"Tim Curt Brown" 'Swindler's Symposium Chronicles'

You could not tell surly Tim Curt Brown anything.
For he was in a bad mood that day on the way to Pell City

A group of fledglings set out to surf the skies
For rookies a bold and brave proclivity

Onward east they took, off I-20 St. Clair County they booked
A turn, they did not see the state police hidden in a road side nook.

A burly red neck appeared at the window, asking them for I.D.
Tim Curt could not stomach the moment for all it would be

A glance a comment quickly turned sour
As Tim Curt was asked to step outta the car

What's your name son, examined the cop
It's Tim Curt Brown, I live so and so way past cow pen stop

A moment it took to call the state capital to 
confirm who Tim was and take a look

Say your name and address again son, the rogue belted out
Mr. Brown said Tim Curt, I live on so and so route

There must have been some conjecture about what was said in the past
Because whatever Tim stated was different than the last

With a crinkle and a crackle Tim Curt was led to the city jail in 
in modern day shackles

His friends had fun, and recorded their flight
Ole Tim Curt stayed in a holding cell board stiff almost until night.

His friends bailed him out as he signed the court appointed summons
that he would come to see the judge two months later back in town

He signed the papers as John Charles Brown

*Alright, I think everyone can guess who Tim Curt Brown is.  It is ME!  In the summer of 2006 while living just south of Birmingham, AL. some friends and I set out to go skydiving over in Pell City.  A place twenty miles east of Birmingham that had an air strip.  On the way there I was riding shot gun and we got pulled over by an Alabama state trooper.  I was in a bad mood because of a falling out I had with a corrupt individual at an old job I had, had and had not still dealt with it properly. I did not help matters that my passenger side seat belt would not extrude out of the window.  When the cop pulled us over right as we go near the airport he asked us why we wear not wearing seat belts.  I told him mine did not work.  He asked me to try it again and wouldn't you know in a cruel twist of fate it worked that exact moment and made me look like a complete fool further exacerbating my irritation. I made a comment to the driver about him being a red neck and hearing it he told me to get out of the car and asked if I was high.  In my naive experience with law I did not sense it illegal to give a fake name and address.  I felt like hey, he is a jerk and I will tweek him a bit by playing games.  Well, he caught me giving a fake name and address. He called down to Montgomery and asked if I could be I.D.'d.  He asked me my name and address again and there were some discrepancies between the first and last time. So, there I was in a holding sale for actually those who had been arrested for DUI's since there was no room anywhere else.  I traded stories with a nice man who had been arrested for being falsely accused of harassing some crazy date he had had the night before, although he was officially drunk.  Finally, after my friends had gone sky diving and had a wondrous time filming it and enjoying it I was hit one by a gay black man when I tried to call my parents to come get me.  Of course I flipped him "the bird" and he retaliated by cussing me out.  I never got to go sky diving as I got busy but will try again some time in the future but, I like to think I had my own adventure that day.  From my lawyer to my relatives and former coworkers they love to still call me Tim Curt at times and we all have a good laugh.  Each Christmas my cousin, who has been arrested for a DUI or two compare notes to determine who has the best arrest story.  I tell him mine is dumber as at least he was high.  Anyway that is the legend of......................TIM CURT BROWN

"Ole Lloyd Miller" 'Southern Swindler's Symposium Chronicals

Lloyd was articulate 
Common decency was a toy to play with and circumvent 

Headmaster was his title
He felt like college test scores were his reputation and it's survival

Life would conspire to have his son
Sharing school door halls with him

A boy of languid study, distractions of the extra curricular he'd never shun
He could be found on most afternoons running lose in the gym

Lloyd took liberties with the boy's abilities 
When it came time for the numbers to add up

College came calling, as did the school board, making a principal look silly
A week later, ole Lloyd Miller cleaned out his desk save for a coffee cup

For he was found to be a cheat, his son incredibly a diploma he finally earned
Lloyd Miller was left teaching seventh graders two blocks over with termination papers.......


................HE MOST LIKELY BURNED!

*Piece about a teacher I had in 7th grade in the Gadsden City School system who had once been the principal at the premier high school in our city.  He was fired years before for cooking the books concerning his son's grades and test scores, when his son was a student at the high school he oversaw.   For the life of me I don't know how he even got a job as a 7th grade English Lit teacher but he did.  Yes, he was even a contrite prick as a teacher even after having fallen so far down the educational food chain.  You could tell by his lack of tact and character that those stories of what he had done had to be true.

"Brad Douchery" 'Swindler's Symposium Chronicles'

THERE ONCE WAS A MAN NAMED BRADLY
WHO RAISED MONEY AS A MISSIONARY IN MIAMI

HE WOULD TELL THE WORLD HE NEEDED MONEY....BADLY

THERE ONCE WAS A MAN NAMED TRUTH
WHO RAISED MONEY FOR A MISSION, TO HELP OUT LOCAL MINISTRIES & YOUTH

HE WOULD TELL HIS FRIENDS HE NEEDED MONEY.....BUT DID SO FRIENDLY

THERE ONCE WERE MEN NAMED TRUTH & BRADLY
WHO WORKED TOGETHER TO RAISE MONEY FOR CROOKS, POSING AS CHRISTIAN......
SADLY

THERE ONCE WAS A MAN NAMED BRADLY WHO CHEATED TRUTH
BY CONSPIRING WITH OTHER SWINDLERS, TO REMOVE HIM FROM THE MISSION

THERE ONCE WAS A MAN NAMED TRUTH, MAKING RESPONSIBILITY A COMMISSION
WHO RECTIFIED A WRONG, BY SUPPLYING THE IRS WITH A WHOLE LOT OF PROOF.

*Story about working for a mission organization who turned out to be fund raising hucksters instead of truthful spiritual leaders they claimed to be.  Fundraisers were suppose to take a cut of what they raised for the ministry but if they were moved off of staff the organization got to keep the money due to a non profit tax loop hole produced in 2008. I love writing "personal name" poetry as I call it just like poets did in the 19th century.  Works such as "Richard Cory" by Edwin Arlington Robinson come to mind.

Finding The Purpose In CHRISTmas

If you look up the word Christian in the dictionary, let me know because I never have.  I know this, in our day there are so many people out there claiming they are "Christian" but they act like the worst types of people alive.  I guess it has always been that way.  There are those who are fake.  I guess any social group or construct has it.  I am writing this morning as an apology!

We who call ourselves "Christian" have not done a good job of living up to the value tree we promote.  As a matter of fact, there are so many people in the modern day church who are: condescending, unpleasant, superficial, judgemental, unfriendly, unkind, socially awkward, passive-aggressive, unforgiving, arrogant, dishonest and just emotionally unattractive to be around.  Don't get me started on all of those people who think you have to be a conservative Republican in order to be "right with God" who are so prevalent here in the deep South. Oh, the stories I could share with you over the past two decades being around "Christians."  My mom, being the perpetual teenager concerning news about my personal life would make a statement like, "so you had a date over in Atlanta the other night.  Was she a christian?"  My response was:  "I certainly hope not!"

All kidding aside, I know those of you out there who may be a secularist, humanist, Hinduist or whateverist have a very good reason to reject Christianity.  I don't blame you.  Sometimes when I am around those false people who call themselves "christian," believe me I feel like doing the same thing.  But, I want you to know this.  (1) There are a few truly Christian men and women out there who are not crazy kooks and who actually are a fantastic example of Christ...........(moving point #2 aside by itself because it is just so DARN important)

(2) Christ is absolutely real.  He is not some character in a history book or even the just bible, who does not seem alive.  He definitely does not have an H as a middle name and is much more significant than being used as a swear word.  He is the only founder of a form of worship (I use this instead of religion because I don't like the word, it seems too vague and not dynamic) who died and rose again.  He did so with a purpose.  Sure, everyone reading this now or who has ever been conceived in a womb is a product of an intimate moment their parents had some time before.  But, Christ/God loves you so much He intimately made you from the very moment of conception, EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO HAS EVER LIVED OR WHO HAS LIVED ONLY TO DIE IN THE WOMB.  Your hair, eye and skin tone and color were specifically designed by Him.  Even your personality and gifts were made by Him.  All those hundreds of ancestors you had, He specifically took specific DNA from them and made you with it, with you uniquely in mind alone.   WOW! Now, that is an example of someone who loves you and desires to be intimate with you.  All you have to do is believe He died for you to heal every hurt, hangup or loss you have ever experienced and name Him Lord or your life. I still struggle with this by the way. 

So my challenge for you is to look past Christianity, Christians and just look at Christ during this time of year, and really every day of the year.  Definitely don't look at me.  Sure, hold me accountable to living out my beliefs. We as Christians are suppose to do that and deserve criticism when we don't. I want Christ to be attractive to you.  But, don't see me as a perfect example of Him.  I WILL FAIL!  But, He never will!  

Back about ten years ago I was into Anne Hathaway movies because I thought she was absolutely adorable.  When you turn on the t.v. you usually see the remake of Get Smart or The Devil Wears Prada.  Being smitten by Anne I would put down the remote and take them in each time one or the other came across my small screen.  There is a scene in The Devil Wears Prada where Anne's character (Andi), nervous and hectic is called back to Miranda Priestly's office (played by Meryl Streep) and is expecting a long laundry list of things to write down and get ready to perform all through her stressed filled day.  She surprisingly hears Miranda run over a short and easy list and say quietly and with a weak directive:  That's all!

With me also - THAT'S ALL 

Merry Christmas and remember the reason for the season. 

JCB

Sleep Hags, Sleep Paralysis & Shadow People (My Personal Testimony)

There are two kinds of people out there.  Those that believe in just the material/physical matter around them, then those who either believe on faith or have actually touched the spiritual world.  I myself, fall into the later population.  Here is my story:

LATE SEPTEMBER 2012 (Indian Springs Village, Shelby County, AL)

Indian Springs Village is a barely incorporated village just south of Birmingham, AL.  Birmingham is our state's largest city and one where most single adults gravitate toward to find a decent job or marriage prospect.  I moved down there in 2001 from my hometown just an hour northeast, to find both of those things.  I yo-yo'd between metro Birmingham and Gadsden, my hometown, 30 miles west of the Georgia state line from 2001 up to 2013.  A friend of mine had needed a renter for his home in suburban Birmingham as he and his new wife were moving to Memphis, TN to take on a job there.  I easily obliged since I had lived there with him during his bachelor days and had remembered incredible times in that house. Although, he did mention a time he had an an issue with "sleep paralysis" one night in the basement in 2006,  to me it was a serene and bucolic set up in the woods of central Alabama.  I place I could pray, read scripture, create art and entertain dates while cooking them dinner.

Late September in Alabama feels really good on the skin.  The humidity seems to vanish and the dry sun for once comes through and warms the spirit as well.  It is a time of emotional rest at least for me.  The hub bub of the summer has melted away. Since no one else co rented with me I had the place all to myself.  It was a one story ranch style home with 3 bedrooms and 2 baths.  It was a lot different than when Andrew, myself and a law student we affectionately called Captain "Chug" the "Buccaneer of Private Beer" lived from 2005-2007.  "Chug" had a way of going into the fridge and drinking everyone else's beer save for his own. I naturally took the master bed room, simply because it had the most amenities, simply because I could. Between four and five o'clock in the morning I looked up and to the front and left of my bed toward the door.  I could not move as I saw this skinny black figure.  Just like everyone else has stated about "sleep hags" shadow people and sleep paralysis it was opaque in feature but took the form of personification.   It was early dawn and some light was coming into the room.  That is what made my particular experience so unique with sleep paralysis.  My former room mate and the home's owner, Andrew, had his experience in the pitch black dark basement well into the 2:00 - 4:00 a.m. range.  Everyone who has testified of having experienced this can say that a person becomes so paralyzed that they cannot even lift their head.  I found this to be true as well. I could not speak, I could only let out a deep sigh from the pits of my lungs.  The black entity moved away from my bed toward my door and hovered for about one second.  In my mind I heard the name of a boy hood friend from Gadsden.  There was no malignant history about the name called.  It was no one deceased or no one I had any ill will toward.  About this time my paralysis was gone and I fully woke up to assess what had just transpired.   I still don't know whether it was my own psyche or the psychological spiritual connection I had with this shadow ghost that brought the name up.  Of course I laughed it off since the name was of a friend who had shown himself to be a real goof ball in our school days and who has still alive.

That's is the great inquiry. Just what was it that I experienced that early fall Sunday morning?  Was it REM sleep gone into over drive?  Was it something akin to what the home's owner had experienced six years earlier just down in the basement? A real malignant pyscho kinetic entity, a negative energy left over from some bad things that had happened in the house years before by former occupants.  Or worse, was a demonic manifestation of some sort of witch craft brought about by former residents.  I personally believe in both types of visitors.  I have always believed in an after life, you bet I believe in a spiritual world.  I even believe animals sense it as well, sometimes more severely than we do.  In September, at a diner in Alexander City, AL. I asked the owner about his experience in the basement that night.  I told my story as well.  We both agreed there must have been some pestilential activity in the home before he bought it in 2005.  It was early evening in that cafeteria just off of US HWY 280. A ball game shown on the t.v. screen as we were still wiping off the sweat of the day down at a college ball game in Auburn.  But a chilling dark entered our core as well.  We both shared the fraternity of experiencing something significant.  The veil between what was material and spiritual had been pulled back for our astonished eyes to see.

* PLEASE VISIT "BRIMSTONE BELOW" (YOU TUBE) FOR MORE AMAZING STORIES LIKE MINE!   SEE: "Truly Creepy Encounters of Night Attacks & Sleep Paralysis"  "Shadow People"
12/6/2018

Night Language

Come down into my psyche 
The deep images dark and brutal are mighty
Move out into my inner world
Where light and carefree desires come unfurled 
To sleep at night is as a free drug
No LSD, THC or Ecstasy is needed
Just lie down on this ordinary white magical rug
Images fleet broken and fast 
Come vivid, as I twist into oblivion 


John C Brown 

6/8/2004

*A piece about the tragedy of people using drugs to escape when we have the God given natural gift of dreams during sleep, which is as great an escape as any.

“Like Hell” A Lost Love Affair With An American City

“Like Hell!” That is basically what my family told me when I told them I was moving to one of America’s most dangerous cities for the summer- MIAMI! It was May 1999 and I had just completed my next to last semester at the University of Alabama. I had big plans, plans to drive to Miami and act like a nomad, living in tents in the Everglades one week, a hotel room on South Beach the next and where ever the heck my adventures took me until my final semester of college that fall. It didn’t matter to me that German tourist were car jacked and murdered there regularly about a decade earlier. Or that it still was a major entry point for drugs and gun smugglers.

You see, I have always felt the way about certain cities as I do women! Unadulterated infatuation and jubilation! My love affair with the city started in the mid 80’s! The chill of January would melt each and every Friday night as Miami Vice would grace the screen! The sounds, the sights the bizarre drama of the show was like no other I had ever witnessed. Pretty soon it seemed other sitcoms would take place in Miami! The Miami Dolphins were a force and really the deep South’s football team! There were no Jacksonville Jaguars, Tennessee Titans or Carolina Panthers! There were the Atlanta Falcons and New Orleans Saints! But, they were awful! For instance, New Orleans was know for two things,  drunks and fans who wore bags over their heads year after year. Of course the mighty Dolphins were smashed by the San Francisco 49’rs in the 1985 Super Bowl! It was Florida vs. California! It was the Deep South vs. the West! It was Florida and the South feeling emasculated for about a year. It was me as a child buying a 49’rs uniform to put beside my Dolphins one! Did I say I would also fall in love with with sports teams like I would cities and women? Even with a Dolphin’s loss it seemed like the 80’s was Miami’s decade.

The 90’s brought other potential "love affairs" to my travel door! There was a 1990’s trip to New York that had my mind spinning! Dad left my mom, brother and I alone to get chewed up by giant 🐀 s and cussed out by crazy Jamaica ex pats in Central Park while he went off to New Jersey to do business! There was my Senior Class trip to Washington DC, were my idiot classmates got drunk and threw beer bottles out of a fifth story window! Being a Christian, private school we had chapel every Friday. Imagine getting up in front the entire school, during chapel and apologizing for your past transgressions in the nation’s capital.  I did some dumb things in my youth, that DC caper was not one of them! So, I got to watch the spectacle from a clean and innocent perspective that day in chapel. I longed for Chicago in the early 90’s as it was a family city. I even had a quick infatuation with Philly! But, non of those places could hold a candle to the “Bell of the Ball” MIAMI! It was too a family city in a way! My father’s uncle, Billy Harrell of Anniston, AL was stationed there during World War 2. For what ever reason basic training was in Miami Beach. Not exactly a place that can toughen up a man prior to combat. But, Uncle Billy’s time in paradise was short lived. For he was shipped to Alaska to fight in the Pacific Theater. Talk about extremes. Of course my mother’s brother had lived in New Orleans for a time. My grandfather recalls  going down to visit him and being kissed by a man while coming out of bathroom, as the man exclaimed I love you to my grandfather. I wanted my adventure, my city to call my own! I wanted to follow in the tradition of my Uncle Mason (New Orleans) and uncle Billy (Miami).

The late 90’s had brought me crushing heart break! I was infatuated with a senior who just did not think of me like I thought of her! A movie staring Sharon Stone and Sylvester Stallone called the Specialist came out about that time. It was filmed and was set in Miami. Sure in junior high I fell in love with NY. In high school it was DC and Chi-town. Strangely, Dallas entered the picture for a time in college. But, Miami whispered in my ear during those other love affairs and said I can cure you from your human relationship heartbreak! I listened to her and was set to answer the call. “Of all the places a young man can go!” Was what my grandfather (Charles Brown) stated in his gruff Midwest voice. “That is a dangerous place for a young man to be!” And he knew! He got shot at numerous times in the “Battle of The Bulge” during World War II. Arguing with him, my father, mother and even brother for four hours got me nowhere! I had to come to grips with the fact my courtship with my beloved city was dying! It sunk in that night! I was to leave for Panama City Beach, FL the next day to attend a religious retreat. All that week it felt like a real break up with a real girl. Even a potential opportunity I got at the retreat to spend the summer in mission in exotic New Orleans felt like a consolation reward.

Five days later I arrived home, still sulking at my family for putting me in such a predicament. Half-heartily I greeted my father with a hello! He sternly, but softly said son come here I need to tell you something. I thought sure if it was an apology I would accept, without much pomp and circumstance, but nonetheless would. “He said son, I got news for you. Pack your bags. You are headed to South Florida!” It felt like the one who had got away came back into my ever loving arms! All those years of longing had come to reality. “Son! “I have found a way for you to work in Miami for the summer!” All the time I was in the Panhandle he had found a church out of Myrtle Beach, SC that was spending the summer doing mission work all over Dade County! So, for a good part of July that summer I slept on blow up mattress, in a Sunday school classroom in Westchester, a suburban Miami neighborhood;  commuting between Homestead, FL. and Little Havana. Soccer camps and bible lessons did not bring about Crockett and Tubbs, Lamborghini’s, Colombian drug lords or even Miami Beach, which I never saw. No, it brought about giant mosquitoes, that stung like bees. It brought swamp frogs on steroids which entered our room at night and cuddled up in our mattresses with us.  Finally, it brought a homeless man who wondered onto church property and slept in the breezeway between our room and restroom. No, the only thing glamorous about my time there was a trip to Key Largo, The Everglades and the Bayside Market place on Biscayne Bay. Although, we thought we saw Madonna one night in Coconut Grove. At least that is what someone said at the Coco Walk as we peered 100 yards away and saw the bright lights and cameras of what were paparazzi. For all we know it could have been a transvestite.

Just like your first human love a first love affair with a city may be your most intense. Maybe it is due to the fact that your brain is not fully developed. You're just not that experienced. But, for that moment in time those feelings are quite real, even if they are fleeting! Sad to say I have lost my love affair with her, with Miami! In 2011 some people associated with the city stole several thousand dollars from me. But, it did not fully matter as the love affair had started to burn out sometime before as I starting “dating” San Diego as early as 2008. No city has ever “curled my toes”  quite like the Magic City in the Florida sun. But, because it brought theft in 2011 I could never love it again! Quite frankly the emotions I had for it burned so bright, they just burned out all together...for good! I became more mature and sought more refined cities in which to seek a more "adult" love! San Francisco was my “rebound” city in 2012, as I joined a literary society there. I finally had a relationship with Dallas. She taught me comedy through a course I took through her in March 2013. Now, I am a polygamist married to two cities for life. There is LA, who proposed to me this summer after 5 years of putting up with my wondering eye. For, I joined The Greater Los Angeles Writer's Society as a lifelong member in July! We renew our wedding vows at least every other December as I visit her by attending our annual Christmas party with GLAWS. She doesn’t seem to mind me “dating” Seattle with my membership in a environmental organization in that city. She is even o.k. with me marrying Seattle and becoming a geographical polygamist! And both those loves know I am mature and stable now! I know what true love now is! I have tied the proverbial knot with LA and Seattle. You get the feeling if I cheat or stray they would not ever feel threatened. Except for by one city. That turquoise haven in the Latin sun. But, at night when I am quietly in bed with my west coast wives I gently whisper in their ear. “ Don’t worry, those feelings were so intense they burned themselves out, never to return”. It was July 1999! I looked out on the tarmac at Miami International! A life of dreams all ahead of me. As was a girl back home named Melissa. It never worked out with ole’ Melissa. She is in my past. It never worked out with MIAMI. She is in my past! Flying home over that gun shaped state northward Georgia way; then on wards to Birmingham, I never thought she would be past, an ex.  I always thought it would be she and me! My youthful love MIAMI!

Dedicated to Charles Clare Brown Sr.    Billy Lamar Harrell 

"Cairo 2014"

I once submitted saliva, that's all I did.
I once found out it was only sand.

I once realized, even from the time of a kid
I bled North African blood, running blue - visions of  Pharoah's chariots, warriors stand

I realized one small cut - plasma dripping, satiating fertile Alabama land
I once found out it contained an illustrious, distant past - pyramids gleaming, Egyptian sand.

*Simple 3 stanza piece about taking a DNA test back in 2014 and discovering trace amounts of what people in the South would say is exotic concerning those results.

"Perpetually October II" The Fleeting

There is something in the air that makes a summer's eve

weakened, feel like it is still there.

Warmth of your radiance, a memory hugs

As this cool crisp morn brings the soul astir. 

Is October the full exemplification of fall.

Or is it a weakened vacuum of the hottest days summer solstice outward lays.

Summer is gone, but there is no chance

I feel alone.

For there is something which ramifies the spirit, about this almanac date.

Is it autumn's presence, or summer's afterglow?

It doesn't matter, for in my ravishment, I don't need to know.

This is piece I wrote last night after I was inspired by Richard Marx's 80's hit "Endless Summer Nights" I was driving home from dinner at my favorite Thai eatery on Noccalula Mountain.  I had completed a taxing weekend both spiritually and emotionally.  Driving down Rainbow Drive, the main vehicular artery in town, the song came on.  For whatever reason it caught my soul at the right time.  So symbolic also was the fact I turned into my old neighborhood to check my old mailbox for any outstanding mail.  A house I had moved out of a week prior. A house I had lived in for four anquish filled humid summers.  Everything seemed quiet, like life itself, the whole world around me was in a silent vacuum or it's former self.  The bustle of summer sounds and activities had ceased. That moment signified change was in the air. It made me wonder, Is summer ever over for a soul in search of needed warmth our world is unable to bring more and more each and every day now.  A soul full of hope.  A soul wanting to shed light in a dark cool world.  October, here in Alabama signifies a change in seasons, presenting the death of winter's cold coming, but a linger of summer's bright and blatant fire.  The right recipe for an artist to extole it's transformative virtue. 

"Mississippi Mesmerized"

AS DIRT SIFTED THROUGH FINGERS
THE GHOSTS OF ART COME TO LIFE

LOOKING AT OLD FLOWOOD PLANTATION I IMAGINE A SOUTHERN BELLE 
WALKING DOWN THE STEPS, SOME COTTON BARRON'S WIFE

IT ALL STARTED WITH SOME VIRGINIA MATRIARCH NAMED ANNE CONSTABLE
A  FLOW OF MY HERITAGE COMING SOUTH AND WEST, THEIR VISION UNSTOPPABLE

TOWARD A PLACE SET IN TIME, TIME'S CLOCK NEVER MOVING
MY INFATUATION OF A PLACE COULD ALL BE FORGIVEN

I ONCE HAD FRIENDS BRAG ABOUT THEIR GEORGIA ATTRIBUTE
KNOWING MY MUDDY  HERITAGE NONE SHAKEN

I MET A FANCY GIRL IN OLD TERMINUS TOWN
SCORES OF DEBUTANTES TO PICK, FEELING NON SHOULD BE TAKEN

I LOOKED TO THE WEST KNOWING MY ONE LOVE WAS HALF MY ANCESTRAL HOME WINE SIFTED THROUGH FLASK, MAGNOLIA MEMORIES COMFORTED ME ALONE

OH BUCKHEAD NIGHT LOOKING  WESTWARD  AS DIRT SIFTED THROUGH FINGERS
THE PHANTOMS OF MISSISSIPPI CAME TO LIFE.


Praise of a state that has given me half of who I am from my mother's mother's side of the family.  Going east you have glitzy Atlanta and the agriculturally fertile state of Georgia.  A few of my friends had their ancestry come out of that great state. Sure Georgia has an awful lot to be proud of.  My friends growing up in Alabama would certainly let me know about how great their Georgian heritage was.  The way Alabama was settled is that those in the western half of the state were usually descended from Mississippians.  Those in the eastern half of the state were Georgia, South Carolina descended.  Living in the eastern part of the state meant I stood out in having Missisippian blood juxtaposed to that of  the Georgian so many others had. 

SUNSPRITE

As tears drip from fountains of tribulation
Sunlight caresses soul
Of a warmer day

As adulation moves mountains and nations
His hand grabs mine, I now feel bold
I move out of darkness, lifeless clay

No need to live off of what is thought as better days
But, to feed off of the seed of heaven's gates

For the warmth of the past, childhood memories
Are swallowed up in the torrent fire, blissful haze.

This is another piece about reflecting back onto a simpler time as a boy in the late 80's and early 90's. The song came out in the summer of 1991 and I remember the warmth of the Alabama sun on my skin as I would sit under a tree in a field of daisies wondering how my life would turn out as an adult or on the sheltering sand of Florida's Gulf Coast.  Such a daydreamer I was and still am. I then thought the possibilities would be endless.  No one I knew had died, whether it be friends my age, older adults or anyone in my family. There was not mortgage, no daily grind and no disillusionment. The nucleus of my world was sheltered, warm and comfortable.  I never imagined it would change.  A time that seemed less opaque and that brought much more possibility out the fountain of humanity.  MARTIKA'S song "Love Thy Will Be Done" initially written by the late artist PRINCE influenced this entire piece.  Prince's death symbolized, as did this song, the death of a time of hope, a time of sunshine into my soul, but the hope of warmth far greater to come. A shearing warmth the burns out all pain and loss. As tears come down my face as I write this piece and analysis I finish this work with the hope that one day GOD will rectify all that is lost as I enter heaven's gates.  He and his kingdom will be a radiant FIRE of warmth, with no goodbyes and no memories as time will not exist.  All those I knew from my past will be seen again.  Those I thought I had lost forever.  I certainly hope I will see PRINCE as well.  As we can sing his song along with MARTIKA once again over and over and be covered by the warmth of eternal bliss by Christ's love and that of those around us, always and forever.  LOVE THEY WILL BE DONE, I CAN NO LONGER HIDE, I CAN NO LONGER RUN!



JCB  4/13/2018  3:54 p.m.