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Apr 2014 · 603
One step closer to war
James Jarrett Apr 2014
Life lived at any cost is just not for me.  I just can’t accept the concept of “bow down and you will be spared”.   There are greater things in life than just breathing air. Things like liberty and honor , the great ideas of men, are more important than the empty life of a drone worker. There are people who will give up anything, or anyone just to continue living a miserable existence.   Who the hell accepts the life of a slave? Certainly not me. Give me death as I fight you, you tyrant ****.   The innate rights that are granted by your creator? Those are nothing if you are not willing to fight for them. I wasn’t given the right to be free… I was given the right to fight to be free. That was what was breathed into me along with my breath and life; The fire of freedom.  I wasn’t born with a bill of rights in my hand; I was born with a hand that could write them. I was born with a hand that could make a weapon and use it if my freedom is oppressed. I was born with a fire that will not accept subjugation. I was born with a fire that will make me fight to remain free. That fire of freedom will only leave me when the last breath is pressed from my chest.    There may be a lot of tough choices coming up for people here shortly, but not for me. That choice for me was made many years ago, that choice was birthed into this world right along side of me.  “Victoria Aut Mors”
Apr 2014 · 1.1k
Bluebird
James Jarrett Apr 2014
She is robed in beauty

Singing of the dawn

Shades and hues

Of innocence and color

Make her glow

Like new found love

Sparkling like dew

She has captivated my heart

And captured my eyes

But not my spirit

Even she is not enough

To quell my dark desire

Pity and mercy

Have left my primal soul

I am born to ****

Purpose supplants passion

Gaze becomes focus

As I set to destroy her

Her death to come

In one moment

Frozen in my heart

Will destroy me

But I do it anyway
Many of my poems are cryptic and have meaning only to myself. I normally do not wish to explain what the meaning may be. In the case of this particular one, I think the explanation is probably better than the poem so I will explain.    I am many things and among those a bird lover. I have a special penchant for bluebirds as I find them to be among the most beautiful of birds. I am also an accomplished archer and have a 30 yard range set up at my shop. I reliably group at 1 1/4″ or under whenever I shoot and as a rule I do not miss.   When I am calm my aim is unerring.    So, a bluebird lands on a branch next to my target exactly at 30 Yds.  Yep… Right at my target. What’s a man to do?   I couldn’t help myself. I sighted in and took aim. The bluebird framed fully in my peep sight and I was even able to pick a spot; middle. I use a trigger release and I had become steel as I squeezed the trigger. There was no movement as I sighted and released.I slowed my heart rate as I prepared to shoot. I was dead on as the arrow left my bow.  308 F.P.S. of instant death.  I missed by half an inch, impacting just below it’s breast.  I was so relieved that fate had intervened that I can’t describe it. I was panting in relief as I saw that I had missed. The bluebird actually stayed there for a moment perplexed by the impact then fluttered away.    It wasn’t me; I had held my mark. It had to be the gracious hand of fate.    My punishment for this evil? I have never seen the Bluebirds again that used to frequent my shop. I am left now with only the fickle crows that kick at the front door and demand food. I traded the bluebird of happiness for the crows of depression. I know.. I deserve it.
Apr 2014 · 569
Poems of love
James Jarrett Apr 2014
Her kiss

Spoken softly

Onto my lips

Recites me poems of love

Wild with passion

Told to my tongue

And I listen

And listen
Apr 2014 · 698
Absence of the sun
James Jarrett Apr 2014
In the absence of the sun
I can see the darkness in the human heart,
the silhouetted evil that lies within the soul

Within the confines of the misty gloom,
roam the fettered wraiths
of secret passion

Lustful, wanton desire, the id essential,
haunts the ethereal domain,
cloaked in shimmering gossamer veils

Half realized creatures of the dark
stalk with soundless echoes
the dim corridors of the soul

Unbound, unchained,
the foul, corrupt spirits of dark secret thoughts
wander freely

In the absence of the sun
I am afraid to close my eyes
Circa 1996. Met a guy at a hotel that I swear was a serial killer
Apr 2014 · 494
So your'e dead
James Jarrett Apr 2014
Your life summed up
In garbage bags
One full of your
Personal things
A snapshot of your life
That no one wants
The end of the life
Of a thief
Broken and alone
But you stole more than money from me
You stole friendship
And companionship
You stole the breaking of bread
And trust
And care and compassion
You stole things that I can't get back
Things that I will never place so easily
In someones hand again
But it doesn't matter to you now
Not that it ever did
Now that you are dead
I don't really think I need a note.
Apr 2014 · 644
Let it come to war (10w)
James Jarrett Apr 2014
I breathe rage
The fire from my heart
Overflowing
Waiting
Apr 2014 · 848
The truth is going to hurt
James Jarrett Apr 2014
It's hanging over me like a hammer
I'm just waiting for it to come down
But still I can't stop
It is the truth after all
But the truth doesn't always set you free
No, maybe some people
But never me
I wait everyday for that hammer
But I can never stop
I will never live
Or die
On my knees
I just know
Someday
I'm gonna get the truth
Hammered outta me
James Jarrett Apr 2014
Part I.    Fate
It must have been sweet fate
That made us paint the pictures
That we did
Crimson brush strokes
Made self portraits
Crudely drawn in spatters and pools
That were soaked up
And washed away
Along with us
Along with our lives
Discarded in a bucket
And poured down the drain

Part II.  Bird cage

But you? A broken bird in a cage
So beautiful and fragile
Yet so strong
And still able to laugh
And I couldn't stop making you laugh
Because your laughter
Was the only thing
That could make me smile
And there I was
In that rusty cage with you
And we were not broken anymore
When we were together
We were new and washed clean
Our sacrifices on the altars
Accepted
By the sweet Gods of fate

Part III.  Catch and release

How can despair smile?
How can it glow when it sees you?
But the glow soon fades
When you leave the room
And so I am a stalker
Following you down
Those cold hallways
Room to room
To make you laugh until we become 12 again
And peel off our bandages
And run
And let our wounds become scars
And fly from that rusty cage
For so many miles
And so many years
That it becomes nothing
But a memory
But I knew from the moment I saw you
That it was sweet fate
And we would fly away together
Forever
To the love of my life. Only death will end my love for you and if there is a beyond I will find you even there.
James Jarrett Apr 2014
It had been a hard and sleepless night for the weary men on Lexington green. It had been a night of false musters and muddled information. Half of the 140 men had gone home after being called out prematurely on information that British troops would be arriving early. The remaining men awaited the arrival of up to 700 British troops that had been sent out to disarm the patriot militias, confiscate their powder and arrest their leaders, who had recently been charged with treason. These were ordinary men who stood there on that green and waited. They were tired and disheveled and had lives and wives and farms and children to tend to. They were men who could have been many other places, but chose instead to heed the call of the muster and await their fate on that damp morning. With British troops marching steadily towards Lexington this small contingent of men, with extraordinary bravery and valor, had decided that they would not allow the Brits to disarm them. They were being led by Capt. John Parker and certainly were not spoiling for a fight. Accurate accounts had come to them of British troop strength and they knew that they were gravely outnumbered. More patriot troops were mustering, but were heading towards Concord where the main goal of the British lay. These men stood through the dark night, through fear and trepidation, through doubt and anxiety, until they could hear the marching of the enemy coming upon them. This band of ordinary men had decided that they would defy the British troops that so greatly outnumbered them, defy their God given king and be ****** if they would be disarmed of their weapons. When finally faced by the British they were told to disperse and disarm or face the consequences. The men themselves held rank and appeared ready for battle; their battle line did not waver and they awaited the command to fire. Capt. Parker, however, was a good leader and had no suicide mission in mind for the men under his care. He knew that they faced annihilation in full confrontation with the British force and gave them the order to disperse. He also gave them the order to retain their weapons and the order was followed to the man without a single weapon being laid down. Somewhere in the following confusion a shot was fired and then numerous shots were exchanged, with the patriot militia falling back and scrambling for cover as they fired. It was not a large battle, but the shot that started it fell into legend and became the shot heard round the world. But it wasn’t the shot itself that mattered; it was the men who stood that long night in utter and stark defiance of the King and his army who mattered. Those men who would stand to wait and fight and die for liberty are the ones who mattered. Their ideals as men, as patriots, as Americans are what inspired those who followed to fight on. Their lofty idea, that they would remain free men or die defending their liberty travelled through the colonies faster than the sound of the gunshot. That handful of men, ordinary men; fathers, brothers, sons, husbands, craftsmen, laborers and farmers inspired a generation to war and victory. Now it would seem that we have the Brits marching again on Lexington, their boot steps echoing through history. But this time they are Brits in spirit and intent only, as their goal is the same though they wear a different uniform. The armed citizenry of Connecticut have decided that they are going to make their stand against the tyranny of their own Govt. They have decided that they will not be disarmed, or forced to register their weapons by the state. They have now been declared criminals, by the hundreds of thousands, as were the leaders of the revolution. It is ironic that the very same state that harbored the fugitive fathers or our own rebellion would become the tyrannical British. Their citizens though, have decided to make their stand, their Lexington green, and now dare the authorities to make good on their laws and raid their homes for their “Unregistered” weapons. Just like the first time though, this is not just about them. This is not just about some tired and nervous men waiting for a SWAT team to show up and end the life that they have. This is not just about some brave men who have chosen to make a stand and wait, exhausted, through the long dark night. This is about all of our liberties and freedom; yours and mine and theirs. This isn’t about Connecticut; this is about our natural rights that have been bestowed upon us by our creator. This is about the right to defend yourself against harm, crime and tyranny itself. This is the right to eat and the right to live and the right to fight if threatened. These are all of rights at stake, as they are under assault nationwide. A right lost in one place will soon be lost in another and never regained. There are men mustering again on the green. I am sure that they are frightened for they are risking all that they have. I am sure that they have uncertainty for they are facing prison and the loss of their families. But they are standing, and proudly, upon that hallowed ground awaiting the sound of marching troops, awaiting their fate…. In utter defiance. When that first shot that is fired, that surely will echo as loudly as the original, will you heed it? Will you let them stand on their own? When the first of the patriot blood is spilled, will you stay home? Do you have more important things to do? Ask yourself this; When the muster is called will you be willing to wait the night out on that green? Are you willing at all cost to have liberty? I can only hope that the answer is “I will be the first one there”.   I certainly know where I will be.
"We say: Bring it on. The officials of the State of Connecticut have threatened its citizens by fiat. They have roared on paper, but they have violated Principle. Now it’s time for the State to man-up: either enforce its edicts or else stand-down and return to the former laws that did not so violently threaten the citizens of this state." Statement from Connecticut carry to under secretary Lawlor
Apr 2014 · 495
Fighting age
James Jarrett Apr 2014
I have no wars

Left in me.

I am broken

Except in will.

My strength left

Is but  for a few battles.

My sword

Has grown heavy,

My hand weak.

The only strength left

Is in my heart.

Let my will then

Carry the fight for me.

Let my will

Bring me honor

Let my will

Swing the sword

For freedom

Let my will

Carry me to

My last battle
Apr 2014 · 1.4k
Dinner for two
James Jarrett Apr 2014
Her scent and taste

Arouse primal passion

A Hunger in the depths of the soul

I need to feed

I am famished

And she

Is a delectable treat,

A taste

To be savored slowly

Her skin on my lips

Is delicious

It becomes

Honey and salt

My tongue

is titillated

I eat slowly

Like a man who is starved

I will devour her

Completely

Savoring

Every mouthful
Apr 2014 · 372
Such a girl
James Jarrett Apr 2014
She tried to be a daughter
But never had a chance
She would have
been
Could
have
Been.
But no one was there
so she went
her way
And made her way
She became
who she is
Today
Day by day
And
For all her beauty
she still hides
Though
she shouldn't,
Behind forgotten pain
To my friend Stacey, who I would be proud to have as a daughter
Apr 2014 · 5.3k
Kiss of passion
James Jarrett Apr 2014
Her juices drip

From my lips

Her wetness

My only desire

I have forgotten

Who I am

I am lost

In the scent

And taste

Of her passion

Her passion

Becomes

All that I am

For the moment

I drink her love

I drink her

Her lips

Kiss mine

passionately

Back
Mar 2014 · 567
Chumley the cat
James Jarrett Mar 2014
Whilst strolling through the woods one day to while away the time
I came across a creature, orange furred and fine
He had pointed ears and bright green eyes
And a tail that kept in time

He sat on the path quite relaxed and squarely in my way
He did not move, he did not budge, he would not let me pass
"Good day to you and how do you do?" Said I in my merry way
"But please move aside, as you've broken my stride
and let me continue with my day"

"Hello"  Said he, as he sat on the path, in a soft and purring way
"Let me introduce myself, my name is Chumley and I am your cat
I'm pleased to meet you, pleased to see you, so glad to be your cat"

"It's a fine thing you've done and a fine man you are
to walk your cat through the forest
A cat could ask for no finer master, could find no better man.
So, let's finish our stroll on this beautiful day and continue on our way"

"Hold on!" Said I, quite taken aback " For surely you are mistaken.
I have no creatures great or small and most certainly not a cat. You are wrong good sir, a mistake I,m sure, for I know that we've never met."

"Oh master!" Said he, with a sorrowful cry "What is it that I've done? Whatever would make you treat me so, the pet who has been like a son?"

"Step aside!" Said I, becoming irate "The day is fading, the hour is late.
You are not my pet, I know for sure, your mind is muddled, go find a cure! Now move from my way and allow me to pass. I've had enough of you blocking my path!"

A tear seemed to form in his green hued eyes
and next when he spoke he asked me why; why after all these years
would I forget a pet of mine

I'd had enough and told him so "Move from my way and let me go!
I've things to do and things to see, begone from my path and let me be!
You've wasted enough of my walking time, now out of my way, you are not mine!"

The cat finally spoke in a wavering voice " I will leave you alone you give me no choice.
But I will always remember our time together, long nights in bed and walks the wood.
I will always remember the love and the good

Later that night, I'd dined and I'd supped, I'd closed the curtains
and turned up the light
I thought of that cat I'd met earlier that day
The thought of him would not go away

I sat at my table, full from my meal, of bread and cheese and wine and veal
I wondered if he hungered, whether he had any meat.
So just to be sure I put a bowl at my feet......
For my cat Chumley


Copyright 1989 James Timothy Jarrett
This was written for a children's book with hand drawn illustrations. The story itself was written at work on post it notes. Every stanza that I finished I would slip to my wife who worked at the same place.    If you have ever come across the cat that insists that he is your pet and is going home with you, you get it.
Mar 2014 · 856
Pink lunch box
James Jarrett Mar 2014
That little pink lunch box
Looks empty
Sitting on the shelf
But it's not
It hurts me to look into it
Because it is still packed full
With my love
My heart
Dreams and aspirations
That were gently laid
Into it everyday
Packaged in neatly
So they would all fit
I think of those little hands
That carried it everyday
That carried everything
Packed into it
And it melts my heart
It makes me wonder
Why I even opened it
God, I miss her in the mornings
Mar 2014 · 617
Retroactive abortion
James Jarrett Mar 2014
It's hard to believe
in fate
Until it happens
Blood on blood
Running on your skin
Dark tattoos of pain
On your soul
On your floor
You bleed
until you can bleed
no more
You bleed until
You are empty
An oldie but goodie
Mar 2014 · 534
New sons of liberty
James Jarrett Mar 2014
Shall we all stand idly by as our country erodes
watching day to day as our freedom wanes
and our precious republic fades to nothing?
Have none the courage or foresight to care or fight?
Shall we sit back in idle content
as shackles are slowly forged around our ankles?
I say not!  I say that this thing that we have,
this unique experiment called freedom,
is too great a thing to perish.
We are a nation of kings;
Every man born to rule what he can.
We, America, took the sovereignty of the monarchs
and then set their crowns upon the head of every citizen.
Shall we now give that crown back?
Shall we cede the freedom paid for in the blood of our ancestors?
I say not!
I say let the battle be enjoined!
Let the forces that work against us,
against freedom and liberty,
meet us on those bloodstained fields of freedom;
For we will fight and in this fight prevail.
Let us march towards those fields now,
with honor
for the  many who  have fallen there before us.
Let us take this sacred duty,
the protection of the freedom of all men,
and march toward our destiny.
We are all the new sons of liberty.
I think it is obvious that I am no fan of the growing police state and believe that it will end very badly. It does not matter who is in charge of it as it is taking on a life of it's own. It is becoming hauntingly similar to the bureaucracy described by Vaclev Havel in "The power of the powerless"
Mar 2014 · 375
Freedom
James Jarrett Mar 2014
It is in man to hope
and aspire in life

But what is hope without freedom?
How to reach and dream
When ones hopes and very destiny are
controlled by tyrants?

That breath of freedom
breathed into us at birth
and pressed from our chest
at death abides in us all.

There are those among us
who will let that gift
be suppressed and quelled,
fearful and timid; Life being
more precious than all.

Then there are those who
will say no at all cost;
Freedom at any cost!

They will cast off the shackles
that were slowly forged on them

Leave behind, the grey, secure,
concrete walls of peace

and march towards the green
meadows of freedom
Mar 2014 · 362
The waiting room
James Jarrett Mar 2014
She moves through the darkness

Alive yet dead

In sheeted glory she breathes without life

Bleeding without battle, she fights

I wait and wait

I hope

It is a battle I cannot fight

My skills cannot persevere

Though sword and knife

Are easy to my hand

I wait

I trust the skill of another

Who's knife gives life

I hope that she can fight

She is all that I have

I wait
Mar 2014 · 1.2k
Dirty little secrets
James Jarrett Mar 2014
You unleashed the fury
To rain down on you
****** and savage
Fire death and hell
But her hands of love
Fluttered down like angels
To save you
Her wings
Wrapping softly around me
Her whisper became
The wind in my ear
Calling me with her love
And I forgot for one moment
Who you were
Who I was
And who can shoot
The wings off an angel,
anyway?
Mar 2014 · 339
Riding the river
James Jarrett Mar 2014
I want to ride on our river
Peaceful and calm
We've carved our canyons
Our torrents gone
The earth once moved before us
Our waters swelled by storms
But now I want the quiet beauty
The rolling river that runs between
The mountains and the high blue sky
The quiet waters of our river
That you and I can ride
Mar 2014 · 549
Childhoods end
James Jarrett Mar 2014
Hollow, haunted, hurting eyes staring at
the ceiling.
Cold, hard, white tile floor a pillow
for my head.
Last gasping, grasping tendrils of reason
slipping from my brain.
Oh the bite of bitter steel; sweet and
welcome pain.
An outstretched palm, ungrasping fingers,
nerve and tendon showing.
A smile of peace, a sob of despair;
blood is thickly flowing.
I close my eyes and now I see that this
is childhoods end; Wasted lives, broken
people and shattered dreams that never mend.
This is the first poem I ever wrote.
Mar 2014 · 471
Dreamed and lost
James Jarrett Mar 2014
A cry floats on the gentle breeze.

A sound of laughter, A sound of joy.

A child running carelessly through a

flower strewn meadow, petals in her hand,

light in her eyes and a smile on her

sweet lips...

The cool wind dies.

Silence reigns again.

Nothing stirs the air.

Stillness settles in.

My old friend despair returns.
Mar 2014 · 421
R.I.P. little Brer
James Jarrett Mar 2014
I have courted
her for years
showing her
kindness
and love
She in turn
has evaded me
like a ghost
gone
just out of grasp
never there
when I reached
I have longed to
touch her
feel her warmth
her softness
comfort her
in my arms
But she was
never there
until today.
I reach for her
and my hand
finally finds her
My first wild shop rabbit. She has been replaced by Larry, another rescue.
Mar 2014 · 871
Things I shouldn't know
James Jarrett Mar 2014
Possums not only smell nice, but if they really like you, they will put your hand in their pouch and groom you

Cold raccoon hands on your **** are creepy

A rattlesnake will bite the hand that feeds it

Flying squirrels in your bedroom are hard to catch, but cute as hell

Deep down inside, a wild rabbit will always think you want to eat it

What it feels like to bounce off the ceiling when a house explodes because of a gas leak

It is frightening when a squirrel goes into your mouth after peanuts and they are already gone

When you get hit by lightning it sounds like rock and roll

Lightning will strike twice

You must feed a baby rabbit "Special ****" from an adult for it to survive

When you jump from a third floor roof, your legs will go numb....Until the pain hits

It is really bad if a rattlesnake wraps around your steering column while driving

You can walk almost half a mile with a broken hip and pelvis

What *** tastes like

The sound your neck makes when it breaks

You can catch a water moccasin 3 times by the neck before he catches on  and bites you

A woman will make you carry her through a mud puddle, even after you have been bitten by a water moccasin  through an act of your own stupidity
And the list goes on. But just some Friday fun.
Mar 2014 · 898
Still trying
James Jarrett Mar 2014
My hand still reaches
with loves intent

To be greeted only
with fleeting warmth

How you elude me
and my love

Like a doe in the woods

Always there, but never close
It could be a love poem, but it's not. I have a wild rabbit that lives in my office. He will never realize that when the alarm goes and the door opens that wolves and raptors are not entering.
Mar 2014 · 322
In passing
James Jarrett Mar 2014
My life has gone

and I say

Goodbye

One drip at a time

I give my things away

I pay my debts

Make amends

Then

and now.

Things are mixing.

I may pass

from one new life

to another

Either way

I pass through,

whether it be

to a new life

or a new death

Only time

will tell
James Jarrett Mar 2014
They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable--and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace-- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
Patrick Henry, better than coffee in the morning
Mar 2014 · 516
An excerpt: Not a poem
James Jarrett Mar 2014
"Resistance to tyranny is something that is as programmed into man as strongly as his propensity for oppression. Innately all of us know that we have certain rights that can only be removed by acquiescence or brute force.    For centuries philosophers have expounded the “natural rights” of man and their application within societies. Even those in prison know that they have certain rights and will begin to resist when their imprisonment becomes tyrannical. When a man becomes enslaved, he knows innately that he has the right to be free but that has been taken from him.   When our natural rights are eroded to the point of tyranny, resistance will invariably begin. Resistance ,and revolution also, are commonly misunderstood by many people. Most think of an armed struggle that involves bombs, bullets and war, but it is in fact far from that.  Resistance , as is freedom, is a thought, an idea without necessarily having a something to quantify it. Just because neither have a corporeal existence doesn’t mean that they are not there. When freedom is gone ,everyone knows it and when resistance begins it is just as obvious.     Resistance is a funny and fickle thing because it does things that are counter intuitive. The more you oppress, the more that people resist . The higher the stakes and the more the atrocities, the higher the level of resistance"
Yes, I am one of those rabble rousers
Mar 2014 · 632
Evelyn
James Jarrett Mar 2014
My love is not lost on her
in twilight's fading light
As darkness slowly blankets
her softly ebbing life
She cries to me quietly
lying in my bed
My body is her pillow
for one final night
I cradle her as a child
and gently call her name
As dawn comes
and darkness
fades to light
night slowly falls...
upon my friend

Goodnight my friend
Evie was 21 and my most favored cat of all times, even though she broke every porcelain item I held dear, including a late 17th century tea *** and my late father's coffee cup.   Through out our life together she found out that I was rather dim witted and difficult to train. It took her a full 10 yrs. to train me to figure out what her every want and whim was so I could cater to her.
James Jarrett Mar 2014
The scent of the pollen allured her, hanging in the still air of the morning. She would stop in her travel and visit each flower that she found. The precious nectar oozed from deep within the petals and she would thirstily drink at each one. She would gently land in the scented shade of each blossom and coax the precious nourishment from it. She never gorged, but rather drank from each flower what it was willing to give. Some were full and over ripe and bursting with the honeyed juice. Others had a smaller treasure, but she would drink lovingly of their gift leaving them an offering of pollen as a thanks. Her small, delicate tongue would gently lick and probe the recesses of the flower hunting the sweetness inside. The pollen on her coat would touch with the very deepest innards of the bloom and enter its very core. Her gift, as she suckled each part, was imparted into the scented womb of the softly petaled blossom. Each flower awaited her coming and spread wide it’s scented opening for her to enter. Their swollen pistils would be gorged with the potential for life and their gently glistening stamens would tempt her to feed on their sticky juices. The soft buzzing of her wings caressed the delicate parts of the fragrant blooms with a gentle breeze as she drank her sustenance. She sheltered in the colored shade of petals, hung round her like colored sheets, as she took what each one had to offer. When she was done she would move on to the next, slowly and deliberately milking the juice of life from each one. Every flower needed her and each one did what it could to tempt her in. Some threw heavy fragrance into the air so she could catch their scent while others bared their large and swollen glands so she could see their abundance. She traveled from bloom to bloom, sometimes enticed by the shaded shelter, and other times the sight of glistening pollen. But she fed on each one, large and small, and in each one she left her gift. The pollen that she carried would be imparted on each ***** stamen as she fed. The glistening end of the shaft was soft and sticky and waiting for the pollen that would carry on its life. While she fed each day, there was a gardener who tended to her plants. He took gentle care of them, weeding and pruning and tending to their needs. The flowers that she fed on were his future sustenance and he tended her as well. He would follow her sometimes through his garden and watch as she gently buzzed from plant to plant. She was used to his watchful eyes as he watched her drink from each bloom. He knew that his crop depended on her and he would peer into the bedding of petals as she caressed the sweetness from each one with her tongue. Her long tongue would probe deep into the recesses of the fragrant flower and find every drop of nectar. The gardener watched as she carried on the cycle of life for him and would wait for days to see the swollen fruits of her labor burgeoning from his plants. When she left each flower satisfied with their delicious treat, she would fly off to the next, not knowing that a seed would be swelling in the gorged pistil that she just left. And so it went as the bee buzzed her life away every day. The gardener would be there among his carefully tended crops, watching and waiting as she moved among the flowers. His gaze would follow her as she traveled through the foliage and landed amongst the blooms. Every day he would watch as she coaxed the sweet nectar from each one and left her gift in return.
Mar 2014 · 3.5k
Dreams
James Jarrett Mar 2014
She is beautiful when she dreams
Dreams of yesterday, dreams of tomorrow
Soft smoky dreams of places far, times long past
Hard, wanton dreams of blood and steel
And dreams of misted green fields
wrapped in the scent of a spring morning
Cloud shrouded dreams of mountaintops
Caressed by gentle sunny breezes
Dreams of the milky moonlight
Wrapped about the night like stark lace
Passionate dreams of love and laughter
The taste of hot skin and warm tears
Desirous dreams
Of life, of meaning, of fulfillment
Dreams of romance that make her eyes shine
Dreams of lust and adventure that make her glow
I see her reposed, dreaming her dreams
White as ivory, fine and chiseled
Eyes closed, lips full, peaceful and content
She is beautiful when she dreams.
Yes, that last one was too much of a downer to end a Friday with  so I posted this old thing.
Mar 2014 · 501
Picture of her
James Jarrett Mar 2014
I can't bear to look at her picture
I've seen it too many times
I can't take looking into her eyes
Every time I do a layer of armor
Is stripped from me and cast away
Until I am naked and exposed
My heart unshielded
From the sharp spears
It has been wrung
The grief twisted out of it
Until it has become a physical pain
My eyes have to look away
When I see her
My manly defenses are gone
I am sick and weak
And my very soul is starting to cry
I can't bear to see her picture anymore
Or hear myself say  "I love you"
My 28 yr. old niece died of liver failure over the Christmas holidays this year. I was raising funds for her and her family and with every Email or message, I had to tell her story and attach a picture of her in her hospital bed. After 5 days and thousands of emails, I couldn't take it anymore and had to stop.   I wrote this ambiguously intentionally and will probably remove this note in the future and let it stand on it's own
Mar 2014 · 561
Not A-mused
James Jarrett Mar 2014
Maybe I have nothing to say today
But you won't accept that
You secretly slip words into my brain
Like a tongue sliding between closed lips
Suddenly and unexpected
A moment of shock and surprise
Yes, I went to peck you on the cheek
And you slipped me the tongue
Maybe I don't want your words kissing me
Your passion pouring in my mouth
Hot and torrid
Sliding soft and wet on my lips
Maybe today I want to be left alone
But you won't accept that
You are always nagging me
Good morning!
Mar 2014 · 686
Evelyn/Evil
James Jarrett Mar 2014
Eyes emerald green and turquoise blue

Cotton soft, snowy hue

Velvet, velvet, cotton clouds

Steel and razors, shredded shrouds

Warm and gentle, purring, soft

Running, bolting, taking off

Hiss and scream, grow with fright

Teeth of ivory, day is night

Hunt and blood, running in willows

Sleep and purr in blankets and pillows

Whirling, twirling, spitting, springing

Evelyn / Evil always being

The good /bad cat that you are
A children's poem I wrote for the kids. Evelyn had one green eye and one blue one. The green one was the evil one
Mar 2014 · 397
A confessional
James Jarrett Mar 2014
That room that I write about
With the sad empty couch
And the chair filled with smiles
Really is in my house
The carpet stained with tears
And wine
Memories covering the walls
good and bad
All times gone by
Yes, that room
Really is in my house
Even the starry sky
That room that I live in
Have lived in
Is always
On my mind
Mar 2014 · 1.7k
Glow in the dark stars
James Jarrett Mar 2014
You should see my empty room with the stars
Made with more love than I could bear
Starry night in the corner of gypsum and gesso
Looking over Van Gogh's countryside
Stars crawling across the ceiling
A universe of sleep
In glowing repose
But the room is empty
Filled only now with sadness
The bed cold and alone
There are no eyes to see the beautiful things
That dance in circles
Across the ceiling sky
There are no dreams to be had here any more
They have all faded
Like the stars
Their glow in the dark gone
I think someday
That it will be time
To re-paint
Someday
Mar 2014 · 520
Last night meant nothing
James Jarrett Mar 2014
I reached out to touch her
And nothing was there
Her soft warmth
Was missing
Even the ghost
That she left in the bed
When she slipped away
Late in the night
Was gone
That wraith of heat
And scent that lingered
On in the sheets
Was missing
That spot that I could feel
And know
That she had just been there
There was nothing now
But the cold
My hand touched
Nothing
Someday I realized
That this would be forever
That there would be more
Cold
Than I could bear
Last night meant
Nothing
It was only
Anger blowing like the wind
Disturbing the night
Throwing leaves and debris
In the darkness
I rushed home to find her
Soft and warm
Nestled in our bed
And put her skin
Beneath my kiss
And held her warmth
And softness
In my arms
My hands feeling her
Caressing her
Beneath the sheets
Last night meant
Nothing
Nothing at all
Yeah, late night
Mar 2014 · 527
Sad poems (10w)
James Jarrett Mar 2014
I almost became
Someones sad poems
Then I met you
Mar 2014 · 915
Seasons
James Jarrett Mar 2014
I've drunk of the wine of spring

and been intoxicated by the lush sweetness of it's life

I've basked in the sky of the cool summer night

and felt the myriad stars beckoning to my soul

I've felt autumns bitter chill settling into my bones

as the leaves turned scarlet red and knew that winter was near

I've felt the frozen bite of Decembers icy winds wrap me

in their lifeless embrace and steal the warmth from my heart
From the Lunch with the ****** series
Mar 2014 · 514
Lunch poem #27
James Jarrett Mar 2014
My disease is free.

Stained upon this carpet of green.

Slipping away, bound no more by pain,

by loss,

by destruction,

by hatred,

My disease, my life, runs slowly from my veins
From the Lunch with the ****** series
Mar 2014 · 520
Lunch poem #17
James Jarrett Mar 2014
Every day I slumber and as I do the life of
light and love and laughter passes silently
by.My world of eternal sleep and shadowed
night is frequented by the wraiths of the
living, come to mock, pity or invite me to
their world of sunshine. But that is for
them.This land of eternal dusk is inhabited
only by souls such as myself, cut off for
eternity from the rays of the sun and the
gentle breezes.We are creatures of the dark,
born to our destiny, blind and cold and this
is all we know.Some of us care, some not, but
all one and the same we shoulder our burden
and trudge incessantly and wearily down the
path to hell
From the Lunch with the ****** series
Mar 2014 · 491
Lunch poem #3
James Jarrett Mar 2014
Shades of black and dusky grey
Like wind whipped, whispering leaves
Cloud my memory dull and dim
chasing all but fleeting ghosts away

I know that somewhere deep within
The twisted labyrinth of my brain
There lies a place of green and light
Of peace behind the pain
Memories of a different life
Lived by a different man
Mar 2014 · 497
Chez
James Jarrett Mar 2014
Loneliness and bitterness
fill her empty shell

Her lying words of love
slowly craft her hell

Trapped within the cell
of dark and twisted brain

All that she can ever give
is cold uncaring pain

Not a tendril of tender emotion
can reach into that soul

Except her own self pity
Poured endlessly down that hole
Mar 2014 · 477
Windows to the soul
James Jarrett Mar 2014
I realized one day
That my eyes had become hard
My gaze, frosted granite
Hard, like the look of men
Who have seen too much
Killed too much
Been through too much
Just a stare
That says it all
Ice behind the eyes
Purposeful and intent
I see the surprise in peoples eyes
When they meet mine
And look hurriedly away
Or ask if everything is alright
They know the look
And now it even shows in the mirror
And my war
Hasn't even started yet
James Jarrett Mar 2014
My love, my faire, I dream of thee
Thine softest smile, golden haire

All things mine would I forsake
Of thy love might I partake

Faire Gwendolyn, easily, would I spurn
This broken kingdom sure return

My king, betrayal, I would not have shown
Had thy beauty then been known

And now with greate sorrow do I behold
Thy sweet love and fairness untold

Your servant in all things,  Lancelot
A tongue in cheek piece to my wife, who is nicknamed Jayne.
Mar 2014 · 1.6k
End game
James Jarrett Mar 2014
I wander through
the days now
waiting
I am becoming
purpose
All of the other things
are slowly
dropping away
Surreal machinations
move things closer
Inching day by day
In the meantime
Life speeds by
without me
Blinding lights
speeding traffic
and all I can do
is wait
wait
Until I can wait no more
James Jarrett Mar 2014
So you say
While my sweat and blood
Feed the hungry ground
My broken bones
Toil behind the plow
So you say
While you lay
And feed your hunger
And cry about
Your pain
So you say
While I feed you
Yet another day
And watch you drive away
In the car
That I own
Mar 2014 · 895
Some would say I'm odd
James Jarrett Mar 2014
I am odd
Some would say
But not to me
Living here in my own skin
My castle of bones
Listening to words
Beating like my heart
Some would say
I am odd
But not to me
Mar 2014 · 545
From my wife
James Jarrett Mar 2014
" We have now been driven to madness, poked like rabid animals in a cage . You are unleashing a beast that loves the blood of it’s enemies. We are an enemy that will play sport with your skulls, that will fashion your  flesh for our war drums. We will pound our fearsome sound out with your bones. Can you hear the sound? It is getting closer and closer”
A piece from something my wife wrote, that I will someday make into a poem. Seriously folks, don't threaten the security of a woman, it can make her nesting instinct go horribly awry. Just thought I would share something from my viking queen.
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