Metaphor dances
As light as a feather, heavy as a woe, strong as an ox, as taught as a bow.
As fast as lightening, slow as a snail, as swift as an arrow shot from afar, so much is seen through this prism like star.
Such pleasure it is to to contrast and compare. Our similarities and differences define who we are.
Oh brevity so gently wound
Snap crackle and pop around
So soft and sweetly slide right in
With the terse remark to make us grin.
The path
The path is
The path is narrow
Too much for some
But to leads to the mountain
Up thar I clumb
Till I grew weary
With blisters and sores
Yet kept on a-climbing
My eyes on the prize
Days I wonder
How this fate found me
I suppose that I earned it
Maybe some day I’ll see
In the mean I continue
Strive for the best
And I guess I’ll get some answers
When on judgement day I shall rest .
Shoot the gap
I was running late and hauling ass down Interstate 35. Bumper-to-bumper and still flying 85–90 in the fast lane. Not really a time or place to get too cute butte learn to anticipate gaps and time the lane change like a flash of lightening.
That one had me on my last nerve. Sure I shot the gap between 18 wheelers with a few very uncomfortable inches to spare, but I kept rolling on down the highway.
There are a couple more such vignettes when my life was spared by mere inches. They serve to temper my judgement. It is a quieter and more peaceful existence now.
Shooting the gap, requires full awareness. I was in a hurry that afternoon, missed a turn, when to the next intersection and attempted a sudden-shoot the gap U Turn and was T-boned. Totaled the car, no injuries but it scared the hell out of me that I did NOT see that car until it hit me.
Seems I lost my way.
Seems I lost my way.
Did not see the signs
hear the bell
Ended upright here
The place where I fell
Dusted myself off
looked on ahead
Ain’t no turning back
I’ll climb up Instead
Some left jelly beans
Others dropped crumbs
For the way back home
By heels and thumbs
Seems now twas written
Somehow in star burst
Projecting me here
Immersed in verse.
The path
The path is narrow
Too much for some
But to leads to the mountain
Up thar I clumb
Till I grew weary
With blisters and sores
Yet kept on a-climbing
My eyes on the prize
Days I wonder
How this fate found me
I suppose that I earned it
Maybe some day I’ll see
In the mean I continue
Strive for the best
And I guess I’ll get some answers
When on judgement day I shall rest .
Uncle Zeke
Gideon: The mail done come today from St Louis. Your great Uncle Zeke and Aunt Loni will be a-coming through on their way to Hannibal. Papa is really looking forward to having them stay with us.
Uncle Zeke was Gideon’s brother and a country minister wanna be like his brother Gideon until his fall from grace for his arrest as a pedophile
Gideon: Did I ever tell you the story about your grandfather and uncle Zeke and the outhouse?
Adam laughed
Adem: No, tell me about it uncle.
Gideon: There were a bunch of mischievous teenage boys in that rural county. One night they decided to exact some revenge on a teacher who had given them bad grades and sent notes home to parents.
These were just overgrown country boys with no real influence so their form of revenge was to go out in the middle of the night and turn outhouses over exposing the hole in the ground filled with feces and trash.
The end result was a wretched stench that wafted through the entire county. To make matters far worse, the particular night the chose the outhouse, which usually stood empty in wait for the night depositor but on this fateful night, uncle Zeke sat on the perch like snowbird on its nest taking care of life’s necessities when the primitive shack was overturned, spilling Zeke and splashing feces for a quarter acre. It took two months and several bars of lye soap for Zeke smell human again.
The boys sustained brutal punishment for their deed. But they were considered local heroes for the manner in which they exacted revenge and the story lived on past their years and became local legend.
Uncle Zeke had a drinking problem.
Zeke: No, I ain’t. I’m a-gomnna tell you somthin’, I done like me some moonshine on occasion but it ain’t no dang problem no how.
But it certainly was. Zeke was known to start his morning with a shot of whiskey on a hot day. See, he had grown up in a dry county run by a bunch of Baptists. They considered drinking a sin but Zeke didn’t look at it that way at all.
Zeke: Hell, I’ll tell you and yorn, right off, there ain’t a damn thing wrong fer a man to have a drink or two on a hot day. The Lord wouldn’t have even created drink if it weren’t good for a body.
Zeke had a bad habit of going for a late-night drive through a small town and when he seen an appliance store he’d take a bat to a window and do a little shopping. He could grab a few items, toss them into the back of his wagon and be on his merry way.
It got to be another of his fateful habits. It was so easy he would bust out a glass window and be back drinking beer before the local police had a clue, it was the days before sirens and quick response.
A few parishioners complained to Gideon that Zeke had acted inappropriately with some boys. Zeke had exposed himself and masturbated in their presence. One father had even threatened to shoot and kill Zeke.
Gideon distanced himself from his brother to protect his own reputation. Zeke deeds undid his defense. By that time the news had spread like cholera, not only among church members but like all gossip, all over Boone county.
Zeke had once again become an outcast which only served to trouble him more so he descended into the bottle even further. Now he was not just an outcast but had become the target of angry threats.
Finally one stormy Saturday night, to the startled calls of neighborhood dogs, in another drunken stupor, Zeke made his way to Gideon’s church late at night when streets were empty entered through the pastor’s private entrance. Behind the altar was a giant cross where the crucified Jesus hung.
Zeke climbed up the cross with a length of rope around his shoulder, attached one end over the top of the crucifix, then put the hangman’s noose around his neck and jumped resulting in his death.
This was the frightful scene that greeted parishioners as they arrived for Sunday services.
Devil: I love a good hanging. I can’t wait for the church doors to swing open to this Ha ha ha.
SUNDAY DINNER
The table was set with the finest dishes and silverware. Adem sat at the head of the table with Aileen facing him. On his right was Jed and Zeke on his left. A long adjoining table where all the men of the construction crew, all dozen of them sat, the table heavily laden with a bountiful dinner. The women folk hustled around the room heaping food onto plates as everyone prepared to feast on the bounty.
Gideon: Let us bow our heads in prayer. Lord Jesus Christ your humble servants thank you for what we are about to receive. We thank you for your bountiful blessing you have bestowed upon us. Bless this food and the hands that prepared it. May the nourishment empower us to do your will. We give you all the praise. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen
The devil crouched in a dark corner.
Devil: The old man can pray all he wants but I will be teaching these boys some colorful language after supper.
A knock came at the front door. Adem opened it to see two familiar faces of local famers William and John Younger. The families were members of Gideon’s congregation but Gideon mostly knew their women folk because the men were prone to drink and were seldom sober enough to accompany the women and children to Sunday services. That alone was cause enough so the elders shunned the drinkers as volatile and unpredictable.
John Younger: Hello preacher, we came by to talk to you about a wedding.
Gideon: That’s wonderful news. Who are the the lucky couple?
John: Rather awkwardly: Sorry to say this but this is a marriage of convenience. My thirteen year old daughter has turned up “with child.” The ornery bastard of a father is a mere sixteen and he will need to brought to the alter with my shotgun but I aim to see that the right thing is done for my Lydia.
Gideon: Well, John, I have to say that the Lord works in mysterious ways and the arrival of this child ought to be seen as a blessing.
John: Call it what you will but I aim to see Lydia married before this child is born. This conversation transpired with John Younger cradling a shotgun with a labored sneer on his lip.
Gideon: How soon do you expect for these nuptials to occur sir?
John: The sooner the better or else I’m going to have to hunt that boy down with my hounds.
This was starting look like it could turn into a mob-justice scene at the hands of a bitter father so Gideon intervened.
Gideon: John, let’s take some time to calm down and be rational. The truth is you are about to become a grandfather. There are more lives at stake here and you ain’t going to be no darn good if you do something rash.
The wedding of Lydia Younger and Robert James was hurriedly scheduled for the following week. This unfortunate series of events would set into place events that would mark the Missouri Hills for decades to come and would become the legacy of the James and Younger families.
Devil: This is what I love, bringing lawless men together so they can use their guns instead of their plowshares.
The interment.
Gideon’s church had become a highly desirable venue for a full range of services including weddings and funerals because of New Goshen’s new cemetery. Weddings bring new unions fetch young couples and souls into the fold so news of nuptials increase the potential of new congregation members.
The James’ family was there because Aunt Polly Cole had passed away at ninety-one and would be planted in the cemetery. The Younger and the James’ family all knew each other from Lickskillet Missouri down on Whipperwill creek, so there were family members from both clans present.
The cat fight between Polly James and Faith Younger marked the event as the meeting of the minds between The Youngers’ and The James’ families. The remote environs of the Ozark mountains were a haven for people who held low regard of big city dwellers as nothing short of meddlesome heathen. But now New Goshen would be remembered for evermore for entertaining snotty, bloody cat fights.
The two young “ladies” got into a teenage catfight on the church house lawn. Polly James started the whole thing by making ugly faces at Faith during the service so Faith set out to teach Polly a lesson afterwards.
The feline females meet up outside the church and all hell breaks loose. Faith threw the first punch, a quick left jab to Polly’s nose which exploded in a bloody snot shower. So Polly wades in for the kill, pulling hair scratching Faith’s cheek. Polly is winning so Faith gets dirty, no longer just pulling hair, she grabs Polly’s head with both hands pulling her face forward and bites the end Polly’s nose off and spits on the ground.
Faith: There Polly Younger, there’s your stupid pretty little nose.
Polly begins to scream bloody murder as a passing cat snatches up the severed nose and hightails it.
Polly: You witch you bit my nose off. What kind of animal are you anyway?
It all happened so fast that nobody noticed until Polly’s screams. It took every man present to, finally jump in and separate the two.
