the morning glories with the corners of the hoe. I was not the fastest in the group, nor the slowest as I paced myself to last the morning. By eight the sun was already bearing down and the boss was there, checking each worker’s row in turn.

“I don’t think you’re worth a dollar and a quarter an hour,” Laird said to Preacher, one of the black men who was working close-by. “I think I’ll pay you a dollar an hour.” But Preacher just glared at him and began to work faster. After that I noticed that two women who were with Preacher would occasionally step over and help him catch up.

 

As the morning progressed all the groups began to work closer together and exchanged stories. Preacher began telling stories from the Bible and about a boss who was evil and went to Hell. Since he was looking at Laird, who was leaning on a hoe talking to a farmer who owned the field, we knew who Preacher meant. The two women would laugh at his stories and I could hear the older woman’s deep laugh boom out and the younger one’s laughter, which was more like the tinkling of bells.

Another man, Sid, was in Preacher’s group. He hung back, trying to be inconspicuous and out of Laird’s sight but he was clearly interested in what was going on. He appeared to be jealous of all the attention Preacher was getting.

“Preacher,” he said. “I’ll tell the boss man just what you’re telling us and he’ll fire you and you won’t find any more jobs.” Sid rolled his eyes and waited for us to laugh but we didn’t. We could see Preacher and the women getting upset.

 

The Mexican family with their young children continued to work quietly but they stayed away from Preacher and his group. The father had talked to us for awhile and decided he could trust us. He had told us he and his wife were working without permits and did not want any trouble. If they were noticed by anyone they could be shipped back to Mexico. They had to earn money for some of their other relatives who were unable to make a living in Mexico.

All morning long Sid tried out new antics. He seemed to want any kind of attention. As we approached a heavy stand of Johnson grass Sid called out, “Hark, I see a lion in yon jungle. Preacher better use some of his religious medicine to rescue us.”

Preacher kept pretending to ignore him as Sid continued his tirade. Finally Sid realized no one was listening so he stopped talking but I could tell he was still itching to get something started.

By ten the heavy clothes were beginning to stick to our sweaty bodies. Some of my friends had taken off their shirts and tied them around their waists. I had blistered badly the previous time so I kept my shirt on. We stopped for a water break expecting to get cool water. In our experience most bosses put ice in the water to keep it cool. It satisfied our thirst and cooled us at the same time. But this time was different.

I gulped a mouthful and spit it out. “This water is hot enough to boil tea in,” I grumbled. The others thought I was kidding. Each in turn took a mouthful and spit it out.

 

Laird ambled over. “What’s the matter?” he sneered. “Don’t you like water?” As I tried to find words to adequately express my feelings, I heard the youth who had earlier climbed out of the pickup say, “Dad, this isn’t right. I told you to stop for ice this morning.”

Laird grinned as he chewed on his cigar. “Mind your own business, Steve. If they don’t like the water they don’t have to drink it.”

The sun broiled us slowly as the next hour passed. We began drinking the water out of necessity but warned each other only to sip enough to keep going. No one stayed by the water cooler. Once I saw Laird nudge his son and say, “Without ice the water gets warm and the workers don’t spend nearly as much time talking and standing around. The less time they waste the more money I make.”

As we finished one field we drove to the next field and started again. As the heat increased my head began throbbing and I could hear others complaining about headaches and nausea.

A Mexican girl of slight build and in her early teens said she was sick. She staggered to her car and lay down. Laird didn’t notice she was gone and the rest of us kept quiet about the incident. We didn’t want the girl’s pay docked. We were certain he was paying her less than minimum wage anyway and pocketing the difference. We also thought he might accuse us of slacking or playing sick to keep from working.

Laird blew a little whistle and we stopped for our thirty minute lunch. We hardly had time to eat and stretch our cramped backs before he was shouting, “Get off your lazy butts! It’s time to work again!”

We were soon back in the same routine with Preacher telling stories while all of us continued hacking away. By now I had learned that Paula and Hattie, the two women, and Sid were members of Preacher’s congregation. Together they had driven from a town five miles away when money had become scarce. By banding together, their chances of finding work increased.

Preacher, his leg gimpy from the war, was the shepherd, doing his best to protect the women and keep Sid out of trouble. In turn, they would finish his rows and help him keep up. Sid was always trying to get the attention from anybody who’d listen. I could tell he feared, admired, and hated Preacher, all at the same time.

In early afternoon the two brothers, Bob and Jake, had replaced their shirts because they were already lobster red. Laird’s son, Steve, was talking quietly with a cute Mexican girl of about his own age.

Laird walked over to them and tried to eavesdrop. Steve and Carmen, the Mexican girl, began speaking Spanish. Laird grew red and told Steve to “stay away from that dirty ‘wetback’”. “I don’t want any brown grandchildren,” he jeered disdainfully.

Steve looked up and said with defiance, “Go away and leave me alone. I’ll choose my own friends.” Laird began shouting that he would kick Steve’s rear-end all over the cotton field.

He saw us watching. He stormed away sputtering about Steve being a “snot-nose, smart-mouth kid“. Laird walked over to the water bucket and stared off into the distance. We had the opportunity to work quietly and to discuss the father-son relationship.

Sid, took this opportunity to start some trouble.

“Old preacher man is too old for any night action. I’ll take on either one of you ladies after work.”

Preacher, stung by Sid’s insinuations and feeling protective of the women, headed angrily toward Sid. The two squared off. But with all the dancing, shuffling, huffing and puffing, not a damaging blow was thrown. The excitement attracted Laird, who came over to check out the commotion.

Sid sheepishly explained in detail what had happened while Laird stood there mulling things over. He turned and looked thoughtfully at Paula. The top buttons of her blouse were unfastened and I could see him leering at the fullness of her breasts as she bent to hoe. His audacity surprised me when he walked over as she straightened, daubed at the perspiration that was at the base of her throat with his handkerchief.

“I’ve slept with a lot of women, both white and black. You interest me. I want to see you after work. We’ll drink a few beers and have a little fun. What do you say?”

Paula gasped and stepped back, trying to avoid Laird. “No, no,” she blurted. A hoe was suddenly thrust between Laird and Paula. Preacher stood there, a mixture of hurt and anger in his eyes.

“Go away, old man,” Laird snarled. “If you give me any trouble or if she doesn’t come with me after work then both of you are fired and I’ll see to it that neither of you gets to work for any of these farmers again.”

Paula began crying and Preacher stood there stunned at this new turn of events. Then both of them, without meeting the eyes of anyone, turned and went quietly back to work as if nothing had happened. Laird glared at us and we started hoeing again, trying to look really busy.

He swaggered off in the direction of the pickup and I just leaned on my hoe for awhile and tried to sort things out. It was a real puzzler at first but gradually I realized that Laird would have his way because Paula and Preacher were giving in to his demands. After all, I guess jobs were hard to find if you were black.

We still had a few minutes before quitting time but I was burning up inside, full of anger, and trying to decide what to do. I saw him sitting inside, listening to the radio. I walked over to him and yanked open the door.

“Laird,” I said evenly, “it’s not fair for you to make demands on Paula like that. And then to threaten their jobs if they don’t cooperate.”

Laird turned and slid out of the pickup. He pulled a wet handkerchief from his forehead. “Mind your own business or you won’t have a job either. What I do is between me and whoever and I don‘t see where it concerns you.”

“Laird,” I began again, “you’re a mean and rotten sonofabitch. I don’t want to work for you anymore. I don’t like the way you treat people, especially people of color. I’m going to report you to whatever authorities that’ll listen.”

His eyes were squinting in that pig-like face. “They won’t even listen to you. You’re just a kid. It’s your word against mine. Those people aren‘t as good as us. They’re animals and we’re supposed to control animals. Can‘t you see that?”

I know sometimes I’m hot-headed and unChristian. When Laird started spewing words of prejudice and hatred I just blew up. I swung and connected with his belly, and then another to his chin. He toppled over into the dust. He started to get up but he hesitated and said, “You’re fired. I don’t want you to show up anymore.”

“Laird, I don’t want to work for you anymore. I want my pay and I want it now. I’ll make sure the authorities listen. You‘re not going to get away this easy.”

“I’ve a mind not to pay you at all.” I took a step closer. “O.k. I’ll give you your money but get out of here.” Nervously he wrote off a check and thrust it at me.

I grabbed the check and walked over to the car waving it high in the air. Jake and Bob started walking towards me. Laird yelled, “Get back to work! It’s not quitting time yet! You’ve still got ten minutes.”

 

They ignored him and listened to my side of the story. They approached Laird and a few seconds later were carrying their checks high in the air. The results were contagious. Our carload, and then the Mexican family, and finally Preacher and everyone but Sid had discussed the situation. As a group we confronted Laird and he reluctantly paid off the rest of the crew. Even Steve demanded his pay.

Laird seized Steve’s shoulders and said, “You’re not getting your money. You’re not going to be with these troublemakers.”

Steve stood there quietly and demanded his money again. “Dad, I’m going to report you because I think you’re a liar and a cheat. I don’t think you should treat people this way any more.”

Laird got nose to nose with Steve and called him every name in the book and a few choice ones I hadn’t heard. Steve turned and walked away. Laird started to follow but I blocked his way. “You’ll leave him alone, too,” I said. “I’m tired of you bullying people. If you take one more step I’ll hit you more than once and I won’t stop until that foul mouth of yours is silent.”

My determination cut Laird short. He rubbed his jaw and stumbled to his feet. We waited while he made out the last check. Before we could go he said, “Look, today I made a few mistakes. Let’s not have hard feelings. I want all of you back here tomorrow, o.k.?”

Paula, Preacher, Carmen, and Steve were standing close together and I’m not sure who spat first and I don’t really care. I remember looking at him, seeing the spittle clinging to his face, then I climbed into our car, Steve somehow in with us.

 

I still see Carmen sometimes with her family, working in the tomatoes or sugar beets. They avoid working in the cotton fields afraid they’ll run into Laird. Preacher and his group still work the cotton with me, Jake and Bob, and the rest of the gang. Steve has gone off to stay with an uncle in Arizona. I’ve heard Laird and Sid have moved on to better things like pruning grapes in Lodi with Laird still in charge of a crew. I don’t know if Laird’s behaving himself but I kind of hope he’s learned a lesson and I don’t expect him to show up around here again.

As for me, I’ve learned something about myself and human dignity. If you see others get cheated or trampled upon, you too, lose respect for yourself if you let things slide.

Wages are up to a dollar and a half now and I know I’m not as rich as some other people I know. In spite of not having wealth, I know that I can look into a mirror and be proud of what I see. And that, riches can’t buy.

　

　

　

　

　

Dan Roberson

 

 

　

　

 

 

Silver Perfect

Like Two Silver Fish
Cat and mouse we played along the stretches of the interstate,
Like two silver fish sliding in silver stream, we matched rate to rate,
Your eyes of blue piqued my interest and we danced mile after mile,
And I was increasingly charmed by your smile, a dazzling smile,
It was then I convinced you with hand to mouth,
That we should dine and converse by going south,
Surprisingly you said yes and followed me to Apple Annie’s,
Where we reflected on where silver stream of life was taking us,
Like a bubbling brook your laugh cascaded across me as we discussed,
Our interest in books, music, and all life proffered,
Friendship was born in that instant and I wanted all you offered,
Off to the movies we went but opted for a stroll in the mall,
We had coffee in a corner where we could stall,
Wanting to be forgotten by the world and forgotten by time,
Emotions filling us, laughter, sadness, pensive quiet, and moods sublime,
Then we were back in our cars and you were gone,
And I was wishing for a lifetime of moments not yet done,
Wishing there had been dancing and holding you tight,
For dancing melds friendships and thoughts to warm the night,
Heartbeats against my chest to wake me in the morn,
Not a friendship to yearn for or to mourn,
Silvery fish playing in the shadows, playing in the dark,
In those hours of connection we made our mark,
Like two silver fish playing in life’s silver stream,
I wanted you to be more than just a fleeting dream,
I wanted you to feel the warmth radiating from my heart,
Wanted my silver love to keep you from wanting to part,
For you were special to me then and still are,
And I still wish upon a silver star, for you and your silver car.

Waiting

Waiting
How long must I wait for my heart to flame?
Will it be someone close? Do I already know her name?
I am lonely and I fear my heart will break,
Without someone to hold, with nothing to give or take,
How long must I wait for my heart to dance and play the game?
How long, how long, or does my life remain the same?
Oh, but for one flower, one blossom to peek into my lonely world,
And from that brave soul I would have a chance to grow and unfurl,
I know she is waiting somewhere, her aura all aglow,
Waiting to merge with mine, her heart to bestow,
Waiting to glow, waiting to heal,
Waiting to change from dream to real,
Ready to share moments of eternity,
Ready for love, for life, for me.

I Dream of You

I Dream of You
I am a dreamer and many times I have dreamed of you,
I have been intoxicated by the depths of your eyes,
I have caught my breath and sighed many sighs,
But I’ve yet to touch your smooth silky skin,
And thrill to breathless pleasure in,
Perfumed dawn after sunset shared,
With you, as a lover who cared,
And I dreamed on recklessly,
Dreaming of you alone with me.
My emotions are not tended like a flower garden,
But in riotous profusion lie scattered about my heart,
Hoping that someday you’ll play your part,
Like an actress upon some lighted stage,
We’ll surpass lovers from any age,
Dreams are but dreams and dawn will come,
And I’ll still be left without anyone,
I will hurry through the brightness of light,
Waiting impatiently for the cool of night,
Then I will dream of breasts and haunting eyes,
With long slim legs and silken thighs,
And I will dream on recklessly,
Dreaming of you alone with me.

The Red Suitcase (The Return Home and a New Beginning)

The Red Suitcase (The Return Home and a New Beginning)
Rhonda moved in slow motion. She appeared to be awake but she was oblivious to the people around her. She was in a different world, a world of spirits and past lives. She continued to argue with someone who was not present, someone giving her directions on where to go and what to do. She grabbed one of the bags stacked neatly in front of her. “I need to put on my makeup and freshen up first. Give me a minute.” She paused and then said softly, “O.k., I’ll hurry.”
I watched her go through a ritual of organizing her suitcases and making sure that none of her bags of food had been moved and were in proper sequence. She adjusted a few of the bags, shifting them a few inches one way or another. Finally satisfied with her efforts, she patted her pillow and spoke to it endearingly, and then moved briskly down the aisle.
I wanted to follow as close as I could without disturbing her trance, but I was interrupted by the two women I had protected before. “He’s after us again,” one of the women said. “Won’t he ever stop?”
Mercury boy was trailing after them, stopping to pose whenever they looked. He saw me heading his way and he disappeared into the neighboring car.
“I’ll speak to the attendant about him,” I said. “Somebody needs to keep an eye on him. He seems a bit weird.”
One of the women, who appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, said, “I’m Joy and this is Ann. We hate to keep bothering you but no one else seems to care. Do you mind if we tag along with you?”
I wanted to say I was on a secret mission but all I could say was, “Sure, I don’t mind. I was following that woman who sat across the aisle from me.”
Joy looked at me with confusion. “You’re not stalking her, are you?”
I was amused. “No, I think she might have something of mine. But now I’ve lost her and I don’t know where she went.”
“We’ll help you find her. She can’t be far,” Ann said.
It was settled before I had a chance to object. I did not ask for help or desire help, but now I had two helpers looking for Rhonda. I wasn’t sure if this new development would make things easier or harder. Three heads surely must be better than one, although I was already confused as to how Rhonda fit into the red suitcase dilemma and two more people might just muddy the waters even more.
“What does she have of yours?” Joy asked.
“I think she might have my red suitcase,” I replied. “She seems to be on a mission to get something and I’m hoping that my suitcase is included in her mission.”
Joy and Ann exchanged quick glances but I saw enough to realize that they thought I had lost my mind. I was following a woman who might have something of mine or not. This undertaking could be totally founded on desperate guessing on my part. In spite of their misgivings the women were here for two reasons. They were curious and they didn’t want to face Mercury boy who stalked them.
I suggested we split up but they thought that was a bad idea. We brainstormed and headed downstairs to the most logical place, the baggage compartment.
Rhonda was not there, neither was my suitcase. We began looking car by car. We checked the observation car, the dining car, and two passenger cars, but we had no luck finding Rhonda. We had almost given up and were in the last passenger car when Ann spotted her emerging from the stairwell. We stepped to the side and Rhonda strode past us, evidently still in her trance. We watched her go into the adjoining car and then we went down the stairs. We checked the open baggage rack, sorted through the suitcases, and then replaced them. There were several red ones, but mine was not there. There was a baggage compartment, or room, to the side of the stairs. The door, which was usually locked, was slightly ajar as if someone had left in a hurry. There were suitcases and duffle bags, a wheel chair, golf clubs, and a few other items, all stacked and placed neatly in order by size and color. This was not the work of one of the train employees. This room was organized by someone who liked order everywhere.
Eagerly I began going through the suitcases. Joy and Ann caught my enthusiasm and began searching in earnest. Suddenly Joy whooped, “Is this one yours?” She pointed to a red suitcase. It had no name tag but I knew it was mine. I opened it up. Everything was in place, not neatly placed, but with my kind of organization. There was also a note. I read it slowly out loud. “Dear Sir, you needed something to brighten up your life so I took the time to create a few incidents you could write about. It made my trip more enjoyable also. Maybe we will meet again. Sincerely, Martha.”
By now I was almost a believer in ghosts, but not quite. It would take more to convince me. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to play pranks on this trip. But the enigma remained. I knew of no one who had traveled all the side trips with me and was currently on this train. There was no answer that made sense. I would have to think about the physical improbabilities another time because, for now, I had my suitcase and my trip was almost over.
Ann and Joy insisted we celebrate the recovery of my suitcase. I toted it along as we went to the lounge and I ordered wine for the three of us. We sipped the wine slowly as we conversed, and I relaxed, relieved that order had been restored. We decided to have lunch together. During that time I told them about my situation at home and how I had resolved to give my marriage another try.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Ann said. “I’m a family marriage counselor. The hardest part is getting people to make a commitment when things get tough. Give me a call if you need any help.”
Joy nodded. “I’m a secretary for a legal firm. I see people all the time who are in the process of separating or getting a divorce. Their lives are in shambles and they are bitter and angry. You don’t have that anger or bitterness. You still have hope.”
I took down their names, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses and promised I would contact them and let them know how things were going. I followed them back to their seats. We looked around, but Mercury boy was nowhere to be found. I checked with the attendant. Mercury boy had gotten off at the last stop. Another stroke of good fortune. Ann and Joy would not have to worry about him the rest of their trip.
When the train arrived in Galesburg, I got off and waited for my train to Kansas City. I rested on a bench inside the station for two hours watching people come and go. I appeared to be calm but inside there was turmoil. What would I say to my wife? Would I be nonchalant or matter-of-fact about seeing a counselor? I knew the going could get even rougher as we worked out issues that were bothering us both. I began rehearsing what I would say when I faced her.
The train arrived as scheduled and I boarded, found my seat and began writing down my thoughts regarding us. I scarcely noticed the beautiful green scenery as we sped by. As we neared Kansas City I gathered my suitcase and duffle bag and waited downstairs by the exit.
Another man stood waiting, anxious to be off the train. I asked him where he had traveled this summer. He said he was on the road a lot, working for a trucking firm. Sometimes he would take the train for fun just to visit friends and family but he was always happy to get back to familiar surroundings. We talked for a few minutes. He told me he was engaged to be married in one month to the girl of his dreams. They had met while he was playing college baseball. When his knee got damaged, their wedding plans fell apart. He didn’t think he could support a wife on a regular salary but after a few months his thinking turned around. He wanted her to be part of his life. He was afraid she had found another but she was still waiting patiently, knowing he would be back.
That was the kind of story I needed to hear. Two people willing to work things out, never giving up, always in love despite circumstances.
The train ground to a halt as it entered the station. Would somebody be waiting for me? Would this be a new beginning? I pulled my suitcase down the long runway to the waiting room. I looked around and saw strangers everywhere but no one for me. I called several numbers but no one answered. It was eleven p.m. and I wasn’t sure how long I should wait. I heard a siren go by outside so I decided to wait thirty minutes in case there was a delay due to traffic or some other problem. I waited and I waited. Finally I grew impatient and called a taxi. In minutes I was on my way. It was not what I had wanted, but at least I was heading home and I could work out any details or misunderstandings when I got there.
“Nobody came to pick you up? That’s a bad sign,” the cabbie said, trying to break the silence. “You been gone long?”
“She must have fallen asleep or maybe the car wouldn’t start.” Why was I trying to cover for her? We had two cars and if one didn’t start, the other one would. I was not in the mood to find fault with her. I had already gone through that and now I was determined to rediscover only good things. I chatted about the places I’d been and the people I’d seen but stayed away from complaining or anything negative.
The thirty minute drive home passed quickly. We entered the subdivision, wound up the hill and then down my street. At the bottom of the hill in the cul de sac and along the street were four pickups, three cars, and two large moving trucks. All the lights in my house were on. My neighbors were watching from their windows or standing outside watching the commotion. People were carrying furniture, clothes, and anything moveable to the trucks, cars, and pickups. It was dark but everything looked familiar.
“What is going on?” I thought as I walked into the house. My wife saw me and paled.
Three husky men put down the objects they were carrying and headed towards me. “You’re not welcome here, at least not right now,” one of the men said. “We’re almost finished. We’ll all be out of here in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
I was furious but I kept my temper in check. I had learned a lesson from Zeke. Violence was not the answer to this kind of problem, at least for me. Who could I contact to stop this madness?
I decided there was nothing I could do except wait. Morning would come and I would discover that this was just a bad dream. But even as I claimed it was a dream, reality was already sinking in. My marriage was over. My wife was leaving and taking everything with her.
All the trucks and cars left and I checked out the house. Everything was gone. Pictures of me, my children, and heirlooms were missing, as well as the furnishings. The house was bare, from wall to wall, except for the built-in appliances. I stumbled from room to room, checking out the damage and trying to remember what had been there. It was a task I was too tired to handle at the moment.
I needed to check out my financial state in the morning and see if anything was left. My mind raced. I needed a lawyer and I needed a counselor just for my own sanity. Things were as I had expected but not as I wanted them to be. While I was gone and playing, she was planning and getting advice. I did not believe that divorce was the answer but I could see no other choice. I was now older, but not wiser. My trip home was not triumphant and happy. I arrived to find my marriage in ruins and my house ransacked. Now I would have to start over. I was sad and miserable but not defeated. I was tough enough to restart. My life was just beginning. I still had my red suitcase, my duffle bag, and the clothes on my back. What more did I need?
The End.

Proper Rules of Dating

The Proper Rules Of a Ladies’ Man
I’m not misbehaving when I want to play by different rules,
Because here we sit side by side, doing nothing like two fools,
You haven’t slapped my hands, and certainly not my face,
You haven’t giggled nervously, or put me in my place,
My hands have been but two, and certainly not like eight,
To my way of thinking, this has been a dull first date,
We haven’t started wrestling, or kissed long and hot,
And now I’ve started worrying, that I’m something that I’m not,
So let’s cuddle a little closer, until the clock strikes ten,
Then it’ll be fun and games, by the proper rules again,
I’ll chase and you can run, or the other way around,
Or you can snap and snarl, or calmly stand your ground,
We’ll know when the smoke has cleared, just where the rules are drawn,
By that time we’ll have something to show, for all the time that’s gone,
So if I’m misbehaving by not doing what I can,
Just remind me you’re a lady, and I’m a ladies’ man.

Christmas Blessing

Blessed at Christmas

Sometimes I am calloused by the hardness of the world. Rarely am I surprised by the kindness of others. But, this Christmas, I saw the generosity of one person bless a family with many needs. Because I witnessed this kind act, I became one of those blessed and I experienced first-hand the true meaning of Christmas.
I had heard much about this individual through my co-worker. She spoke highly of his character, his family, and his spirituality. It was his actions with strangers, however, that convinced me he truly was a compassionate person.
After hearing the plight of one family in the City, this individual donated a very generous amount of money to insure one family would be blessed on Christmas morning.
His assistant went on several shopping sprees and selected unique and tailored gifts for each family member. The shopping was done over a two week period and his monetary gift was stretched by purchasing items on sale, using coupons, and asking for additional discounts. The children were able to get things they needed as well as things they wished for.
I went on some of the shopping forays as items were selected and purchased. Sometimes, I sought out gifts and offered suggestions and was excited to see things chosen that the children might like. The items were wrapped, stacked neatly, and checked off as each child’s quota was filled. Finally, all the presents were purchased and ready to go.
The oldest daughter, 15, received boots, a coat, a blanket, an outfit and a karaoke machine. The next child, 12, was given a CD player, blanket, magician set, coat, outfit, and shoes. The next boy, 8, was the recipient of shoes, a coat, an outfit, a blanket, CD player and an art easel. The youngest girl, 5, got shoes, an outfit, a coat, blanket and a Dora the Explorer kitchen. The mom received socks, lotions, a candle, and dish towels. All five members of the family also received large red stockings full of delightful surprises!
On the day the presents were to be delivered, the benefactor was out of town and could not be there to play Santa so I got to go in his place. My car was loaded up, filling the trunk and back seat to capacity. My co-worker sat on the passenger side, holding one of the larger presents.
The mother was called and we were given consent to deliver the packages directly to their home. It was late afternoon on the 22nd when we drove downtown. We passed graffiti and barred windows, vacant and vandalized businesses. Groups of men stood around, talking and smoking, watching warily at passersby.
Two houses down in the middle of the city, we stopped in front of a small, rundown house. We walked carefully up the iced over rocky driveway and knocked on the door. A woman opened it cautiously. We talked to the woman for a moment and then returned to the car. We gathered armfuls of presents and proceeded into the house. Imagine the family’s wonder when we asked, “Where do you want all the presents?”
In the dimly lighted room, we could see all four of the children waiting on the couch, trying to contain their excitement. Their eyes were bright with anticipation and their broad smiles spoke volumes without saying anything. We placed the presents on a table and brought back more. Again, we left and returned, each time bringing in more presents. By now, the kids had seen names on the packages and were dreaming big. Each time we were greeted with an enthusiastic “Thank you! Thank you!” And each time, their eyes grew wider and their smiles broader. And each time they remained polite and patient anxiously waiting to see what came next.
We told them several times, “We are just elves. These gifts are from a man who loves children. He just wanted to bless you and wish you a very merry Christmas.” When all the presents were stacked inside, we said goodbye. The children thanked us again as we left.
As we drove towards the freeway, I knew I had been part of something special. This family had been given hope. They had seen that some people in the world really care. They had been blessed. I, too, had seen lights dancing in their eyes and watched their faces fill with hope. There was a lightness to my thoughts as I remembered how one person touched many. I, too, had been touched and I went forward with new purpose.
From that experience I realized the true spirit of Christmas is not about getting presents. It’s not even about giving presents to family or friends. It’s about reaching out and blessing those who face another dark and dreary Christmas. Some families have little hope because comforts and joy have been pushed aside by poverty and hardships. For those families, Christmas lives only in dreams. But, sometimes, there are earthly angels who bring dreams to reality. I want to one of those earthly angels and reach out to strangers with needed supplies and gifts of hope. I don’t have the monetary means of those with wealth, but I can do something. This Christmas I’ll help in shelters helping dish out food, help in a hospital’s children’s ward, or visit shut-ins. My world has grown larger and my future brighter. I will bless someone this year.

Inheritance

Legacy
Though my veins flows the blood,
Of all those in ancient brotherhoods,
Of artists and the tellers of tales,
Vagabonds, gypsies, and those in jails,
Stories passed down through the family tree,
Branch to branch, until they came to me,
I heard these stories sitting at my grandmother’s knee,
Of an old sea captain with sagas of terror at sea,
A confederate soldier who dreamed of his own death,
Tales of Vikings, whose plundering ways would take my breath,
Of heroic women bent on civilizing their wild, wild men,
It was never a question of how, but when,
These, all these, have shaped me and fired my soul,
Opened my eyes so I could set my artistic goals,
I saw the images of craftsmen who carved on ships,
Saw sailors sail proudly off on some of their trips,
Watched the natives who painted on rocks and skins,
And all the adventurers who pulled strength from within,
The artists who recorded where they had been,
And told the stories or painted what they had seen,
Their blood flows through my veins,
But their memories are not all my dreams,
For there are also the quilters who brought to life,
With multi-colored designs all the joys and strife,
And stories about mothers who prepared the meals,
Wiped away the tears, and danced the reels,
These, all these, have left their genes,
And if I but remember where they’ve been,
They will live again through picture and tale,
And my offspring will embellish all that I regale,
The legacy of artists and bards will continue on in time,
As generations discover their past in art or rhyme,
Giving back truth and beauty through color or weaving of tales,
Sharing talents that have been handed down through others,
Special inheritances from grandfathers and grandmothers.

Apartment Living

Impressions of Apartment Living
Who’s that stomping on the floor in the deep of night?
Whose voices muffled do I hear?
Is it deadly foe, or someone I know?
The floors are creaking, water is running,
Telephones ringing, someone singing,
Someone knocking on a door, perhaps the next floor,
Could it be friends coming to visit?
Laughter down the hall, someone pounding on a wall,
Crying in the middle of the night, something’s not right,
Emotions are being shared, but not with me,
And throughout the din, my walls keep closing in,
Smells of a barbeque from a party upstairs,
And I wish I’d been invited by someone who cares,
T.V. programs endless, finding something to do,
Four blank walls and no one to talk to,
Exercising to keep up strength, but please leave no time to think,
Checking the mailbox, walking to the store,
I’m busy, yes, but there has to be more,
Perhaps someone will visit, either friend or kin,
Because when I’m alone, my walls keep closing in.

The Red Suitcase (Denver to Grand Junction)

The Red Suitcase (Denver to Grand Junction)
The night was long and I was unable to stretch out with Joyce curled up in the seat next to me. Finally I fell asleep, though my feet and legs were cramped and my shoulder was against the cold wall of the train. I was restless and that’s when my dream woman reappeared and my thoughts poured out in verse.
Though you are more fair than my fondest dreams,
You have captured my heart, it seems,
Not because of your raven hair with glossy sheen,
Nor is it your lithe suppleness, trim and lean,
Perhaps your hypnotic dark eyes could hold me still,
And I could search their depths until I had my fill,
But not for long,

At that moment my verse was interrupted. Joyce had stretched out against me, her body seeking warmth. It had been many nights since I had appreciated a woman’s warmth and smell and as Joyce settled against me I relaxed and enjoyed the moment, or all the moments I had until dawn.
Joyce awoke at the third intercom call for breakfast. She stretched, looked at me and smiled happily, and gave me a hug. “I want you to come visit me sometime,” she said. “I have a guest room you can stay in, or you can share my bed.”
Her eyes fixed on my face, waiting for my reaction, anticipating a “yes” answer.
“I’ll have to see what’s happening at my house. Then, I’ll talk about visiting you.”
It was not the answer she wanted. She turned away, her eyes teary. After a moment she faced me again. “Just don’t forget me. Give me a call and tell me what’s going on in your life. Write to me. Write about me. Keep in touch. I still have a few hours left on this train. Let’s enjoy some time together.”
We ate breakfast in the dining car and then went to the observation car. The car was already filling up. One person gestured to her friends excitedly as she explained the city that was coming up. She urged her friends to get in position for sightseeing. We overheard her conversation and moved to the observation windows. We waited in anticipation and crowded against the windows, trying to get a better view of the scene. Before us, stretching across the horizon, were scores of houses, large buildings, and green fields.
“The city you see is Denver, the mile high city,” a voice announced over the intercom. Denver is one of the prettiest cities in the U.S.,” he said proudly. After a few seconds the voice continued, “I am a little prejudiced. This is where I live when I’m not working.”
As we surveyed the landscape, the train snaked its way down from the mountain and to the outskirts of Denver. The train slowed to a stop. Some passengers got off while newcomers boarded and settled in. I returned to my assigned seat. Sean was waiting.
“O.K., Mr. Professor. I want to know your secret with women. They talk to you, ask you questions, come and sit beside you, and invite you to come home with them. What’s your secret? I try really hard to attract women and I haven’t been very successful. So, what’s up?”
How could I tell Sean that I was not so good with women myself? In fact, I was a loser in regards to love and women. I had lost in the past and I might be going home to emptiness. What made him think I had my act together?
“Sean,” I said. “You have to let women talk to you. Ask them questions. Don’t give any solutions to problems. Women want to work out their own answers. If you bluntly give out any answers you won’t be appreciated. Just go with the flow and listen. Be honest when you tell them something, but not too curt. Women take the scenic route when talking, while men take shortcuts to the answers. For women the journey is more important than the goal. With men, it’s just the opposite. Now, if you’re thoroughly confused, I’ve explained it properly.”
Sean looked at me puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“You weren’t wired to understand women. So just relax and enjoy. Having two ways of looking at things just makes the world more interesting.”
“Just relax and enjoy,” he muttered over and over. “That sounds too simple. I’ll think about what you said.” He reached out and shook my hand. “I’m getting off at the next stop. It’s been a pleasure talking to you.”
This was a different Sean than the one I had witnessed earlier. Maybe some things were beginning to click. “Sean, take care of your uncle. Good luck on finding him.”
Sean picked up his suitcase and moved to the staircase. He hesitated, then turned and waved. He went downstairs where he could wait by the door. When the train stopped, he stepped down. I saw him walk briskly up the sidewalk until he was out of sight.
Joyce came and sat beside me again. She snuggled up beside me. “I get off at Grand Junction,” she whispered. “If you want to see me, just call.” She gave me a slip of paper. It contained her name, address, and two phone numbers. I put it in my pocket. “You’ll be the first one I call if I need someone.”
At Grand Junction the train stopped for ten minutes and we both got off. I walked her into the station. She called a taxi and waited. I boarded the train again without looking back. Life was too complicated right now to add another person. Another time, another place, the story might have gone a different direction. But this time there was no romance for me. I needed to return and try to patch things up.
Joyce had inspired me to write. I got out my journal and began.
If You Want Love I’ll Give You Love
Come to me and I’ll give you warmth,
If you want love, I’ll give you love,
I’ll meet your needs and leave you waiting for me,
But if you ask me to stay I will not answer,
For to answer would be to lie,
Come rest by my side for awhile,
I’ll give you warmth and I’ll give you love,
But my smile will be a fleeting smile,
I cannot tie my heart down, for it’s wild and free,
I have escaped the hunter’s snare and pulled her dart from my side,
I will not be wounded again,
But I will give you of my love, all that I can give,
And I will give you of my warmth,
But do not ask me to stay,
For my heart is a restless heart and I must not stop for long,
I will press your soft flesh next to mine,
And drink deeply of your eyes,
I will caress your check and listen to your sighs,
I will share your intimate moments,
Your thoughts will be my thoughts,
My heart, my love, I will give to you, but only for awhile,
I will not have my heart wrapped in strings,
Nor will I be trapped again,
But I will give you warmth,
And if you want love I’ll give you love.

Two women came quickly from the next car. “Help us,” they said to me. “We’re being followed by a strange boy. He won’t leave us alone.”
A young teenager stepped into our car. He headed towards the women. I stood up and faced him. “Stop right where you are. Leave these women alone.” He considered me for a moment and then posed. By posing, I meant he stopped where he was and flexed, much like the god, Mercury. He must have thought his pose would distract me for he tried it several times. Each time though, I would step closer while he would back away. Finally he conceded and left.
“Thank you so much. He’s been bothering us for hours and we couldn’t get rid of him.” They sat down in the empty seat in front of me. “We’ll wait here for a few minutes. Maybe he’ll go away.”
Across the aisle Rhonda was stirring, slowly awakening from a deep sleep. She appeared to be talking to someone but I could see no one near her. “I’ll do it,” she said, “if you’ll leave me alone for awhile.”

Your Eyes

Your Eyes
Your eyes were calm and silent pools,
They looked so inviting yet they did not welcome me,
When the sparkle was there we danced in the light of the moon,
When the sparkle was there we could laugh until noon,
When I first saw those eyes, I was shy and afraid,
And when my courage was strong, in those pools I strayed,
Like a whirlpool you pulled me into the deepest of depths,
And though a swimmer, I did not have the strength to fight,
I came willingly, loving every moment, freely giving of my heart,
Never knowing, never guessing, that in a short while we would part,
Your eyes held promise and life but I was not invited to stay,
There was nothing for me tomorrow and certainly nothing today,
Your heart had spoken, your eyes were searching for another,
And I was left with no place to go, there was no other,
Your eyes had lost their power over me,
And I was free to pursue my destiny,
In my dreams your eyes still sparkle and shine,
And I’m afraid I will remember you for all time,
And wish it could have gone on forever,
I still remember how your eyes were calm and silent pools,
But I no longer wish to be in the ranks of fools.

Why Did I Leave Her?

Reason for Leaving
She made me laugh, that’s why I loved her,
We danced well together, swaying to old songs,
When we were alone, she let me know I was special,
So how did everything go wrong?
She told me I made her feel alive,
Gave her a reason to live,
All this and so much more,
What simple explanation can I give?
So why did I leave her?
She was beautiful and I was proud,
I remember when she acted like she belonged,
I’d show her off to each and every crowd,
I was vain, and she taught me to be humble,
I used her but she used me even more,
She broke me and made me crumble.
She was wild and free, dancing catlike and sensuous,
Drawing me into a passion hot and fierce,
Burning me with both love and anger,
She found a thousand ways my heart to pierce,
Abusive, yet tender, independent, but filled with need,
The way the world loved her consumed me,
My heart’s warnings I did not heed,
Then why did I leave her?
She was too perfect, I could find no flaw,
We read the same books, listened to the same music,
It was nothing I saw,
We took long walks around the zoo,
She’d laugh with delight, I would too,
When we went to plays it was a meeting of the minds,
Later we talked, shared, found each other in the dark,
There was electricity, spark after spark,
Then why did I leave her?
She was intelligent and compassionate,
Being able to share a bond with all living things,
So why was I still searching for meaning,
Why after spending quiet time together,
I still wanted to be alone,
I guess I’ll never know because now she’s gone,
She was too true to be good,
Too good for me and the standards I understood,
She was better than me,
It was very plain to see,
That’s why I left her.

Stranger

Stranger
Stranger, I see you watching me,
Watching me in the dark, watching me in the light,
Your eyes follow and haunt me,
I twist and turn, unable to escape, whether left or right.
Stranger, leave me alone, please,
I do not need to see your cruelties,
I do not need to see the truth,
I want your harassment to cease.
Stranger, why are you everywhere?
Reflecting all my inadequacies,
Making my private life public,
Revealing what others see.
Stranger, why do you remain near,
And treat me with disdain?
I have a sickening feeling,
I know this stranger’s name.
Stranger, each day you grow stranger still,
There is no way I can stall,
I am a stranger to myself,
Trapped in the mirror on the wall.

Beauty is But a Shell

Beauty is But a Shell
Beauty without intelligence is but a shell,
That you are a beauty—I know too well,
You are a queen (so one would think),
But you have never even dreamed,
And I, beneath your dignity,
Have hidden reservoirs of strength.
While you sit, boasting of decisions made,
I am about, living in this world,
Living dreams, living life to its fullest,
Knowing what I’ve done and what I’ve yet to do,
So what you decide does not affect me,
I will admire the brilliance of your beauty from afar,
Realizing that the beauty I see,
Is not for someone like me,
As time goes on I’ll watch your beauty fade,
And I, weary, blistered, torn, will be proud of the choice I made.

Louisiana Woman

Louisiana Woman
It’s you, it’s you, that my thoughts are on,
I cannot dim the light of your smile,
Within my heart or within my head,
And they linger on the words you said,
I’ve been enchanted and bewitched by you,
I’m burning with fever when you’re out of sight,
And my arms ache to hold you all through the night,
Leave me alone, Louisiana woman, and let me be,
Or reach out quickly and take all of me,
The spark is there to light a fire,
So touch me, enchantress, pull me from my mire,
And I will burn like a white hot light,
Keeping you warm through long dark nights.

Just a Friend (or Just for Spite)

Just a Friend (or Just for Spite)
“You’re just a friend,” I was told, “forget the familiar stuff.”
Then you laughed scornfully, because your heart was tough.
“Fine with me,” I caustically replied, and went my merry way,
“I’ll forget your face and your charms, perhaps this very day.”
I tried my hardest, my very darndest, to keep me at my word,
But I forgot what I told myself and this is what occurred,
I asked you out, perhaps for spite, I know I lost my head,
And you should have played your part by saying, quote, “Drop dead!”
But no! “Yes,” you said, and acted very pleased,
And one thing led to another until on bended knee,
I said, “I don’t need other friends. Won’t you marry me?”
(It was plain you should have laughed if you wanted to stay free).
A joke, it was a joke, not to be taken seriously,
But you went and told who should not be told, friends and family,
There was no escape this dastardly deed, without losing face,
And I pondered long and deep, what another would do in my place,
I remembered your words, those deadly words, you’d once said to me,
“Just a friend, only a friend,” and then laughed derisively,
My heart grew cold, so very cold, as my revenge I planned out,
And what I did, I’m sure was best, of that I have no doubt,
I made you eat those words, those ruthless words, you once said to me,
I married you and became more than a friend, and all I was meant to be.