Xenophobia – Wish we could all say….

I have said to some that were clearly Xenophobic –

“I want to like you. You have no reason to dislike me personally.

You don’t know me. Your opinions have been learned without me in them.

Let’s talk about what we have in common in humankind.”

 

It worked about half the time. That was a good start I thought, and still do.

It is painless to listen if the other asks to be heard.

 

jms  3-1-2017

 

 

 

Clumsy Love

Clumsy Love is James’ first book of poetry.

 

Clumsy Love

• Learn more about Clumsy Love.

• Available for purchase on Amazon.com in Paperback and Kindle formats.

 Clumsy Love. Who hasn’t known it?
Who can always know what to do?
Step aside Cupid and Dear Abby (and marriage counselors),
The Clumsy Love poet exposes relationship foibles…
Somewhat, partially or through and through.

Stone Deaf Sound Waves

Stone Deaf Sound Waves is a book of haiku.

Stone Deaf Sound Waves

• Learn more about Stone Deaf Sound Waves.

• Available for purchase on Amazon.com in Paperback and Kindle formats.

 Haiku are an age-old Japanese poetry form organized in lines of 5-7-5 syllables.
Stone Deaf Sound Waves is a westerner’s impression of these wonderfully expressed and compact lines.
The poems convey visualizations and understandings that touch the spirit of the reader.
They are humorous, irreverent and thought-provoking,
and include observations on nature, life, love, and the innermost feelings we all have.

 

Those stone deaf sound waves -
 Surround lake rocks, rippled smiles -
Melodic muteness

Joe My Stepdad

An uncomfortable memory of an adopted son about his stepdad’s life.  The following poem is from a forthcoming book of poetry to be released in 2016.  Joe was my stepdad.  He never missed my ballgames.

Joe My Stepdad

Leaning into the cutting table and scissoring –
Stooped over the industrial sewing machine.
Teeth bared gray from tacks held and spit perfectly to hammer.
Sewing to the grainy hum and whinny staccato like sounds of a saddled wild horse
Always intractably cutting and sewing on
An unseeing upholsterer forgetting his parachutes of war for aviators.
Rote in motion, dead to thought.
Relief at day’s end from beer lids popped like the many parachutes he fitted
Folding his life’s fabric
As if to cover the ennui and the de rigueur of his spirits deadening
His work a heap of fabrics,
To be moved aside for more of the same
His life’s spark suffocated at his own hand within the darkened seamed
Creases of his existence
And within his state of torpor
Lived the unexpected.
A kindness seen dimly, almost bovine
Endearing in his silence, and barely seen in his dulled eyes
Helpful he, even though he was encapsulated in stasis stranglehold
As if willingly, his wrists out to be arrested by grief’s long term sentence
He, submitting to his own unyielding gravity
Pulled slowly toward his own upholstered shrouded death
His own upholstered car, his chariot in waiting.
He breathed in his last, as he sat and waited within his own seams’ clouded carbon monoxide making
He provided and I know he cared for me, but it was never mentioned
His dulled spirit and mine were joined when he left within his chosen trance
My stepbrother also chose his exit within ten months
That, too painful to describe. Even now, over thirty years past
The Heavens must have punctuated our human foibles
Layer by layer. Line by line
Stinging my eyes and salting my mind
I will always be sad
Always