i sit
beneath the cedars,
in solemn serenity.
face red
with asking questions,
seeking answers
to the ways
of life and death —
molecules and atoms —
and how we’re all
connected.
my fingers
stiff, from cold —
a child’s stubby crayons —
make difficult the task
of turning pages,
jotting notes
about impermanence,
attachment
and letting go.
i’m surrounded
by spirits of seasons past.
i fear not —
they mean no harm.
their faces radiate,
coming from the light.
in their eyes
i see peace and love —
they are free
of mortal suffering
they endured
in life.
they comfort me. Grieve not, they say, soon enough, you will join us. you will experience the universe and all it has to offer. you still have much to learn. when you are ready, we’ll be waiting.
i feel the joy of life —
(maples sailing leaves
of red and yellow)
moments, lifetimes pass…
then they’re gone,
as they should be.
beneath the cedars,
in their realm of wisdom,
reverently
i sit.
slouching
in forgotten tap-rooms
dirty old men,
forgotten old men,
slop piss colored beer
from, wet, dripping glasses.
the hollow din,
the retelling of the good old days,
echoes sadly
as life quickly passes.
“They used to call me ‘The Silver Fox’
What do you think of that?
They used to care.”
an empty glass crashes
to the muddy floor.
“I guess I’ll be hitting the street tonight.
Sleep in an alley tonight.
Nobody cares.”
slouching
in forgotten tap-rooms
dirty old men,
forgotten old men,
slop piss colored beer.
nobody cares…
Two years after its initial release, the film, Take Me to the River, has been released on Netflix. This is a documentary about the soul of American music, particularly that of Memphis, Tennessee. While telling the story of Memphis and its music, this film centers around the recording of a new album. An album, produced by second generation Memphians that features legends from labels like Stax, Sun, and Hi Records, mentoring and recording with some of today’s greatest talent from the region.
The brainchild of director, Martin Shore, Take Me to the River debuted at the SXSW Festival in Austin, Texas in 2014 but was four years in the making. Mavis Staples and Booker T. Jones were the first “mentors” to sign on. From there, legendary artists including Bobby “Blue” Bland, Hubert Sumlin, Charlie Musselwhite, William Bell, Bobby Rush, Otis Clay, Charles “Skip” Pitts, Lester Snell, Marvell Thomas, the Hodges brothers and more were added as modern-day mentors of the Memphis sound.
Their pupils and recording partners are young up-and-comers from Memphis and beyond. Child actor and rapper, Lil P-Nut, not only recorded a cover of “Trying to Live My Life Without You,” with Otis Clay, but also received some impromptu singing tips from Bobby “Blue” Bland. Bland and Yo Gotti record a modern cover of “Ain’t No Sunshine,” with an old soul feel. Academy Award winning rapper, Frayser Boy teams up with Bobby Rush on the Rufus Thomas classic, “Push and Pull.” And these are just some of the highlights.
The men recording and producing these cuts are themselves, Memphis legacies. Boo Mitchell is the son of Willie Mitchell, founder of Royal Studios. Luther and Cody Dickinson are both members of the North Mississippi Allstars, and sons of the legendary Jim Dickinson, who was a producer, guitarist, and pianist. The elder Dickinson worked with artists including Bob Dylan, Ry Cooder, the Rolling Stones and scores of others.
This film isn’t just watching artists in studios, however. It’s chock full of vintage footage of live concert performances, Memphis neighborhoods, and civil rights unrest, including the murder of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and the aftermath that spelled the end of the Stax label and studio.
Many of the old timers share stories of how things were done back in their day and talk about one another’s accomplishments and failures. One of the most touching of these is when “Skip” Pitts once again runs into former band mate, Ben Cauley, describing to the filmmaker how Cauley is the only survivor of the plane crash that took the life of Otis Redding. Another is the obvious excitement of Mavis Staples when Luther Dickinson learns the guitar part of a song written by her father, “Pops.”
Also, particularly hard hitting, are the still photos of some of the elder artists, with production notes stating it was their last, or almost final session. Artists that passed away after appearing in this film include Bobby “Blue” Bland, Hubert Sumlin, Charles “Skip” Pitts and Teenie Hodges.
There are great interview clips with other famous Memphis music makers that were even more behind the scenes. Art Bell, owner of Stax Records and Deanie Parker who was not only a singer but secretary, liner notes writer, photographer, editor, publicist and more, all for the Stax label.
One of the greatest scenes is near the end when three generations of artists have only a short time to record a piece. William Bell, Snoop Dogg, and students from the Stax Academy, record, “I Forgot to be Your Lover.” That, in itself, is a pretty amazing feat. What becomes, even more, mind boggling is that the young students learned and recorded the song, Snoop wrote and recorded his rap verses, and the entire project was in the can in less than 30 minutes.
Narrator, Terrence Howard begins the film with the words, “There are special places on this earth. Places of origin. The Mississippi Delta is one of those places.” Nothing could be closer to the truth, and Take Me to the River does an outstanding job of documenting not only the origin of Memphis music but its passing to the next generations.
With this gem of a documentary streaming on Netflix, we would also urge everyone to purchase a copy of the DVD. If for no other reason, then knowing that over 75% of the money made in sales goes to musician funds in Memphis. These include the The Soulsville Foundation, The Blues Foundation HART Fund, and the Memphis Church Health Center.
In the past two weeks
I’ve had a lot of time to think
about important and unimportant things
(long story).
I have come to some very basic conclusions
as is my right and obligation.
They may seem obvious to some.
To others they may seem inflammatory.
Deal with it —
say what you want on your own page.
I believe that as humans
we deserve:
UNIVERSAL EQUALITY IN ALL ASPECTS OF LIFE,
UNIVERSAL ACCESS: TO FOOD, WATER, SHELTER,
MEDICAL TREATMENT AND AVAILABILITY OF MEDICATION,
UNIVERSAL ACCESS TO EDUCATION,
UNIVERSAL FREEDOM OF CHOICE OVER OUR OWN BODIES,
UNIVERSAL FREEDOM OF MOVEMENT,
FREEDOM OF SPEECH,
DEMOCRACY.
These are big issues
that have repercussions in news events
around the world.
I haven’t worked out all the details, yet,
but I have seen a lot of headlines on television
in print media and on the internet.
On our planet
we must eradicate (as much is humanly possible,
as opposed to what is economically viable)
HUNGER
DISEASE
VIOLENCE
HOMELESSNESS
BIGOTRY
WAR
(and others too numerous
to mention).
My neighbor:
MUST NOT starve while I eat,
MUST NOT die of illness while I have access to a cure,
MUST NOT BE CONFINED BY NATIONAL BORDERS
if his life, health, or opportunities
are at risk,
MUST HAVE universal access to the best education
in order to best express his natural abilities,
MUST HAVE equal access to meaningful, rewarding and satisfying employment,
MUST HAVE the freedom to make their own life choices;
these choices MUST NOT be dictated by GOVERNMENT
RELIGION, SOCIETY or self-proclaimed MAJORITIES.
LYNCH MOB DEMOCRACY MUST BE ELIMINATED.
In short, I AM my brother’s keeper.
I WILL treat him as I would prefer to be treated.
I WILL NOT be the cause of abuse,
whether physical, verbal, mental or emotional.
I WILL live my life
according to the best of my potential.
I’m not an expert geneticist.
I’m not an expert in anything,
but, I read a lot.
I watch documentaries on television.
I have my own ideas.
This is what I’ve come to believe:
Around 500 B.C, Hanno the Navigator,
a Carthaginian explorer,
with sixty fifty-oared ships
visited the Galápagos Islands.
Hanno and his crew discovered gorillas
and gorillas discovered them.
Although the sailors could not make peaceful contact
with these creatures,
they considered them to be
related to humans.
Geneticists now believe
that archaic Homo Sapiens evolved
to anatomically modern humans
solely in Africa
between 200,000 and 60,000 years ago.
We all share a common DNA.
We are all one family.
Families have differences
They argue a lot.
Some of them move away and refuse to talk
to other siblings.
That’s natural,
it happens all the time.
We are all the same.
We seek happiness
and an end to
suffering.
A woman waking up on a sidewalk in Bijapur, India, under a Pepsi advertisement. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I sit on the sidewalk,
my upturned hat
in front of me,
hoping for spare change.
I’m forty years old.
I look older
because of the beard.
I’ve been on the streets
for twenty-two years.
I sleep on the sidewalk.
The sun is blinding.
My throat is parched.
I’m vaguely aware
of people walking past.
I feel disoriented,
light-headed.
I can’t remember
when I last ate.
I can’t remember
much of anything.
My life is a blur.
Occasionally,
someone will throw
a quarter
in my direction.
Some jerk just said,
“Get a job!”
“Hire me!” I said.
That’s a joke!
Most people
won’t look at me,
let alone employ me.
If I sit here long enough
the cops may run me in.
At least, I’ll get to eat.
I’ll be safe
for one night.
.
Sleeping on the Sidewalk, Atlanta, Georgia (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Buy my book for $0.99 — proceeds feed the homeless:
Gotta Find a Home; Conversations with Street People http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS
“We planted you, we nurtured you, we protected you until you became a mighty tree that spread through our hunting grounds. With its branches you now lash us.” – Mississauga Chief
Steps used by the Rideau Lakes Mississauga Band of the Ojibwe or Anishinaabe Nation , for
traditional Sun Dance and other ceremonies.
…
I sit on ancient steps of stone
by myself, but not alone.
The presence of ten thousand souls
imbues me with their joys and goals.
The steps lead to a sacred place;
for Mississauga prayers and grace.
They danced to celebrate the sun
before the white man and the gun.
I seek what they sought; love and peace ~
for wars around the world to cease.
To live a life of nature’s plan
in harmony with fellow man.
In harmony with living things
and everything that nature brings.
I sit on ancient steps of stone
with souls to guide me on my own.
Buy my book for $0.99 — proceeds feed the homeless:
Gotta Find a Home; Conversations with Street People http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS
Occasionally,
Antonio
joins me for coffee.
He tells me
the most wondrous stories.
Sometimes,
I think he makes them up
for my benefit.
In any case
I am honored.
Have you ever worried
about squirrels in winter?
I see them climb over snowdrifts
with their bare paws —
they have no winter boots.
I see them stop
to tuck their tiny front paws
into their armpits
for warmth —
they have no mitts.
When it rains
I see them huddle
under trees,
they still get soaked —
they have no raincoats.
They have no pants,
no dresses, no hats,
no warm winter coats,
no shelter or fires
to warm their bodies.
Even the homeless men
whose beds are the sidewalk
have sleeping bags
to keep them warm.
Squirrels have nothing.
Still they remain cheery,
hopping about
gathering nuts,
Who knew
it was such a hard life
for squirrels in winter?
Buy my book for $0.99 — proceeds feed the homeless:
Gotta Find a Home; Conversations with Street People http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS
I miss you
(your cap on the sidewalk)
panning in front of Starbucks.
Your regulars miss you too.
Out of respect,
nobody’s using your spot —
Joy sees to that.
Eventually,
someone from the family,
(someone you’d approve of,
maybe Little Jake)
will carry on
where you left off —
serving ‘good mornings’
with a side
of smiles.
I miss
our conversations,
seated on storage boxes —
you’d light a cigarette,
sip your beer.
We’d discuss friends,
adventures from your past,
the Chateau Lafayette.
Some of the guys
were too upset
to attend your funeral.
I know you were there
as the group congregated
at noon, with the snow falling.
Albert still cries
at the mention of your name.
Sometimes,
you’d sit alone on the curb
as Shaggy barked. I’m not going up there,
you’d say, that damn dog is barking her head off.
At those times
we’d wonder what you were thinking —
just staring off into space. That’s just Silver, zoning out,
somebody would say, He does that, sometimes.
Buy my book for $0.99 — proceeds feed the homeless:
Gotta Find a Home; Conversations with Street People http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS
So, I’m panning
in my usual spot.
This suit walks by —
in passing he says,
“Get a job!”
“Hire me!” I say.
“Take a shower,” he says.
“I may sleep outside,
that doesn’t mean
I don’t wash —
I wash all over.”
“Hey,” I say,
“if you’re so successful,
why do you look
so unhappy?
“I’ve made the price
of my bottle.
I’ve got some smokes,
a little pot.
“Me, I’m the happiest guy alive.”
Buy my book for $0.99 — proceeds feed the homeless:
Gotta Find a Home; Conversations with Street People http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS
It was a crisp, sunny
October afternoon
in the arboretum.
I was meditating.
My mittened hands
rested,
upturned on my thighs.
A chickadee hovered
in front of me.
Seeing a convenient perch,
it landed in my open palm,
then hopped upon my thumb.
She looked me up and down,
side to side.
Having seen
all there was to see,
she flew away.
She brought such joy,
this tiny feathered thing.
I valued her presence
as a gift of trust,
a gift of love,
a sign from nature
and the universe
that all was well.
I sit
beneath the cedars,
in solemn serenity.
Face red
with asking questions,
seeking answers
to the ways
of life and death —
molecules and atoms —
and how we’re all
connected.
My fingers
stiff, from cold —
a child’s stubby crayons —
make difficult the task
of turning pages,
jotting notes
about impermanence,
attachment
and letting go.
I’m surrounded
by spirits of seasons past.
I fear not —
they mean no harm.
Their faces radiate,
coming from the light.
In their eyes
I see peace and love —
they are free
of mortal suffering
they endured
in life.
They comfort me.
“Grieve not,” they say,
“soon enough, you will join us.
You will experience the universe
and all it has to offer.
You still have much to learn.
When you are ready,
we’ll be waiting.”
I feel the joy of life —
(maples sailing leaves
of red and yellow)
moments, lifetimes pass…
then they’re gone,
as they should be.
I lived a dream,
everything was possible,
a spirit, a whisper
of love.
Beneath the cedars,
in their realm of wisdom,
reverently
I sit.
as the sun
played with the leaves
in the cool afternoon breeze
i heard your giggle
saw your smiling spirit face
peeking from behind
a clump of trees.
disappointed,
because i hadn’t
the freedom to follow you,
i sighed and waited for nightfall.
as the jealous moon
stole through my window
a devil in a flannel gown
visited my bed.
we snuggled
throughout the night.
my mouth nuzzled your neck.
your skin tasted
of our favorite perfume,
wood smoke and cedar.
i murmured words of love
as I held you tight.
you disappeared
with the dawn’s
early light.
I sit, in sadness,
holding hands with an injured friend;
her ribs broken and fractured,
her breathing painful and difficult,
her head aching and dizzy,
her face bruised
and scraped.
Another friend
is absent, in hiding; yet
he has no sanctuary,
there is no place he won’t be found.
At last, he had his life
in some semblance of order.
Two months sober;
he had an apartment, furniture;
his pride and self-worth had returned.
Then, he spent his rent check on booze —
starting with triple tequila shots
at a biker bar.
The universe
had given him a fresh start —
he threw it away.
Street justice will prevail;
sentence has been passed: a bruise for a bruise,
a broken bone for a broken bone,
and something extra
so it won’t happen again.
Punishment will be exacted
with ruthless,
emotionless
efficiency.
I met a woman
who lives on the streets.
All her belongings
fit in her backpack.
She has sparkling blue eyes,
a smile that would light heaven itself.
She looked cold.
I asked her how long
she’d been on the streets.
She replied, “I don’t know….too long.”
She is forty-four,
but looks older.
She told me her story.
I won’t repeat it,
but, to give you
some idea,
recall your worst fears,
your worst nightmares
rolled into one.
That’s the way
her story starts,
it only gets worse
from there.
I brought her a sandwich
and a coffee.
She said, “God bless you.”
He did
immediately,
A wave of joy spread
throughout my body
and stayed there
all day long.
in my nearly seven decades
on this earth
i know some things to be true.
if there is a key to life
it is ACCEPTANCE.
this is a goal that i aspire to,
i’m not always successful,
but with each slip
i affirm that i can do better;
i will do better.
i don’t have answers.
i don’t have solutions.
i don’t have resources.
what i offer is a safe haven
where YOU can come home.
i will ACCEPT you —
no questions asked,
no explanation expected,
nothing requested
in return.
i open my heart
to YOU.
Having read the first two novels in this series I was most anxious to read A Roman Holiday: Third in the Art Historian Superhero series. I was not disappointed. This fast paced adventure had me captivated from start to finish. The characters of Max and Sally I was already familiar with. Ambrosia, the ever apologetic fembot, was a new revelation. I fell in love with her and her Superwoman powers. Since she had been recently constructed, everything was new to her, everything was a learning experience. Max and Sally were very compassionate teachers and Ambi was welcomed as one of their family.
Although time-travel, ancient wars and historical fiction are the vehicles of these novels, the theme is unconditional love. We grow with the characters and learn, with respect and acceptance: racial, gender, religious and sexual equality. Molly and Max are philanthropists. This, and the two previous books, are thoroughly engaging and leave one feeling good about the world.
Rebecca Branch is an acclaimed scholar familiar with guiding visitors around Rome. Join her and her characters in this fantastic adventure.
Book Description
This is the third book in the Art Historian Superhero series. In Summer of 71 you were introduced to Max DuPont, a young American who spends his summers in Rome, split between two continents and shared by divorced parents. That summer Max had the romance of his life and was introduced to the mysteries of women by Molly, the dream lover of any young man, a down on her luck actress and model ten years his elder. Theirs was a romance which defined who they were and who they were to become.
Seven years later, in my second novel, Great Caesar’s Ghost, Max found himself again in Rome, this time an adult, working on the curatorial staff of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Together with his father Edward, an American archaeologist, Max discovered a long lost treasure, the personal artifacts of Gaius Julius Caesar. Amongst the relics was a ring which had the ability, when worn by one of Caesar’s descendants, to transport the bearer to any time and place. Max started his journey to uncover the past and ultimately to visit with Caesar himself.
Waking from her near-death experience, having survived the sinking of the Titanic, Sarah Goldsmith (Sally) saves Max and accompanies him in his travels. Brilliant and resourceful, a Harvard educated art historian, she awakens from a frightening era of anti-Semitism to champion the fight against injustice, intolerance and barbarity in all its forms. A natural feminist, Sally finds her match in Max, and two lonely lives come together as one.
This third novel in the series takes the time travelers from the modern world to the ancient past. Travel with them to California in the year 2050 to gather together their team and to New York in 1980 where Max lives his current life. Visit Studio 54, the court of Theodoric the Ostrogoth in Rome in 494 AD, and be present at the epic battle of Alesia where Caesar battles the Gauls in 52 BC.
Ultimately a love story and also a tale of discovery and self-awareness, join Max as he sheds the loneliness he has endured since his teenage years and finds the girl of his dreams who travels at his side. Then be prepared to admit within your circle one of the strongest and most attractive characters I’ve written…Ambrosia, a combined product of Apple and Google, and the most capable heroine in this series.
These are all adult books. They are written for a mature audience, suffused with observations of history, art history, Roman culture, contemporary New York, and many other locations. They are also a story of attraction, commitment, discovery and self-awareness, loss of innocence, coming of age, love and lust. They are often erotic but always loving, respectful of both genders, upbeat and satisfying. Although adult themes abound, they do not dominate, and these books are romantic time-travel historical fiction first and erotic adventures second. Come along for the journey in this sequel to Great Caesar’s Ghost.
Author Biography
I am 49 years old, a wife and a mother of two young women. I live near New York City. I am an architect by trade but an art historian by education having attended UC Berkeley as an undergraduate and Columbia for post graduate degrees. My father was an American archaeologist and my mother an Italian Lady. I worked as an assistant to the curator of Greco Roman arts at the Metropolitan Museum before leaving to take on my profession for need of income which the art world did not provide.
I began writing on a dare by friends who have encouraged me for years as I am a good storyteller and an avid reader. My first novel was Summer of 71, a story of romance and discovery set in Rome, a city with which I am very familiar and a place where I lecture on Roman history, architecture and culture bi-annually. My second book is Great Caesar’s Ghost which continues the story with my hero Maximillian DuPont and is a time travel romance skirting time periods from the first century BC through the modern day. My third work is titled A Roman Holiday and continues the series and has just been released. There will be at least two more books beyond these in this series. I also write short stories and a collection of these will be released shortly. They are about motherhood, romance and office affairs and escapades.
Although placed in the adult, and sometimes erotic category, my work is far more about self-awareness, relationships, coming of age, loss of innocence, personal development, reclamation, the culture of Italy, art and architectural history, an examination of the passage of time, food, and humor. I write as an adult to an adult audience and do not bury physical relationships behind closed doors. But what I write is loving and respectful of both genders, light and upbeat, fulfilling and satisfying. No one gets hurt, no one degraded. You should walk away from each of my books with a smile and an increased knowledge of the western world, Rome’s influence, politics, the social revolution, religion, and the inimitable wonder of a loving relationship between a good man and woman.
today’s greatest talent from the region.
