Darrell
Rhymes with barrel
and Christmas carol
and several names
like Cheryl and Meryl

If I was writing a rhyming poem
I'd rhyme your name with "peril"
Not that I'd do it well
But it's better than rhyming it with "sterile"

I could make up nonsense words for rhyming sake
like...larrell and parrell and tarrell
And I could write a poem especially for you
and the impossible to rhyme with "Darrell"

I'll fail miserably at it
But I love you enough to try
Maybe I'll improve on my list of "Darrell" rhymes
and make you as happy as a pie in the sky next to bread made of rye sitting on the plate of a famished guy, tie, buy, cry, lie

Again, I tried.

here's to a package of
Marlboro Reds
in the hands of
someone other than
the Marlboro Man
standing in
for those slack-jawed outlaws
my heroes now lack jaws
tongues
lungs

I swear it's been too long
since I inhaled manhood
The Great Darrell Winfield
rolled
packed
and filtered
into the only thing I know
that makes a man a man
the essence of
cowboy boots and farmer's tan
in every drag

see, I inhale my heroes
all the dusty red-necked
cowboys
Darrell Winfield
and my dad
men whose lives
went up in smoke
to coat my throat
in my own self-righteousness
I'm frightened this
is all that I'll have left
of him
lung cancer
and the lingering stench
of cigarettes

he always smelled
of cigarettes

he'd pull me into these
firm embraces
he held so long
that he'd suffocate me
in tacky business
and cigarette smoke
masked only
faintly
by a poor man's
cologne
still I breathed him in
until I'd start to choke
it was too much man to handle

my grandpa told me
“smoking doesn't send you
straight to Hell,
but it sure does make you smell
like you've already been there”

he was
a grown man
cursing
crying
lying
dying by himself
trying to drown out the inferno
with a case of beer
but sobriety finds you sometime
and I'd rather suffocate in cigarettes
than lose him altogether

and even if he smells like Hell
at least that means he made it back

It was 11 o'clock when they told me you were gone. 11 O'clock and I thought my dog had died or my dad's car had broken down or he lost his house maybe gotten sick and was in the hospital but it was at 11 o'clock that they told me you were gone. It's a feeling I'll never forget, one that I hope no one will have to encounter in their life. You were gone for a day before I knew. By a hand so familiar to you. A hand that had rubbed your stomach when it was upset trying to calm it, a hand that had made you soup when your nose was stuffed and sticky, a hand that created beautiful masterpieces no matter the canvas. You wrote a different kind of line, one with pink and purple and blue. They crossed and conjoined and streamlined across the world. You wrote a different kind of story. A story where you had it all together. A story where the main character never lost his smile even though he faced troubles unbeknownst to everyone. You painted a story of strength and virtue and people of all ages (young and old) hoped to be like you when they grew up. It was 11 o'clock and nothing could have prepared me for the news of your departure. All of the pain I've felt, all of the books I've read, news articles with similar stories, NOTHING could have prepared me for this one. Because this time the story was mine. Uncle Darrell, it was at 11 o'clock when they told me you left us. 11 o'clock is no longer a time I wish to be awake. 11 o'clock was on a Friday. I no longer like Friday's. At 11 o'clock I realized I hadn't been awarded the chance to see you one last time before it all came to a halt for you. At 11 O'clock I took in the fact that I will never see you again, nobody will. At 11 O'clock I found out I would not be making it to your wake. 11 O'clock has turned into both a time and a place since then. 11 O'clock is now a time when tears dare to fall from my eyes. 11 O'clock is now a place, it's a world without you in it. A place where people come to commemorate your life; where people come to celebrate the fact that someone as angelic as you once walked this earth. You were a blessing unto every person you have met and you will never be forgotten. I love you Uncle Darrell I hope that one day I will see you again.

We are all so small,
        that is all,
bums in chairs, who cares,
warm bodies, with a pulse.

That pulse
where does it originate,
not your heart, that is the noise maker,
your lungs are the breath taker,
where was that pulse founded?

Have I, you confounded?

Your beating heart was known and
loved before you were born, God
knew what he would do before you knew you.

All your cracks are filled with grace,
All your dents, and brokenness,
                               bear witness,
of a loving God that has never left your
side but been there with you to
                       bear, the hurts
                       bear, the sorrow
                      bear it all,
that is all,
why we are small,
if we were only talking about the physical
                   not the physics,
                   a God who is time,
                   a God who is love,
                   a God
who gave you character,
who gave you identity,
so though you are small, and
feel alone or lost in the crowd,
He who gave you individuality,
so you could find and
                                     be a part of a community,
where you fit in,
                            with other assorted parts small
                                                           ­     that is all.


©DWE092013

Life is not measured by seconds or minutes, but by memories. An old, white lady in a white uniform trying to teach me how to tie my shoes, a red wagon, lying in that space above the back seat of the Hudson coming back from Grandma's watching the tree limbs go by above as we drove home, snow--lots of it--sliding down the big hill on our sleds, saying hello to Darrell, the bully, in 3rd grade as other classmates literally ran away from him because they were afraid of him, my friend, Bruce, who would not trade me Mickey Mantle for my Allie Reynolds, Ms. Perrin, my 4th-grade teacher, one of the best I ever had, who died of cancer two years later, Virginia Bright, my first girlfriend, who took me to her church Sunday nights to learn how to square dance, my dog, Cinder, my best friend growing up, my red bike that took me everywhere, embarrassed at the Y because my right ******* was not fully descended, Maggie, my Black mother, who fed me breakfast--two poached eggs, buttered wholewheat toast, and grits--every morning, washed my ***** clothes, spanked me when I needed a spanking, hugged me when I needed a hug, loved me when my mother couldn't because she was so depressed, always making straight-A's, my dad taking me to Kansas City to take a test (he never told me it was an IQ test), asking Patty to dance the first two dances--we danced alone at the center of the basketball court  as the music began to play at the SnowBall Dance when none of her other classmates would ever get near her--being elected co-captain of the football team and the city-championship basketball team, elected president of the Student Council at Roosevelt Junior High, elected president of the Sophomore Class at Topeka High by my over-800 classmates, pushed by my dad to Andover (arguably the best prep school in the world) my junior year, chose Columbia over Yale (the Core Curriculum and New York City), was a member of Blue Key, Nacoms, and, most meaningfully, elected by my over-700 classmates one of only 15 to lead the Commencement procession, couldn't sleep in law school, dropped out, couldn't sleep for four more months, spent a year-and-a-half at Menningers (saved my life), started writing poetry when, through therapy, I realized I had my own feelings that coalesced with my intellect in my unconscious, slowly emerging through my subconscious into my conscious mind, when I had to write what was coming out of me, otherwise I would lose it forever, seven months at Topeka State Hospital after dad disowned me, founded and edited TALL WINDOWS, The National Public Magazine, moved to Phoenix in 1977, had an involuntary Kundalini arising (took me six years to revover from it, and did, but only because of the exceptional use of unguided imagery practiced by the most loving person I ever got to know, Dr. Patricia Norris) when my girlfriend, who had wanted to marry me badly, lied to me and ****** her new next-door neighbor to make me jealous (I found this out because I saw her bruised ***** that I knew I had not bruised), still unconsciously traumatized during my childhood by mom and dad's miserably unhappy marriage, selected one of 25 alumni out of over 40,000 to serve three two-year terms on the Board of Directors of the Columbia College Alumni Association (1990-1996), traveled the country as a human-rights activist meeting, talking to, eating with, getting to know the hungry, the homeless, the hopeless that populate our yet unrealized democracy, Jorge Luis Borges writing that the most important task we all have in our lifetimes is to learn how to transmute our pain into compassion. That's what I hope my life has been about.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

I know where womb
became breath of air
and I was born
in a hospital there,
place was north of flat,
with wind erosion,
Growing up was not easy I know
with glasses I was an
easy target, until I had single eye
surgery, muscle band
sutured, wore a patch for my pirate
eye, no sword in a hand,
I know what tetanus is and why I
had to get a shot,
Rusty nail through and through a
sneaker, hurt a lot,
I know first love and know too well
rejection, spread like
an infection through my life at that
time, unless I biked,
then the only ones faster than me were cars
and planes and trains
and birds, some dogs, other bigger kids
on bikes, this I know.

I know this is about to get repetitive.
I know how important a good goalie is in two sports.

I know what bullying was and bullying is,
I know that negative self talk is a disease, still looking for the cure.
I know I was once good, no GREAT at the Pursuit of Trivial things.
I know I have a short term photographic memory, what did I just say?

I know there is a difference between jokes and humour,
I know some-one who has cancer and tumours,
I know what it is to watch my child-ren be born, and
admit there is beauty in my part of creation.

I know
many things. I know what fitness is and what it isn't.  I know friends who have had eating disorders, and how it becomes their personality.

I know what it is to be an adult child when parents divorce,
I know what alcoholics behave like to live to drink another day and another and...

I know I graduated high school,
I know how to drive different vehicles,
I know how to operate from a motorcycle to heavy machinery
I know Cadets and I know Canadian Reserves.

I know what it is like to receive a dear Darrell letter, when many miles
are between, and young love, ends.

I know safety rules with weapons, I know how to properly salute,
I know I once knew how to build bridges in the company of many
men, we will call them Field Engineers, UBIQUE, and a unique lot
they were, I knew I was a jack of all trades there and master of none,
save one, I was a soldier first and an engineer second, now are we
ready for the explosives...

I know how to coach volleyball

I know marriage, I know that relationships are really all us humans
have of value, of value, I know how to rant a poem, I know communication and the frustration of speaking in the wrong tone,
I know to look for awe, I know that my house is cluttered, I know my dog is old, and though she is not spent yet, that day will come sooner,
and tears, those ******* tears will flow, it is just a **** dog, don't you know?

I know love.   I know respect is earned.

I know when a black cloud moves in and hangs around the head and heart of the one you love, it breaks the little bones in your ears, it pulls
hairs from your nose, it gives you aches and pains and drains the living
energy despite how much you pray it away or pray to be strong, or pray to accept it, or pray for her every waking hour, and too even if you just go along for the roller coaster ride of your lives.

I know Christ Jesus and Him Crucified,
not by anything I have done but by
the love of God for me.

Now you know what
I know and what I am
willing to share, there
is much more, for each of us, didn't you know?

the writing was on the wall, no real fuss,
it was like a quiet ocean between us,
dried up after a summers intense heat,
this country is so large, amazing we did meet,

in a small town,
in a cadet corps,
fast friends,
spring time,
was it to be love,  

I left for the army, and she was to finish school,
letters and words of our days and nights
the ink filled the pages of our thoughts and emotions,
perfume on her pages was a magic potion,
drawing me in, keeping me close, in the end was I a fool?

There was a day, months after I had left,
my dog had died, my mom said they had found
the dog under, the neighbours tree, I cried
my voice cracking on the phone, blamed the
connection
and distance, so far from home.

I dragged my upset and a tissue, back to my room,
where waited a letter, it was on my bed and I was
alone, I smelled the fragrance and saw the cursive
hand, opened IT after all nothing could be worse...

In a few short pages she did explain,
that long distance relationships were
a pain, and though I might come home
by plane, it was plain to her that she was
not right for me or rather as she put it,
could I not see, she had fallen out of love
with me.

That relationship ended and I cried more tears,
I think my naivete was preyed upon by fears,
that I would never find another quite like her,
and wonder what would've happened if ever?
and was she my soul mate who ripped into me
with angry words of hate, that I had left her
for a career.

Such is a soldier's life, she was not meant to
be this army man's wife, or betrothed,
nineteen I felt going on sixteen once more,
and it all started with two words,
Dear Darrell, the first time in all her
letters she had started with my name,
she had much to say my tears stained the pages,
and she signed it Goodbye Chantelle

I may have wrote
back, an angry
mess that I was
in, but I knew it
mattered not, it
was over in
September of 1978.


©DWE102013

I am thankful there was no Facebook in those days...

LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 18

They lay side-by-side on the bed. Bian was sleeping. Jon, also asleep, was dreaming.

(...an old white lady in a white uniform tried to teach me how to tie my shoes, a red wagon, lying in the space above the back seat of the chevrolet, coming back from grandma's watching the tree limbs go by above as we drove home, snow--lots of it--sliding down the big hill on our sleds, saying hello to darrell, the bully, in 3rd grade as other classmates ran away from him because they were afraid of him, my friend, Bruce, who would not trade nolan ryan for my george brett, ms. perrin, my 4th grade teacher, one of the best I ever had, who died of cancer two years later, virginia bright, my first girlfriend, who took me to her church sunday nights to learn how to square dance, my dog, cinder, my best friend growing up, my red bike that took me everywhere, embarrassed at the y because my right ******* was not fully descended, maggie, my black mother, who fed me breakfast--two poached eggs, buttered wholewheat toast, grits--every morning washed my ***** clothes, spanked me when i needed a spanking, hugged me when i need a hug, loved me when my mother couldn't because she was so depressed, always making straight-a's, dad taking me to kansas city to take a test (he never told me it was an iq test), asking patty to dance the first two dances--we danced alone at the center of the basketball court as the music began to play at the "snowball dance" when none of our other classmates would ever get near her--being elected co-captain of the football team and the city-championship basketball team, being elected president of the student council at roosevelt junior high, elected president of the sophomore class at topeka high school by my over-800 classmates, pushed by dad to andover my junior year, choose columbia over yale (the core curriculum and new york city), a member of blue key, nacoms, and elected by my over-1,400 classmates one of 15 class marshals to lead the commencement procession...)

My friend Darryl had
photochromatic skin
He never knew it till he was almost 19 years old
We met when I reached the age of adult consent
Even though I just spent three years in battle with the post Vietnam War Navy that I had been in
Before escaping the grip of all of those lost and crazy old man of  35
With gray or white hair ******* turned into hooks on one hand or the other
Made to fit coffee cup handles and with faces filled with wrinkles like desert land after a flood

I escaped by walking into the psych ward of the base Hospital through one door and skipping out 3 days later through another
So back in Oklahoma City as far from any ocean as I could possibly be
Summer came along and waved goodbye but took Autumn away with it leaving me in the middle of December
Frost covered and freezing I became aware of the shortcomings in me
So shivering myself back into reality I managed somehow made it to April and a one year gone that I could barely  remember

Buckling down I find a nice little cottage in this old lady's backyard
She gave me homemade cookies and goat's milk she always had frozen in the freezer
Took a job invading the Suburban domain of dogs to gather garbage trying  not to get scarred
Three or four hours a day paid for 8 me and Darryl and a 200-year old geezer

The old man drove the truck and had a corn cob pipe permanently stuck
Between corn kernel teeth that he could revolve and then keep  smoking in the rain
But he was cool and dropped us off at my house after the shift and and he would return the truck
By June uniform of cut offs tennis shoes and no shirt I had a good tan  but Daryls was freaking insane
And this was something while growing up that he never really knew

This was his first year being away from home and the strict Nazarene discipline
Where all shirts had to be white with long sleeves  buttoned up to the collar and  to the wrist
So it was fun to watch him awakening as his hair grew into curls Michael Landon looks super tan and handsome
Maybe I was a bit jealous but I was also happy to watch his confusion as those things became something the girls couldn't resist

We spent our afternoons in the places where pool tables and foosball and girls were played under florescent light
Here he learned something else that he never knew and I saw something I had never ever seen
So I'd get other people to go out to see it and verify that I was right
Three hours under fluorescent light and within three minutes of sun he would darken back to mahogany from an olive green

I'm telling you it was weird  !!!

Late summer ****** his 16 year old brother Dwayne drowned while swimming in a farm pond
And if it wasn't tragic enough the preacher wouldn't let them have the funeral at the Church they grew up in
But he was good enough to say  that he would Preach at the funeral parlor up the street
So with all that was going on that day all the way to the service Daryl I never got a chance to meet

Reasoning being that Dwayne was swimming on a Sunday afternoon which was a sin

So in that crowded Auditorium I was  where I never liked being
10 rows up in front of me Darryl was sitting beside his mom and dad
Somewhere in between was Sharon an old friend of mine that Darryl has been seeing
And if I wasn't uncomfortable enough it was nothing compared to the effect his words had

He was so old with a skull covered by barely enough blue skin  stretched so tight
You could see the veins as he blurted out an unbelievably vicious hateful attack
He was saying Dwayne was in hell and if he could he would come back to tell you not to do what he did because he knows

Yes  he knows he did wrong  and he knows now because of where he is and where he's been
Unbelievably he was saying Dwayne was in hell for swimming on a Sunday as if he had some right to condemn

But with every grotesque punch the old ******* would throw
Darrell's dad would throw up his fist and yell amen
Try as I might to Tamp it down but that anger in me  continue to grow
I was literally on my way up to scream you f** *******
when ........ Darrell threw up his fist and yelled amen

Later that night we were all together and Sharon my old  friend asked me why
So I admitted how close I came before you ...Daryl yelled amen... like your dad
Sharon said I knew ..I knew something was wrong and I wanted to but all I could do was cry
And as Daryl looked at both of us he said I only did that as sarcasm because  I was mad

So you know that little cottage I said I had rented was right down the street
Corner House had an umbrella looking clothes lines right out   front 24/7 covered with white on white long sleeve shirts
So one night about a week later me and a pair of scissors went down the road and came back with 42 sleeves white as sheets
Thinking that'll get him right where it hurts.... hateful *******

Truthfully I never did but I thought about it many times it's been 40 years and I still regret that I didn't!!!

Dear younger self I know you may not understand what you’re going through. I know at  times you think no one loves you but you are loved I know it’s hard growing up without a mom or a dad but as we get older it’ll get easier. I know you’re only seven years old and you’re like what the ****  did I do to deserve this nothing you did nothing wrong it is not your fault and I know sometimes you feel like it’s your fault that’s your mother and father are not together but it’s not your fault younger me.I know sometimes you cry yourself to sleep wishing you Would

die but that’s not the way you have great things in your future and I just want you to know If I knew then what I know. I would’ve done a lot of things different I know now you’re probably wondering what does all this mean in due time I will tell youI know by now you’re eight years old and you are starting to feel yourself you are Becoming rebellious And continuous thoughts of suicide because you feel like your father doesn’t love you your mother is Nowhere around!!! I know the feeling that you have the pain the anger the hurt the hatred the betrayal and you have all right to feel those things but I do not want you to let those things fuel you trust me I know younger me you will grow up hating the world and that’s not a good feeling it is now Thanksgiving night 1998 you have just gotten hit by a car and all you want more than anything in the world is to have your mommy by your side you hate her for the fact that she’s not around you hate your father because you feel like he wasn’t watching you at that moment when that car hit you for a split second you just want to die because you feel like there will be no more pain. But that is not true if you were to die that night there would have been so much things that you will have never got to see or do I’m not saying our life is perfect but it will get better over time & to even go back a little bit farther you’re hurt and pain started way before your mother and father split up you were hurts when your uncle Jimmy Darrell Sims passed away the day before Christmas one year later the day before Christmas your mother drops you off at your grandmothers house it tells you she will be back and she never came back. And the ****** you up growing up your life was hard you experienced a lot of things depression loneliness suicidal thoughts not being loved I can understand how you turn to a monster Younger self we are not perfect and I’m talking to you to fix the older us this world is a dark place. Well let’s continue this journey you get hit by the car Thanksgiving night all you want is your mommy and she’s nowhere to be foundWhile you’re in the hospital people are trying to reach out to her but no one can contact her that really Crushed your soul you grew more colder more angrier you did not talk to your mother until a week after you got out of the hospital on top of that you were never the Flyers kid and when you were fly you had to work for
It Your life was a mess at the age of nine years old you had your first asthma attack and yet again all you want it was your mommy. It’s not like you didn’t have love but it wasn’t the love that you were looking for you wanted the love of your mother do you want it the love of your father but instead. You felt like and still to this day feel likeYour father loves your cousin Delmar more than you as a grown owner your hatred became more

I know this will be the most hated words in print,
Only in the Northern Hemisphere, for a stint,
of two hundred sixty two days till summer, again
graces our shores, our winds measured warmth
there goes that Darrell guy, what a pain,
Fall is still nineteen days away and he is lighting the hearth.

Fan the flame,
Fan the flame,
what a shame,
paid the bill,
we got gas,
the natural kind,
The days the
are numbered
till your birthday
and mine, I'll be
fifty four in...so many days,
Christmas is only
1 1 5 jours
Hanukkah is
eighty seven and
is of course 8
days long
correct me if I am wrong
as the days
come and go,
I will know,
I have less
and less of
the days ahead
unless I live
to be as old as
108!

Cielito lindo te escribo por que te extraño, para decirte que las cosas que dejaste se están llenando de polvo, no las he tocado por que la manera exacta en que dejaste todo por aquí y por allá me recuerda a esos discursos tuyos, largos y cambiantes. Me he cubierto con ese enorme suéter de lana que no soltabas mientras estabas aquí y que terminaste dándome aquel día que se acabo la leña para el fuego. Vyvyan me ha traído tus viejos discos de vinilo, me contó que tu tía Hilde se encuentra mucho mejor. Ayer saque a pasear a Balzac, no es lo mismo sin ti, cuando pasamos bajo el puente naranja espera con ansias jugar en el pasto mas allá de las escaleras de concreto, pero sabes que yo no puedo bajar ahí como tu lo hacías. Espero que el cobertor de colores que te envié te haya servido, no se como pases el clima allá. Añoro tus abrazos ahora que enfría tanto, me he empalmado de suéteres incluso el tuyo, pero este frió es diferente, me pregunto por que. Fui al medico por la gripe de Carmen y noto el cardenal en mi mejilla, le he mentido sobre el claro, pero creo que no se lo ha creído. Me acuerdo en este momento preciso de el jueves pasado, hacia las compras en el abastecedor de Darrell, había un anciano, no paraba de hablar, pero no se le entendía nada, deje a Carmencita en el carro y me acerque al hombre, me miro y me tomo por los hombros, me vio directo a los ojos, oh Noel si supieras lo penetrante que era su mirada, se callo un largo rato, y me dijo en voz baja: Usted debe saberlo, !Usted!, el hombre esta acabando con sus iguales mi querida señora, se devora así mismo ... pero...nadie hace nada. Me quede callada mirándolo asustada, y luego no supe que contestar, me soltó, volvió a su farfulle y alcance a escuchar que decía: para que mas querría alguien comida enlatada...
Fue tan extraño cariño, pero me dejo pensando y pensando, me gustaría saber tu que opinas. Quería decirte también que para cuando vuelvas podre usar ese vestido rojo que me regalaste, los golpes ya casi no se me notan, con un poco de maquillaje podría arreglarlo pero solo usare mis vestidos para ti, perdóname por aquella otra vez sabes que no se repetirá.
Te necesito tanto aquí a mi lado por las noches, he dejado a Carmen dormir conmigo últimamente espero que no te moleste.
Los días pasan como una película antigua, lento y muy confusamente, espero que puedas venir pronto, las heridas en mi espalda comienzan a cicatrizar, ha sido ya mucho tiempo lejos de ti no ¿crees? puedes volverlo a hacer para que piense en ti cuando me acuesto por las noches, o cuando me recargo en las sillas del comedor, sabes que no me importa.
Te envío todo mi cariño en esta carta para que sepas que no te olvido, que siempre te pienso, y que a donde mire siempre te veo.
Vuele pronto.
Siempre Tuya
Agnes

Let’s pay homage to many innocent black lives that were taken by
the corrupt system:  Martin Luther King Jr.  Malcom X.  Emmett Till.  George Stinney.  Will Brown.  Sandra Bland.  Trayvon Martin.  Ahmaud Arbery.  Breonna Taylor. George Floyd.  David McAtee.  Natosha “Tony” McDade.  Yassin Mohamed.  Finan H. Berhe.  Sean Reed.  Steven Demarco Taylor.  Ariane McCree.  Terrance Franklin.  Miles Hall.  Darius Tarver.  William Green.  Samuel David Mallard.  Kwame “KK” Jones.  De’von Bailey.  Christopher Whitfield.  Anthony Hill.  Eric Logan.  Jamarion Robinson.  Gregory Hill Jr.  JaQuavion Slaton.  Ryan Twyman.  Brandon Webber.  Jimmy Atchison.  Willie McCoy.  Emantic “Ej” Fitzgerald Bradford Jr.  D’ettrick Griffin.  Jemel Roberson.  DeAndre Ballard.  Botham Shem Jean.  Robert Lawrence White.  Anthony Lamar Smith.  Ramarley Graham.  Manuel Loggins Jr.  Wendell Allen.  Kendrec McDade.  Larry Jackson Jr.  Jonathan Ferrell.  Jordan Baker.  Victor White III.  Dontre Hamilton.  Eric Garner.  John Crawford III.  Michael Brown.  Ezell Ford.  Dante Parker.  Kajieme Powell.  Laquan McDonald.  Akai Gurley.  Tamir Rice.  Rumain Brisbon.  Tony Robinson.  Mario Woods.  Quintonio LeGrier.  Gregory Gunn.  Akiel Denkins.  Alton Sterling.  Philando Castile.  Terrance Sterling.  Terrence Crutcher.  Keith Lamont Scott.  Alfred Olango.  Jordan Edwards.  Stephon Clark.  Danny Ray Thomas.  Dejuan Guillory.  Patrick Harmon.  Jonathan Hart.  Maurice Granton.  Julius Johnson.  Jamee Johnson.  Michael Dean.  Keith Childress.  Bettie Jones.  Kevin Matthews.  Michael Noel.  Leroy Browning.  Leroy Nelson.  Miguel Espinal.  Nathaniel Pickett.  Tiara Thomas.  Cornelius Brown.  Jamal Clark.  Richard Perkins.  Michael Lee Marshall.  Alonzo Smith.  Anthony Ashford.  Dominic Hutchinson.  Lamontez Jones.  Rayshaun Cole.  Paterson Brown.  Christopher Kimble.  Junior Prosper.  Keith McLeod.  Wayne Wheeler.  Lavante Biggs.  India Kager.  Tyree Crawford.  James Carney.  Felix Kumi.  Asshams Manley.  Christian Taylor.  Troy Robinson.  Brian Day.  Michael Sabbie.  Billy Ray Davis.  Samuel Dubose.  Darrius Stewart.  Albert Davis.  Salvado Ellswood.  George Mann.  Jonathan Sanders.  Freddie Blue.  Victo Larosa.  Spencer McCain.  Kevin Bajoie.  Zamiel Crawford.  Jermaine Benjamin.  Kris Jackson.  Kevin Higgenbotham.  Ross Anthony.  Richard Gregory Davis.  Curtis Jordan.  Markus Clark.  Lorenzo Hayes.  De’Angelo Stallsworth.  Dajuan Graham.  Brandon Glenn.  Reginald Moore.  Nuwnah Laroche.  Jason Champion.  Bryan Overstreet.  David Felix.  Terry Lee Chatman.  William Chapman.  Samuel Harrell.  Freddie Gray.  Norman Cooper.  Brian Acton.  Darrell Brown.  Frank Shephard III.  Walter Scott.  Donald “Dontay” Ivy.  Eric Harris.  Phillip White.  Dominick Wise.  Jason Moland.  Bobby Gross.  Denzel Brown.  Brandon Jones.  Askari Roberts.  Terrance Moxley.  Anthony Hill.  Bernard Moore.  Naeschylus Vinzant.  Tony Robinson.  Charly Leundeu “Africa” Keunang.  Darrell Gatewood.  Deontre Dorsey.  Thomas Allen Jr.  Lavall Hall.  Calvon Reid.  Gerdie Moise.  Terry Price.  Natasha McKenna.  Jeremy Lett.  Kevin Garrett.  Alvin Haynes.  Artago Damon Howard.  Tiano Meton.  Andre Larone Murphy Sr.  Leslie Sapp.  Brian Pickett.  Frank Smart.  Matthew Ajibade.

There are so many more that have died at the hands of the prejudice system.  All of you will never be forgotten.  Your legacy will forever live on.  Rest in Paradise to the fallen angels.

Good dirt,
Bad dirt,
Bag of dirt,
dirt in a bag, avoided dirt bag, almost,
flowers, herbs
and veggies everywhere,
not a clean spot, all is dirtied,
soiled by my touch,
perfect plants in little pots,
re-planted, by gloved hands,
staying dirt free,
not gentlely,
name is Darrell,
not Mary,
don't you dare ask me how does
my garden grow,
for I will say, with dirt
on my face in my hair,
it is too early to tell so;
you can go look for silver bells
and cockle shells and all those pretty maids
in some body else's row,
cause I moved dirt for what it is worth,
for hanging baskets, on every word,
and herbs to flavor, my tongue,
as I stripped those young plants
from their root bound temporary
prisons,
for reasons unknown,
as I did not inherit my mother's green thumbs,
I did not earn any merit badges nor did I join 4 H,
in the days of my youth, now
I grow weary of faltering crops,
it is to easy to stop to ****,
and wet the soil, care for
those things that rise from the dirt,
that were moved, into containers,
with indelicate fingers, gloved,
not loved by any living thing they touched.
Give me dirt,
I can't hurt dirt,
broken stems, ripped leaves,
I grieve for them and that
they may forgive, my clumsy
ways, and be touched by the healing sun's rays.
I understand dirt,
for it is where I came from,
and His breath.

Fate work in misterious and ironic ways.

The date: December 8th.
The year: 2004.

A date famous (or infamous) for a sad and terrible assassination.  Five bullets shot. One legend lost.

Fast forward exactly 24 years. A guitar master, some even would say a guitar god. The man who told us metal wasn't dead back in the 90's.
Four years prior, his band split up. One sickened, twisted fan didn't like the news.

December 8th, 2004. Columbus, Ohio. Damageplan playing a show.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Fifteen shots fired. The killer shot down. Four fatal victims. One more legend lost.

On this night most remember Jonn Lennon. I remeber him too. But let's not forget our other fallen brother. Dimebag Darrell Abbott, we remember you.

Rock in peace.

I can only give credit to one,
Whose been there since my life really begun,
Who stayed even when he wanted to run,
All of my childhood memories have you in the scene,
You didn't know how to raise someone else's kids,
So sometimes I thought you were mean,
Your jokes and stories you would tell, & still the pride of a strong heart,
It was us who tried to keep it together when it was falling apart,
Everytime a new escape plan by my mom was tried,
I'd stand there & at your side,
Or when she wouldn't come back after the ******* stories and stupid lies,
No matter how we lived our lives,
Our family has a love that still stands strong,
Maybe it's because we had a dad manage to try & keep it together when everything went wrong,
I think you finally got over the guilt & shame,
For the absence of your other daughters that loved you the same,
And I know you still live with the burden of its pain,
I can only give credit to one,
The one who stayed even when he wanted to run,
I hoped that one day you'd love me the same,
Eventhough I'm the only daughter out of 7 that doesn't have your name,
What about the other kids that were born with you by their side,
Decisions have to be made & you had to decide,
You chose to stay & raise them anyways & put everything else aside,
You claimed them as your own, that in which you never denied,
You hold all of the memories & moments of their life & all that they've known,
But when they were born, you knew that they were not born As Your Own.
People often wonder why you are put on a pedastool so high,
You are an angel seen through the wisdom of God's eye,
Your intellegence is what most people see,
As a child all the times you'd pass it on to me,
You are much smarter than that of common seed,
Random encyclopedia projects & numerous books we'd read,
I can't complain because you are a better dad than I expected you to be,
And you are the only dad I'd ever really need,
As I'd climb up on your lap since I was 2, as you'd listen to me read,
I hope I was the daughter you expected me to be,
I can only give credit to one,
Sure things got tough & we wanted to run,
But you didn't & that's what makes you # 1,
Not everything was perfect & sometimes it got rough,
Why couldn't we just change it when enough was enough?,
We grew up & Life's still tough,
But will we know how to crawl out of a hole if we get stuck?,
Sorry if I've ever hurt you or made you mad,
But some memories still hurt real bad,
Not everything was easy, in fact with everyday struggles it got too hard,
The bad memories we usually set aside or often discard,
We try to cover them up like they don't exist,
We were smart enough to know everytime they came into our lives it was just to cross us off the list,
When things were in place & just as they should,
Even the hard times turned out pretty good,
Some stuggles even brought happiness at the end even if times were hard,
Those will be the moments that are left unscarred,
Mom tried hard to get our lives back to where it belongs,
I guess it wasn't meant to be that way for very long,
I may be the only daughter without your name,
But I love you more than I would if you were My Own,
Things have changed and I am grown,
I am older now,
To have you as my dad I could never be more proud,
I can only give credit to one,
Who stayed even when he wanted to run,
Is this the life for us that was planned?
Sure time goes bye, but you are a better man,
I may be the only daughter without your name,
But our blood still bleeds the same,
My recent distance from this family made me miss you so much more,
But if I didnt then I would be reluctant & life be lived without lore,                                    
I feel like I can't move from this spot, for so long i have been gone,
I left to find my place in this world, but is this where I belong?,
I will always be your daughter, so let that be known,
I was gone for a little while but now I'm home,
My heart is heavy with this undying fear,
That one day I'll wake up & you'll no longer be here,
I can only give credit to one,
Who decided to stay even when he wanted to run,
If objects in mirror are closer than they appear,...
Then tomorrow is already here,
So lets clean the mirror so we can see real clear,
When someone doesn't want something they throw it away, or leave it behind,
My real father never changed his mind,
He never looked back, so he left long ago....so that a better dad i would find,
And to your surprise,
Yet another daughter at your side,
To tug on your pants & ask you questions all the time,
Who believed in everything you've accomplished & even the things you've tried,
You were put in my life as my dad for a reason,
Without you I wouldn't have anything to believe in,
I'm sorry if I've made you cry,
By these poetic words that I write,
I stand here as your daughter & I stand here all alone,
I may not be the daughter who shares the blood of your own,
But my plan is to stand here until the fray of fabric once kept together
   by the stitching once perfectly sewn,
Do you love me as your daughter?
Do you love me As Your Own?               
 
                                                              7/15/2015
For the only one I call DAD
Darrell Lee Tumlin

reluctant: unwilling, hesitant, resistant
lore: knowledge, knowing

I could write about many things, imagined or real,
I could tell you of a Dear Darrell letter, not a big deal,
But that was ages ago and much time has and is in the past

I would describe a sunset or sunrise and if I did it right, it might bring tears to our eyes,
I could tell you of my granddaughter and the joy she is in all of our lives, eh?,  no surprise,
But that would be assuming many things about our hearts and my writing, in the least or last.

All I really want to do is inspire you to do what you do best,
Recognize that you are talented and a gift, loved and blessed,
Put down in words, get out and from under the load,  the ugly, you have surpassed!

The gift you are, open
With your hand, Pen
words forever and ever, and then...
Young poet write
or slam
the world needs to hear what has
been put on your heart, so share,
and when your spent, recharge,
gather peace...repose.

He was born July 2, 1925,
son of James and Jesse Evers,
Medgar Evers of Mississippi,
World War II veteran,
fought in the Battle of Normandy,
June 1944,
with his soldier brothers
of same and other races.

He rose a leader,
a Freedom Hero,
Mississippi field secretary of NAACP,
President, Regional Council of
***** Leaders,
husband of Myrlie, her purity
of devotion,
father of Darrell, Reena Denise,
and James,
civil rights leadership of the
highest calling,
of a bravery that persevered
again.

That early morning,
June 12, 1963,
a shot of hate tore
through his heart,
he was fallen in his own driveway,
his family witnessed this
most heinous of murders
committed in the insanity
of human acridity,
the bitterness in our psyches.

June 19, 1963,
full military honors,
Arlington National Cemetery,
for a man of a character so
much more loving
than his assassin's.

We, as a people,
we must obliterate
pre-conceived assumptions,
faulty thoughts of each other.

Medgar Evers of Mississippi,
Medgar Evers of America,
posthumously awarded the
Spingarn Medal,
murdered in a country
he fought for,
merited eternally by God.

Hellopoetry has the greatest poets of this time.
I am so bless to know them and to share too.
On the site that has the very best of them all.
There are so many to name on here  right now.
Brandon Nagely, TheRaven,CJLove,White Wolf.
Vicki,Bijan Rabiee, Darrell Landstrom, Patty m.
Openworldview,forgotten, samanthax,Arianna, Fawn.
Dennis Willis,Evangeline Ruth Hope,Muzaffer.
Naceur Ben Mesbah, Faizel Farzee, Dan Hess.
Crazy Diamond Kristy, Katja Pullinen, Deb Jones.
M-E, Long Rager,Amulya,Pradip Chattopadhyay.
Madison,Joanna,Sally Bayan, Wendy ,Izzn,Fredrick N.
There are many more praying Blessings upon your works.

Kianna,AS,Harshitha,Mo, Pearl,Jesse, Tina,Avery,Mrunalini, Donna.
Eli, MAM,Ava,Sylph,RSB,Starving,Michael, Sandra,Austin, Nolan.
Pure, May, Benji,Madelle, shez,Black poison,S-zaynab, Sally,Brandon.
Alyssa,Beautifully,netasha,Rob, Mikey, Anthony,Ashly, Tash, Mister,Frey.
Najla,Thomas,Darrell,RBM,Robert,AHarris,TheGirl,Larr­y,XRhymes,Elizabeth,
Naeema,M,Roumen,Masterchain,Blank,Nylee, Charles,Junior, Sol,Kafka.
Cloud,Danny,Edmund,Melody,Monika,Carrie,Orion,Ronell,L­ogan,Grace.
BR,Eva,JJ,Bardo,Eleni,Rick,Tia,Godawan,Melan,Xant,Bri­anna,Botan.
Thank you all very much for being the Special writers that you all are.
I have not forgotten the rest of you I shall do another poem like this soon.

Truffaut was an auteur. He was the "author" of the French New Wave in cinema. His first film, the autobiographical THE 400 BLOWS (an idiom for "raising hell") was made in 1959. Many critics consider it one of the best ever.
As I watched THE 400 BLOWS tonight on YouTube, I found myself identifying and empathizing with the troubled young protagonist of the movie. Why is that? I guess it's because I have always had a propensity to sense, as early as grade school, the unconscious angst of those classmates who exhibited untoward behaviors. There was, for example, a classmate in 3rd grade at Gage Elementary School, Darrell Chandler, who bullied other students. Rather than scorn Darrell as the vast majority of my classmates did, I said hello to him, wound up talking to him, asked him how he was doing, and in time, became friends with him. Truffaut came from a difficult childhood, and in the end, directed many great movies during his comparatively short career that made him not only rich and famous, but more importantly, saved himself from darkness. Truffaut was an auteur both of remarkable films and his own life.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawls