I felt that the charisma, with someone that we make into celebrity, comes about through something that we recognize in them about ourselves, or our desires. Also something that we can identify with and they have the ability to churn something up within ourselves.

I would have said that The Doors songs and Jim Morrison's singing appealed to me on the emotional level, citing the qualities that affected me with the music. Having spent much of my life with the greatest hits, most of the music was unavailable to me. Having watched the movie, "The Doors," a certain commonality still passed me. Watching the scene with the dying Indians didn't jog things up.

It was in late August thru early September 2008 when I acquired the rest of The Doors music. I became amazed at the expanse of the music that was theirs and the poetry within it. I marveled at not only this; also their creativity, foresight and their talent. But, even though a lyric's contained within the song, "Peace Frog;" it still escaped me.

In late September, I picked up the last of the studio recordings, "An American Prayer." Even with several listenings, it continued escape me. It wasn't the poem, music and description of "Awake", the event that was similar in both Jim's and my lives, but in, "The Poet's Dreams, The Movie." In this, Jim describes being seated into a theater and then acting as the announcer. It is obvious that your are there to see a movie of your own life.

It was then that his last words for that segment got me, "Did you have a good world when you died? Enough to base a movie on." I was amazed at how prophetic those words were and started to laugh.

"Well Jim, you certainly did!" With the thought, "Me?" I busted out laughing! Then the next time I played the CD, the words to, "Awake," not only hit me hard, they made me sick. I had to clock out of work early and go home. Now every time I hear, "Indian's scattered on dawn's highway bleeding. Ghosts crowd a young child's fragile eggshell mind. Indian, Indian what did you die for? Indian says, nothing at all." Many of the lyrics of his songs then took on a haunting tone.

In, "Awake," he describes going on a trip out West with his parents and grandparents; happening on to an accident scene where there was a truck and American Indian workers were lying around bleeding and dying. Jim also stated that was the first time that he felt fear and mentioned that he could feel the panicked Indian souls roaming around.

He also said, "Maybe one or two of them are in me." Through his music, it is obvious that, seeing that affected much of his life and made me realize, though my experience was generally put out of my mind, it seemed to always be there, underneath. That image of my grandfather dying also has stayed with me and I guess that being the first glimpse of death, has lasted even though I have seen many more people to their end. Also personally, my life has been much more spiritual, harder to put in context, then most people's range of experience.

In my case it, was a Sunday in 1969 and we had returned to my Grandmother's house in Baltimore after a day trip to Lancaster, Pennsylvania. My Grandmother was with my mother talking at the front of the house in the living room. I was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, at the back of the house and my Grandfather was home and sitting on the back steps talking with my father, who was standing in front of him. He suddenly stood up and fell forward; my father caught him and laid him and gently down.

He told me to get Mom and tell her that something is wrong with her dad and bring a pillow. I did and my mom came running past me. She immediately ran back past me and upon looking back at me yelled out, "Oh God!" She grabbed me and ran me into the bed room with the instruction being, "Just Stay here," shutting the door. She ran the pillow out to my father and then back into the living room where the phone was. There was no 911, as it was a regular phone number for the fire station itself, which was located at the beginning of the phone book. I heard the struggle them of trying to dial it. My mother and grandmother were frantic and I heard them both yelling on the phone.

The fire station was just a mile up Old Harford Road, so in the short time the ambulance was to be there; my mother popped back into the bedroom and held my hand, "Mike, I know this looks very bad with Pup Pup E, but I think he will be OK. Don't worry, in a little time, he should be able to play with you again. He knows how much you love him." I couldn't believe that she would lie to me like that. Clearly, I had seen his spirit leave his body and the presence that I had felt told me that he died, but it was his time and everything is OK. This aspect didn't present itself in some form of supernatural experience, but simply as a feeling. A blanketing one would be a very apt description.

I could hear the ambulance coming and when it arrived, I sneaked out of the bed room and I watched them look at my Grandfather, put him on the stretcher. Then they took him to the back of the ambulance, which at that time resembled an ice cream truck and I saw them put the sheet over his face. My father told me about a year before he died, that they looked at him and said that he is dead and there is nothing that they can do, it looks like his heart exploded. Because this happened outside and in public view, they will take his body to the hospital, where it can be picked up. They played it up a bit, because they didn't want to deal with the women. Grandma got into the front of the ambulance and they drove off. I believe that my parents took me home and found someone to baby sit, then they left for the hospital themselves.

Instead of my parents allowing me to come to the funeral, one of my mother's friends watched me, ironically of American Indian descent. I remember that I played, but we also discussed what happened. Morris is a no thrills person who is very unique. Though I didn't deal with him in Boy Scouts later, he was also a top scout and adult leader, that I sort of got many ideas from. Also pushing the, "aceptable envelope." He was always pushing the limits of modern scouting and trying to make it more traditionally the way it was. The night that he watched me; one of the things that he did say is, "You not only have to behave well, you also need to be there for your mother. This is really going to affect her badly and she will need help from everybody.

In my teens, I found out from my mother, that was the worst experience in her life. She said that they had to put her on pills for it, then she had to take herself off them, but she admitted, that she was be permanently affected from he Dad's death. It gripped her before she went to sleep at night, so she now treated it homeopathically, by drinking two beers each night. Later we found out, supplemented with rum. Grandmother was always affected, but got a grip on life and got out a bit with her oil paintings.

I voiced my worries to my my mother, that she was going to have the same troubles with my grandmother as it appeared that she wasn't doing too well and was slowly slipping away from us. Mom assured me, that will not be the case and that she felt that my grandma had lived a long and filled life, "With a day like she gave me today, perhaps too long." Mom said that she is prepared. I asked my father why he wasn't affected and he said, "Mike, I have seen the worst of death. When you have to see your best friends, laid out in their living rooms and realized that you played with them just last week; you quickly learn that life has no guarantees." His friends passed in a series of epidemics. Today, children are spared for the most part, making seeing death at an early age even more uncommon.

I thought I had acceptance of death mastered at an early age and couldn't understand how people could grieve so, or completely change because of it. I guess that death couldn't let me escape not knowing this, though the ignorance would have been great for my life. I had a person that I considered a childhood sweetheart and there was no one that I wanted to be with, more. I think this terrorized the poor girl and outside of short shy visits to make sure I was OK, I lived the relationship more in thought.

The senior year of high school, I found out through a reaction to my photographic display, that she may have had much more serious feelings herself and after a week of total madness and panic in finding her, pursued her into the girls bathroom. I simply, upon bent knee, talked to her through the stall and made my case. She was struck and killed the next day by a drunk driver. My senior year consisted of a third of a year of being in a state of shock, then severely depressed, then learning how to get by.

It was as if there was a deep spiritual bond, that created a gaping whole in my being and screamed, a horrible sense of injustice. At times, even blaming myself as if I was the one that killed her. I was able to understand the process of death, but I couldn't figure out why, I took it as hard as I did. It took about ten years after I got my memory back, to get it all worked out. My father wasn't immune from learning either and it didn't take death to continue to life's finality for that one. In 1989, my mother had a cardiac arrest at home and due to medical care improvements, she remained alive, but severely brain damaged.

I watched my father go through that experience and in fact, I sort of guided him through it. He then was amazed at my abilities at handling things and it took several conversations for him to understand how. He couldn't believe that I remembered my grandfather passing away. Same elements, the sense of injustice and the spiritual bond being torn away. In my mother's case, it was if her spirit was ripped from her and replaced with a malicious spirit, with some moments in our house being played out like the Exorcist. From this my Grandmother gained a new lease on life and was determined to survive, to take care of her daughter and outlive, "That son of bitch of a father of yours." She blamed him and it was her anger that carried her through very well. But she died an unhappy person, as she wanted to see him dead first and to wish him to hell.

The one element between our experiences that I found astounding is that right off of the bat, somehow an American Indian was involved. In my case, he was nothing more then a baby sitter; my mother's friend with a commonality in music and growing up together. It is strange that I too would become majorly involved in scouts, and though I wanted to learn music, my mother refused to teach me. That didn't stop me from exploring and studying it on my own.

Though out my life, Indians would be coming in and out of it and play a role, too. My father worked with Juvenile Justice and one of his cases was a Lumby Indian. His Grandmother felt a bond with my father and invited him into her church community to celebrate her 80th birthday. It was a far different world in the church basement, most Indians really didn't like us being there. I remember the looks we received, it made one very uncomfortable. The sixteen year old girls looking at this fourteen year old boy. Both had our thoughts. The grandmother stopped by and said that she is very happy that we came, as that was what she truly wanted. Dad gained a lot of respect because of this and who he was there.

Though primarily a Christian, I had a fascination with the Indian side of being and upon hearing of the Sun Dance ceremony, I had a sense, that I could imagine participating in it. It was sort of that, transcending the torture and harshness of it that strangely enough, made me feel accomplished. I was emotionally moved by American Indian dances and other ethnic music and their roots. I was very happy when I read about the Sun Dance in Shaman's Drum Magazine. A Shaman stepped apart from the other's and allowed white people that he felt worthy, participate.

The article outlined the debate, fully described not only the ceremony, but also the experiences of the participants. What touched me the most was the article also had the details on the Vow to the Sun and I was very pleased that even though, I knew not of them, that basically I lived my life with them in mind. I laughed when I realized that I had lived those vows and that my scares were on the inside. Breaking out in the dance to me, now only became a formality in order to show other people my courage.

This knowledge came in very handy once. I was in Baltimore City, walking between the bus stops in Lumby territory, when two young lumbies stopped me and said that they were going to cut me. One had a knife in his hand. I believe that they wanted me to run to amuse their egos. When I didn't, they became disgruntled and told me to pull out my knife. I laughed and said that I didn't need one. Using sign language, I put out my arms and made a circle, stopping at all of the directions. Then grappling as if putting them into me. I then reached up at the sun and when I turned to them, I motioned that I had the scars upon my chest. I lastly pointed to them and held out my left hand and wiped it with my right. As if dusting dirt off of my palm. I got as far as lifting my shirt to my belly button and they took off running. I asked the air why and the air replied, "Those two needed that."

I know the movie indicated that the old Indian (shaman), remained in Jim's life. Seeing that only in the movie, I would be afraid to comment. But in several songs and poems of his, he mentions the American Indian and Shaman. When my life was at it's harshest, in my thoughts, an old Indian began to appear in my imaginings, mostly at night. I was sort of put into a wick-up, made of woven willow covered with dirt. Just given a rock or two and the old man sat outside and did his thing. Eventually I picked this up and occasionally did them myself, whether around the house, bed or the humble abode that I camped in.

It didn't make sense to me, because he was an old Indian with short hair and wore pants, but I went along with it none the less. I also didn't recognize many of the things that he did, which made me suspect. It wasn't until some time later that I read Thomas Mails book, "Fools Crow, His Power and Wisdom." This was written from conversations with Fools Crow, only to be released as a book, after his death. His visions of the Wagon Man, coincided with mine. Strange... To be so touched by a person that you never expected to find out about. This has repeated itself several times and it is fairly common to have that person, for reasons unknown to them, to totally panic when they see me. I hate it! But, I'm used to it.

We also seemed to have a connection of wandering alone. Whether a walk about or simply to spend time alone to delve more deeper into one's self and essence. I know that Jim mentioned the desert and I had my woodlands and caves. With scouts, you're supposed to buddy up and generally, that was short lived as people tended only to do this out of curiosity and lost that interest of hiking with me, very fast. It was occasionally mentioned to me that at times, the atmosphere that surrounded me upon my return was disconcerting. I enjoyed watching nature play itself out and rarely grew fearful at anything that occured. I had another American Indian that was a Scoutmaster for a time and at least he understood this wandering about alone more then most. He also laughed like hell when my sweat-lodge blew apart and I went from two hundred degrees to minus fifteen in a second, totally naked. I would loved to have known what people thought about Jim upon his returns.

Seeing death at an early age has made me a very observant person and one that realizes that no matter what, our lives are finite. I think this imprinted upon myself, so that I can get the most out of my adventures and in keeping life refreshed. It also shoved reality down my throat. Usually when people grieve, people are either put off by the way the person acts or something that makes the observer feel they were lacking. You will not be able to get the person to stop grieving, especially if it is an act of spirit keeping; but holding their hand and simply saying, "I understand." It will go a long way in helping them, at least in keep their minds to their life and with those still around them. No need to feel funny or try to push points, we all have our natural rhythms.

Very often a more spiritual sense of being occurs. One, rarely seems to remain the same after the experience, especially when they happen at such a young age.

Author Notes

If you are reading this from a thread that I created and do not plan to write or review other members works here, it is requested from the author to return to the original thread to comment. Recommended listening. This contains interesting poetry as well, skirting on good taste in my opinion, but very rich with meaning. Very powerful production in it as well. The Doors- CD "An American Prayer." Tracks 1-4 AWAKE-Ghost Song- Dawn's Highway-New Born Awakening Also Track 22, Bird of Prey- A song sung in a chanted fashion of the American Indian- It represents the life cycle of a rodent in the eyes of a raptor, such as a hawk, falcon or eagle. Also man's place in the world in reference to God or death. From, The Doors, "Morrison Hotel," CD. Peace Frog, "It starts of, "There's blood in the streets," Very peppy and there is more romantic music featuring, Jim Morrison's, psychedelic Sinatra. Works From Mike K2, these can be cut and pasted into your browser. When The Woods Turn White http://www.fanstory.com/displaystory.jsp?id=214180 Hollow Bones For Fools Crow http://www.fanstory.com/displaystory.jsp?id=214020 There are some many of these experiences that I have had within my portfolio, best to click all and have a look. Many such as, My Humble Abode, Warmth and Comfort, Bathed In Your Light, Whiteout!, just to name a few.

You ride though my
world greater then
any woman alive.
But at the slightest
glimpse, you slip away
as you run and hide.

[chorus]

How can such a mystery
present itself and
provide for me so much?
Yet when it comes to
a heavenly embrace,
you let slip the clutch!

You coast off, riding
down the hill, me running
'til your out out of sight.
A beautiful face upon my mind,
spirit with a whisper so kind;
you invade my sleep at night!

[chorus]

I don't understand, what
have I done, to where you
care, but me you shun.
You make sure to maintain
your presence in my life,
but leave my mind undone.

I understand that we share
a love and unequaled we
have become the best of friends.
I know that you write the script
to this play, one day will you
decide to stay.

Or will you slate it...
... to suffer fateful ends.

[chorus]

I know I give something special
to your life, but me living with
this divine mystery.
Has me praying that you come alive
galloping into my life to share
this magic, that you bring out in me.

But at the slightest
glimpse you slip away
as you run and hide.
You ride though my
world greater than
any woman alive.

[chorus- down beat, sung softly and low]

Though I think you are only a spirit.
No one else now, I want to be with.


[Chorus]
OH!_________Anna-di! Why!
Though my life you ride!
Like the ghost rider in the sky!
I love this aberration, before
she disappears and hides.

Your love and conviction is just
as real.
Then from any living woman, this
I truly feel.

Just a hint, a loving message
on the towel that I use to dry.

It's you! I barely spy!

Author Notes

I am currently considering becoming a set singer in regards to the music of, "The Doors." My observation is that many bands can play it well but lack in singing the lyrics. My set would be as much as an act as song, adding a little of my persona for the performance. I don't buy the movie of the doors as I think it was a few events that they blew up to create a huge mystique about Jim Morrison. For the most part I feel that 90 percent of them is the same of any other band. But it is the various personalities that combined to make them what they were. (The other ten percent and what got noticed.) If I decided to develop this performance, I wouldn't begin to try to imitate Jim Morrison and with the exception of writing into the set some unpredictableness and interest, would be myself. In leather pants and a seventies shirt! lol Being a straight person, I really don't want to emphasize the drug culture of these bands, but infer it to what is acceptable to me. For example I have found that the mystique of Absinthe (the green fairy, that drink of musicians and poets, and what most people are afraid to try) can be used to infer that. Or the foreboding of the audience thinking that I am drinking anti-freeze. I think that atmosphere would be plenty. Anna-di is a generic name basically picked by mentally throwing darts at various possibilities. This one entertained me and also has that ghost like quality about it, yet is non-descript.. How I came up with this one is in thinking What would miff, Jim Morrison? As far a sex, I had a feeling that he had plenty of offerings to pick from. No doubt the band also had their entourage for various reasons, some for the association, the culture or the times and others for a pseudo intellectual or philosophical reasons. I came up with a character that should have been there, but elected not to get caught up in the Doordom of it all. For this I only had to turn to my various relationships with FS poetesses,enjoying the site, yet maintaining an anonymity. When I went out at a fellow members house in South Dakota, I invited several members to join me as that would have been a nice way to meet each other. But I know that these Internet relationships also have their caring and love. Honestly, it sparks not only the sense of a certain love, but a desire to want to know the person behind all of the words. For me to have any of these feelings is a miracle in and of itself. It is also very touching that we work off of each other's writing as an inspiration. Something that unfortunately doesn't happen in my life in Baltimore. Well the Internet wasn't around for Jim. So I thought of a fan that through letters he realized that she was special, perhaps from time to time he came into contact with this shy person who enjoyed the bestowed intrigue more then actually desiring to know him. Perhaps slipping a towel on stage with a special message. Though not conventional, to him it is a relationship never the less. One that would pluck his nerves! lol I would insert this into an act having a lenght cool down, possible with someone throwing him a towel with writing on it. The going into, "Break On Through!" with a shorter introduction. I share my plans with you as I value your opinion as well the reviews on my material. Mike

Chapter 7
Untamed Spirit!!!!

By Mike K2

"Oh, My God!" There
she goes again.
She must get her energy
from the Devil's den!

"Great Copperheads and
dogs from Hades!"
With her there isn't a moment
of peace made for me!

She'll be fine, with her
doll having some play tea.
I'll find her two hours later
sitting in the field setting
cotton fluffs free.

Damn if she didn't have to show me
what was on the end or her little rake.
So proud, she was, taking the life out
of me... "A coiled up black snake!"

She looked so beautiful, finely
dressed for church with ribbons
in her pristinely combed hair.
"My dear? Where are your ribbons?"
Now covered in mud, she decided who
needed them more was the hog over there!

My husband is proud of the life
he provided me, as he always
finds his way into the field.
I'll consider him a true man when
he gives me a break and finds the time
with his daughter to deal!

I know she will one day be a lady
and take a nice gentleman's hand.
I bet it will be just a short while,
until he finds just what a spirited
woman he did land!

Author Notes

This poem is designed to read exactly as it is. A short simple exclamation, going into these run on excited stanzas, much like a woman who has just dealt with such a child! My intention with the rhyme is not exactly to find perfect matches in every case, but one that continued the flow without giving up their meaning. Photograph copyright 1993 by Michael W. Kohlman Baltimore, MD This photograph came from my print file of an unreleased and incomplete article, "Reliving History... A hobby, A Pursuit, A Lifetime." This was taken at Fort Frederick State Park in Maryland who once a year, hosts reenactments for the French and Indian War, The Revolutionary War and the Civil War. Various reenactment groups get together and set up camps. Being more then just a bunch of guys pretending to shoot at each other. Many bring family and set up camp, demonstrating also the life and traditions of their era. They also have live cannon firing demonstrations. For the photograph, "This is not a photograph of a reenactment, but an actual battle;- the oldest one. Young Shannon tests the readiness and capabilities of her mother Jeanine Joyce. Her husband serves with the 13th Virginia Company." I was photographing a cannon when I heard this squeal followed by, "Oh! My God!" if you think chasing after your daughter is bad, imagine doing it in petticoats and bodices. I had to be a gunslinger to capture this one.

Chapter 8
Powerfully Spirited!

By Mike K2

Put off by me? Are You?
I'm high spirited, dwelling
in me, may even be two!

Maybe it's my facial piercing?
Or in being blunt, I'm not
exactly endearing.

Maybe it's hairstyle and clothes?
Perhaps, that to a heavy back beat,
I singingly scream out life's woes?

My personality changes with the music!
In the microseconds of my glimpses
I perform for the reactions that stick.

With 10,000 people dancing in the sun.
I might kick a beer left on stage...
just for the sheer fun.

Maybe I am snubbed by the stodgy.
But through me, I celebrate the
bands I love, admire and study.

In my private moments I play Chopin.
As the romantic thoughts of childhood's
ideals, enters me once again.

No matter who you are, I fore warn!
I demand to be respected, admired
and treated like a woman!

My fans hold my adoration,
while I create for them...
a fascination.

Author Notes

Photograph taken October 2008 by Michael W. Kohlman at the Fells Point Festival's Beer Garden. Yes, she's in mid air! Unknown band members of the Niki Barr Band. I was there for ulterior motives and I apologize for being rusty with my photojournalism. Mainly the journalism part. It was almost an afterthought to take pictures of the bands that played. The sponsoring radio station is used to this though, in sponsoring several events and providing community service, they are often known as a local station by the (local paper), when they are associated with something bad, then it's 98 ROCK as a talk show personality pointed out. I have found this to be true, except with their article on HD Radio, an ever developing and upcoming technology, beginning to be deployed. To be honest, I don't know the band or it's members. One of the radio stations personalities, put together a last minute band that had no rehearsals called Train Wreck that played AC/DC music. I figured that they would be a quicky shoot, but they put on a good show so I was concentrating on my shooting. If it wasn't for the fact that I was being stopped from photographing from back stage area by quasi police, and awaiting for the real police to come, I wouldn't have talked to them. I asked her if she was part of the band next up, she said yes and asked me who I was. When I explained who I was and that I was, "acting," as the event's photographer. She thought it would be a great idea to photograph them and would like a couple of shots. Of course I finally got the attention of the police, got my permission and was back at photographing the band at hand. I don't know where to send them. I manged to finally track them down. At that time, she was all business, trying to figure out when the band on stage was ending, what order to get her equipment on stage and her sets to play. On stage she too, put on a show... and it was wild and fiery! I think at one point, she might have spied me taking a picture and walked up to the last band's beer and kicked it in my direction. It would have been a good shot, provided it wasn't coming directly my way. My sixth sense told me to cover my camera. I think it was Bud Light! The photograph was chosen as it fit my thoughts for the poem. She was definitely unconventional and must put many people off, her music must do this to. I always hung around these strange or freak women because I found out they were direct and honest. Something I learned to appreciate. Usually many bands, have studied the discipline of music for a while and are far more knowledgeable and accomplished the they appear. It is always great to see someone have a chance to stretch their wings with playing a bigger venue then the normal one's, such as bars. The members are appreciative of this opportunity and enjoyed doing the performance. Also, they are far more approachable then the bigger bands who are more about the business of it all, on a large tour. This poem was also a response to a challenge. I Emailed a set of photographs to a couple of FS members and one, said that she loved this photo and I needed to write a poem about her. Backloged with poetic ideas, this fell into place when I thought about adding it to my, "Spirit Woman," concept. There is a clue in the poem who this spirited members is. 98 Rock, Baltimore has a website and listing is available on-line along with web-camcasts. For a change in pace, I recommend listening to their Morning Show with Mickey, Amelia and Spiegel. Mickey, not caught short on personality, whose also does stand-up comedy and appears on AM talk radio; Amelia, who tries to keep the show on track and lends her mind scratching logic to conversations and the self-absorbed and neurotic newsman who adds his strangeness to interviews. He also share his random thoughts, once a week. This is FM, but it is not over the top and you never know what will come up next with everyone's ADD. The are exposing their belief that McCain is Dr. Evil, complete with its side by side comparisons with photographs and audio. Mickey is conservative, Amelia is liberal and Josh is Josh.

Chapter 9
The Rope Swing

By Mike K2

It was those hot and humid days;
on toiling adults, the sweat laid.
But the children left for relief,
just a few hundred steps from
suburbia to a rural retreat.

At the local park, its hills,
tree houses and hollow log cannons
were protected by far.
Proudly encompassing possession
and fought over by wars.

But there was one item put up
and cut down in the park,
over which we never did shout.
Either over the water or on a hill;
when a rope swing hung about.

The rope swing on the hill, was
for developing a manly skill,
the swing yielded to the new
comers that were boys to see
how good they could play,
"Knife Game!"

The girls were encouraged to
just take a swing out, to
boys delight with screams
and squeals, they enjoyed
the ride just the same.

Taking a rest, I settled talking
to a girl that had life figured
out, she was absolutely the best.
And when she told me she thought
I was too, I knew to meet her
I must have been blessed.

Then there was the one over the creek,
every kid constantly pitched in
to help make it deep.

Boys and girls alike would swing off
into the water until frozen and blue.
Continuing this adventure, until the
dinner curfew called, and leave only
when we absolutely had to.

Many adults just had to stop by
just to try their hand.
Commenting that we were such a
nicely gathered band.

This is one of those rare instances
of bickering groups of kids
became a community.
Keeping those wonderful memories locked
within ourselves for posterity.

Author Notes

Judianjames conjured up this memory with her story, "Ampersand and Poodle" chapter 3, "The Tree House." This recollect brought back a book full of memories. Tree houses were put up and protected by the older boys who also stole our supplies for putting up one of our own. Likewise, hills were claimed and my friends and myself had grosses of M-80 firecrackers and also enjoyed making ones, at least half of the community then called it Double Rock Proving Grounds instead of park. Everything was fought over. One time we were exploring and a group from neighboring Overlea resented us being on the hill and creamed us with their BB guns. We ran alright, but home to grab a sling shot and fill our pockets with M-80s. A person that done blasting taught us how to properly prepare safety fuses because he feared us blowing up our hands. We were back on the hill and the patrolling Overlea people were back walking the trails. We let out a, "F-you!" and they started shooting, this time for keeps. We launched ten M-80s before they fell around them and chased them through the woods with about ten more. This hill, known as, "Suicide Hill," was retaken. Nobody messed with us and our cannons which was loaded with a M-80 in a bottle. But a rope swing was a different matter and us routy kids, settled into a polite society, just to see how good the other boys were. Knife Game was a game played on a rope swing set on a hill. The first person would go out with a sheath knife in their teeth. Upon coming back he would place it in the hill at the highest possible spot. The goal was for the next person to grab it while coming back and place it higher. I developed a method of flipping my body with earned me the comments of, "Crazy" or "God Damn!" This lasted unit one day I went out and saw the swing go above me, then I looked back and saw the looks on the other boys face; they were laughing or just had their mouths open. Everything happened so I had every detail registered until I impacted the ground thirty feet later. Being who I was, my crumpled body dusted off the dirt and I laughingly said, "Oops, I screwed up." It didn't hurt until later that night and the next two weeks. We loved it because it attracted the attention of the girls. I guess the fun was talking them into going out for the rope swing ride. Quite a spectacle, that everyone enjoyed. I tended to like these freak girls because they were honest and fairly open, yet despite what was thought of them, were quick to draw lines. The last time I was on a rope swing I broke off from the group and just enjoyed chatting with Marjie. Physically she was much to look at, she was dumpy, freckled and had weird hair and these splotches over her. But I was speechless in listening to her. She had life all figured out and one hell of a spirit. The shocker was she told me the same and said that she didn't know if she would be back but would try and wanted me waiting for her, just in case she could make it. I ran home and with Diarrhea of the mouth told my mom all about her. After about three weeks, mom informed me that she looked weird because she had leukemia and had passed away. If I had only known, God! I bet we would have snuck off and made love. To me she deserved that much, but I bet that rope swing was her last memory and she left us in comfort and love. The rope swing represents to me the epitome of life.

Chapter 10
Love Swings By

By Mike K2

Teenage groups find each other;
meeting together on a hill.
Greeting without a bother,
seeking their turn for thrill.

~~~~~~

One boy spies a chubby girl and sits beside;
not great looking, skin splotchy with strange hair.
Feeling there is magic, so he passes up his ride,
as he senses a lot more is going on there.

His eyes are blinded by the music he hears,
it is as if she has life itself all figured out.
Though the boy loner draws the eyes of peers,
just a few smiles, no epithets did they shout.

He instantly develops a deep love and admiration,
she strangely enough, for him thinks the same.
They become each other's confiding inspiration,
cherishing each other's good company and name.

She surprises him as she states he's the best,
telling him to go swing, so she can watch now.
She cheers him on and makes him feel blest,
wanting to see him again, not known when or how.

She states that she will try her best to return soon,
would he please be at the rope swing, the same time each day.
Agreed as their spirits together cycle like sun and moon,
each day he returns, hoping they will talk and play.

As the weeks pass by, he doesn't hold much hope,
but can sense her spirit there and the importance;
at least he can swing alone and take a ride on the rope,
looking at the empty rock upon the hill's solid portance.

He makes it home, after having his lonely, but good time,
Mom inquired if it is Margie that he still seeks.
Mom's face stopped breathing, "This responsibility is mine;"
gulping, "Margie had leukemia and is now in the Lord's keep."

Mom knew the name, the facts and when, where and how;
He now had to go back one more time, for Margie's sake.
It was if her patient spirit was there waiting now,
it seemed that she was allowed to have just one date.

Into your life, then out again love swings;
caught for even a minute, you then touch a life.
Shamefully, most people don't see love in such things,
passing up what they should foster,
a spirit filled love that's with pleasures, rife.

Author Notes

With this one, it felt right to write it now. It is absolutely amazing just how one person and a few minutes can become so important. Portance in this case, meaning air as if the two spirits were solidifying within the medium. I just passed it up as imagination, but it seemed like that lonely rock held the image of her watching me swing. I only knew her as Margie and became so enthused I told mom all about her. Like, "Well, you might think of her as the ugliest person that I could find, she's chubby, has splotchy skin and frizzled flame red hair. But everything else about her is so beautiful." I told her every detail and my intention to keep my promise and mom just said, "For what ever reason, I understand." I went there after school, everyday for two or three weeks. As time passed my hopes of meeting up did too, but for what ever reason, it seemed that I should. I don't know how mom knew, she was good at that, but mom knew her last name as well. Mom asked me what I planed to do and I said, I think it is now time to go there and have that date. With her, I didn't grieve as it just seemed to me that it was her time. After all, it seemed like she had the world all figured out and was looking ahead. For those who wouldn't think there is a movie like quality in my life... Beautiful stories of love and tragedy, but not regret, with plenty of humor. I would like to thank the great sperm killing Unabridged Dictionary for it help in creating this poem.

One of thousands of stories, poems and books available online at FanStory.com You've read it - now go back to FanStory.com to comment on each chapter and show your thanks to the author!

© Copyright 2015 Mike K2 All rights reserved. Mike K2 has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

© 2015 FanStory.com, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Statement