Born to a fair and middle class life, We wandered and wondered without any strife, four good ol’ boys who loved tussle and swim, to flirt with the girls there was no harm therein, but all that would change from the roof to the floor, when one horrid day came a knock at the door.
Mother and dad were good folks but it seems, they had not yet been schooled in the prophetic dreams, they learned they were sinners and destined to fall, these men at the door who dare gave us their all, instilled in grand doubt and made good things seem pall.
A promised grand life if we follow their book, dad said he would read it but he never did look, he went by their word as a word is a bond, the way old folks did in old days that are gone, so we joined with their church and were baptized us four, and all because someone gave a knock at the door.
Now Sundays were different with no time to explore, we’d sit in the church and keep still to be sure, but being a young lad who didn’t set very good, got my first whippin’ and in the corner I stood, the teacher told dad how I had misbehaved, and I was the lad not even jesus could save.
A dark cloud hung over my once happy face, to be safe and content we did prayers to have grace, but these things they promised we already had, long before the time we found out we were bad, but god we found out he was keeping a score, from the men who had come and knocked at our door.
They taught us of freedom of choice and freewill, then took it away with fear torments of hell, we learned that the devil got into our skins, that gay folks were bad and loud laughters a sin, but I looked for the day I would once turn eighteen, and with two middle fingers I returned to my dreams.
Leaving was easy, adjusting was hard, but still no regrets that I turned in my card, I learned how to choose and the consequence mine, that I could do good without all of the fines, the guilt it still lingers and thoughts come is scores, from so long ago I heard a knock at the door.
Is everyone crazy, I think that they are, confessing their sins and then sinning some more, responsibly daft and delayed recompense, excuses and reasons for time on the fence, waiting for someone to even their score, hate and division then hating some more, ironic hypocrisy blend with the days, the living and loving so often delayed, to wait on another to come make it right, when we have the power to end the long fight.
Very nice poem, Jim. Yours? Your older brother’s? Doesn’t matter. Well done.
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It’s mine about him. Thank you
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Far out and fucking fantastic, as hippies used to say.
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Right on..
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This somewhat gave me a vague idea about your past. I wanna know more about the flirtation part though.😋
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You always do! Lol
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This is the second time this topic came up. 😉
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I am not the kind to tell my tales of that nature (at least not on this particular page). That would be on a different page
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Wow, that is beautifully written. Thanks. One of the most poignant and touching things I’ve read.
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Wow! Thank you. I guess it’s a little easier for me to write memories than make them up. Thank you Grouchy
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Exquisite, Jim. You’ve inspired me to write one of my own. All of us heathens should… and then compile them into a lovely anthology of theor the damned. Thanks, man.
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Why thank you Frank. That means a lot coming from someone I hold in such high regard.
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Superb writing.
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Thanks sir.
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Goodness! What a story, especially the part about that “knock at your parent’s door” and how easily(?) it was on your Dad to close-the-deal, so to speak. Was it really that quick? Why did he not ask a LOT more questions!?????
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This was 1959. Yes it really was that easy. Too trusting and obviously no way to fact check. It was more my moms doing actually but they both told me they just had a good feeling about it and knew it was true.
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Yikes. I’ve heard my own Mom say essentially the same thing. I can’t tell you Jim how many times unscrupulous contractors or salesmen — e.g. Verizon salesmen at their franchised stores — have taken advantage of my Mom’s “intuition.” Geezzzz, the total figure/damage hurts everytime I remember it. 😦
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Methinks there might be a hidden talent or two within Mister Jim. 😍
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Thank you. If i hid my talents the lord would take them away and give them to someone else, so I do what I can. God is just.
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God is just … nowhere to be found.
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God is just…just what?
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Wow…That was awesome! I think everyone is just in search for that “answer” There is something missing in their lives at that moment. So, when someone gives them an idea they are very eager to grab on to it.
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I sympathize deeply with you and your story. You are amazingly with it for what you’ve been through. Good to see you!
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Yond’s what evangelist doth, maketh thee feeleth bad about thyself and then claimeth to has’t the solution
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Yeth, thou arts corrrectimundo
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You’re a poet and I didn’t know it!
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