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Monday, February 28, 2011

The Left Behind Curtain


The Left Behind Curtain

            “So why you walking down the street wearing a red curtain?”
            “This not a curtain. This Jesus’ last robe.”
            “Your Mama says a drape’s missing from the living room window. And you got on this long red thing here.”
            “A refrigerator went missing out of Sears. Saw it on the news. I guess you think somebody is wearing it.  You crazy, man.”
            “Well no. I mean nobody can wear a refrigerator.”
            “And nobody wears curtains. This is Jesus’ last robe.”
            “Where did you get it?”
            “Out his tomb.”
            “And when were you in Jerusalem?”
            “That is not important.”
            “I thought his robe was kind of purplish. That one you wearing looks very red, like that
curtain half covering your mama’s window over there.”
            “Her curtain is her problem. This is Jesus’ robe.”
            “Come with me and stand near the left behind curtain in the window so that we can
compare your garment with it.”
            “I’m not going in that woman’s house. She look crazy over there whooping and
hollering—on her  knees and off her knees, on her knees and off her knees. She ain’t even
Catholic.
            “I’ll bring the curtain to you. Stay here and I’ll bring the other red curtain to you.”
            “I ain’t stayin’ nowhere. I got to go all over.”
            “Are you trying to save us?”
            “Save who?”
            “Save us like Jesus did from our sins. I’ll bet you can heal too. There’s a guy in a wheelchair at the bus stop. He’s looking at you. Go heal him.”
            “Man, you crazy. I ain’t no Doctor.”
            “But Jesus healed people.”
            “I don’t know if he did or not. All I know is I got his robe and I’m going over to SCISSOR CUTTINS and get me a haircut. Gettin’ away from your crazy ass. You crazy! Probably got some vision of a dude walking on water wearing a refrigerator. I’m gettin’ the hell away from you.”

            The dude in the curtain went on to get his haircut. Afterward, he stood in line at Wendy’s between two cars and bought himself five a fish sandwiches. He then shuffled to Potter’s liquor store and picked up two boxes of wine. He drank until he laid himself out. His Mama had him dragged back to the house, stripped her curtain off him and hung it back up. She put double pointed hooks in each pleat to make sure it would draw blood if he tried to take it down again. He slept for a couple of days, then woke up and went to work.
The end.
            






Also
Red Underwear
I Did the Doo Rag

Sunday, February 20, 2011

A short short titled DAY OF THE PORT O POTTIES

Day of the Port o Potties
By
Charles W. Harvey



            The heat hung over Wednesday like the open mouth of a furnace. The wind picked up dust and stung our eyes until they were red and teary. I looked over at her.  She sat next to me with her hands folded in her lap. One fist was coiled around pink flowered baby booties. She was quiet and stared out the side window keeping her eyes away from the sun’s rays glowering off the hood of the convertible. From the back of the car, the cradle knocked gently against her seat as I drove down St. John’s Boulevard away from the hospital.   From my rearview mirror, the hospital rose like a tower going higher and higher toward baby shaped clouds.
            I put on a jazz station, the one that was most commercial free.  I didn’t want anything to remind us, especially Maureen.  The soft thump of trumpets kept time to my heart.  My mouth opened for a moment, but nothing came out.  Then there was Stevie Wonder singing, “Isn’t she lovely isn’t she beautiful,” as a giggling baby splashed in the water in the song’s background.  I reached over and hit the off button on the radio.  Maureen looked at me.
            “Don’t patronize me..” She turned and continued to stare out the window.
            I swallowed as quietly as I could.  “It was not my idea,” I thought to myself.  I always get the blame when Maureen’s ideas go bad.  When she wanted to sell the old house and we lost money; when she thought to take in an elderly arthritic woman and coax her into making quilts; and now the baby.
            I drove in a daze, in silence, suppressing sighs.  I didn’t see the truck until it was almost too late.  A long truck with green and white port o potties bouncing on its back was backing rapidly toward our car.  I slammed on the brakes and everything lurched forward.  Maureen and I bowed toward the windshield.  The cradle in the back seat came up as if the wind had lifted it.  It struck Maureen in the back of the head.  She grabbed her head and screamed.  In motions that ran together she reached around and grabbed the cradle and unsnapped her seat belt.  Out of the car she marched flat footed toward the port of potties.  She held her hand behind her and with all the strength she could force through her thin arm, Maureen hurled the cradle over her head and into the back of the truck.  It wedged between the port o potties.  The truck driver eased forward unaware of anything and drove off.  Maureen stared after the truck.  Her body heaved and jerked.
            I got out of the car.  I walked toward Maureen with my arms opened and outstretched.
“It’s not ok. I will never be ok,” Maureen screamed.
Cars around us honked like geese as I led Maureen back to our blue blue car.

            

Thursday, February 17, 2011

FaceBook Statuses to Make you Smile

These Facebook statuses are available to you free of charge in case you're looking for a witty gem.


Yawn...

I ate a boiled potato...

Why are folks putting rocks in the road for me to stub my toe on?

 I bought socks...

heaven is the opposite of hell...

why the fack do some people hate me?  

Life is like cheese, it stinks until you spray cologne on it...

I spilled jello on my tie...

in order to love, I must hate too...

l must hate to love you....

I ran out of underwear...

I need some pickled chicken eggs...

if you get in my way, I will fall down and trip you.....

if there's a hole in your bucket, look at the bright side through the hole..

.if I culd spel, I would say yu smel rilly stinke....

Sunday, February 13, 2011

THE NEWS



The NEWS


Dead bird lies in the gutter
Feathers spread like a fan.

I asked Cliff who was painting a house red
Did he see when and how
The bird came to be?

Cliff opened his mouth and a peacock bouquet
Fanned from his tongue
All purple and blue

He said, “I don’t rightly know, Young Blood Bird.
But sorrow and beauty
Are the stories of love.
And that bird is the sum of all you are to be.”

The Long Illness

The Long Illness





I'm sick of seeing
Black men in gold chains.
In fact, I'm sick of seeing
Black men in chains at all

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Blue Train to Heaven





Barnes&Noble Selection
Amazon,com Selection

High kitty

The Road to Astroworld

THE PITCH         THE ROAD TO ASTROWORLD 



On the day of her last brother’s funeral, a Promise an eight year-old African-American girl decides she has had enough of funerals. She wants to go to Astroworld--an amusement park with her class. She longs to trade her dreary life for the world of cotton candy and clowns. A serial rapist lurks in the background terrorizing the city. Promise’s Mother gives her money to buy white roses to be placed in her Brother Jonathan’s coffin. Promise sees this as her chance to escape. She catches the first bus to come along in hopes it will take her to Astroworld. The bus driver who is the serial rapist has other plans for Promise. He steals her innocence.
Later, in an asylum for murdering her child, Promise writes letters to her childhood friend LaKeisha Ann. This therapy helps her confront the demons from her past that led to her crime. Her recovery is temporarily thwarted by a cruel nurse/attendant called Big Fingers. Promise and the other women overpower this monster and reveal “his” secret.
The strength of the book is the writing and the main character’s keen observations. I would call The Road to Astroworld a literary novel that tells its story in a simple uncomplicated voice and will make the readers go “Wow!” instead of knitting their brows puzzling over philosophical musings. The major theme of overcoming adversity has universal appeal across all ethnic backgrounds. Promise’s heroism, determination, and precociousness will win reader’s hearts.
The Road to Astroworld received many accolades when it was represented years ago. It has undergone an extensive revision that has sharpened the narrative voice. The author is an award winning writer who understands the collaborative process in today’s publishing world.









Read an Excerpt Here at CreateSpace

Friday, February 11, 2011

Funky Poem

Uncle Funky got a funny funky walk
Uncle funky got a
Funky Hearse
Funny funky walk
One foot look like it
Gonna trip the other
Throw him into confusion
Uncle funky told me
A woman driving a pontiac
Ran into his back
Eyes so full of tears and rage
Face looked like a block of salt
Glad that Pontiac ran outta gas
Before it got to
The rest of his ass
Uncle funky 
Got a funny funky walk
Cat scratched on his bad leg
Said to the pussy
Come on do your thang
Uncle funky ain't feeling no pain
Uncle funky
Got a funny funky walk
Dog pissed his good leg
Uncle funky laid down
Opened his mouth wide as a trap
Come on bitch turn on your tap
Funky here is ready to drown
Uncle funky funky
Had a funny funky walk
Slept all day 
Tomcatted at night
Didn't give a damn
If the lord didn't see him right
Said I'm funky funky
Gonna funk and funk 
Til day is night 
Then all night
Til the devil say
Get the hell outta my sight
Uncle funky funky



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