Happy New Year ...

 

Season's Greetings

 

you ...

you ...

and so ... it has come to this
the horses have left the pasture
and huddle together
by the broken doors of the barn
their restless hooves
silent at last
their riders ghosts of ghosts
like memories of memories
the indistinct shadows of shadows
so far removed from my faltering eyes
i dare not try to describe
what i can no longer see
forgoing the selfish temptation
and the cruel dishonesty
to fool you with
imperfect recollections
of what i once knew to be true
and know to be no longer true at all

and so ... it has come to this
the rooms where you have left me
are morning cold
with walls that narrow night by night
and even as i lay out rows of opiates
to push time and space apart
my life is like the practiced hustle
of a street-wise prostitute
whose trade is pain for pleasure
and whose pilgrimage is a circle
with no beginning and no end
the neverending turning of turning one trick for another
each as meaningless as the one before
and when the moon is high
and golden in the smoky sky
you may see me in the window
standing helpless in the rags of age
but still looking over the city
measuring the fall
measuring how the climb has led
to such a long and strange way down

and so ... it has come to this
you
you who have fallen for the spill
of my too often casual secrets
and the disguise of a heart forlorn
you who have believed you knew me
simply from the words i wrote
words as liquid as the ocean
and as transient as the tides
and still you believed
in something here
something between the summer rain and the winter snow
something between the desire of the flesh and the hopelessness of love
something between the energy of life and the dust of death
you
the teachers of my heart
offering me words of consolation
words of hope and salvation
words of love tattooed across my heart
words i would repeat in metaphors
stolen from what your eyes said to me
when your words failed
and yes, i was ever mindful
ever watchful
and ever thankful
so thanks
benedictus

and so ... it has come to this
oh, do not let a teardrop fall
let me wipe it away
even as it may be yours
or may be my own
i know at last
that i am ready
ready for the crossing
ready for the soft release
ready for another journey
ready to step through
the doorway leading from
goodbye to forever gone
and although i know
you will not fully understand the sudden silence
as no man or woman truly can
i have learned to live in quiet spaces
hovered in the full stops of sad songs
and now i guess
i have mastered the pause
mastered the unspoken whisper
and all that is left
is for you to relent at last
for you
to let me go

Here's what I'm listening to this morning ...

Leonard Cohen ♫ Hey, That’s No Way To Say Goodbye

 

angel ...

angel ...

an angel came late last night
her beauty translucent
her shape mostly undefined
but her words were clear enough
when she whispered in her rosary voice
to say not to be afraid
and yes and yes
it was finally time

Here's what I'm listening to this morning ...

Sarah Mclachlan with Carlos Santana ♫ Angel

 

prairie road ...

prairie road ...

a trail of dust
billows behind
a boy running down a prairie road
his flaxen hair
shimmering in the sun
like a golden crown
and from a distance
you do not see
you do not know
how his eyes are full
of tears
as he runs and runs
and runs and runs
until at last he runs
too far
or maybe
just far enough

Here's what I'm listening to this morning ...

Neil Young ♫ It's A Dream

 

The Pink Flamingo Hotel — Li'l Honey Bee Part 3

 

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Li'l Honey Bee Part 3

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or actual events is purely coincidental.

I been waitin' on Jesus
Maybe a year or two,
I been waitin' on forgiveness
All because o' you
Can't love ya, li'l honey bee,
Can't love ya no mo ...
Time for Big Daddy
To step thru the door

I woke early that afternoon to the sound of Ricardo tapping on my door. I flung back the sheet and crawled out of bed. When I opened the door, Ricardo looked a little sheepish.

"You alone?" he asked.

"Come in, Ric, and yes, I'm alone."

As he stepped into my room, he whined, "Well, shit, you never know, you know."

As I began to get a clean shirt and some half-decent jeans on, I asked, "What's the latest?"

"The latest?" the little man echoed. "The latest is that we needs be bustin' up that corruption upstairs. That's the latest."

"Has the good doctor been up there yet?"

"I don't know, don't think so, but maybe she has ..."

A voice chimed in from the doorway, "No, she hasn't."

It was Dr Meadows. Her smile seemed to brighten the room.

"I've been waiting for some, uh, muscle to back me up," she added.

Ricardo couldn't resist the opportunity. "Oh, he has a muscle, all righty, and a big one at that."

Like the three musketeers, we climbed the stairs up to Room 308, where Blue Bottle Bill Beady was accommodated. Dr Meadows knocked vigorously on the door and shouted, "Mr Beady, Monroe County Social Services, please open the door."

There was no response. She knocked again, repeating her command to open the door.

Still, no response.

I began to become uneasy. I looked at Ricardo and asked, "Do you have your pass key?"

The midget was way ahead of me. He slid between Dr Meadows and the door, and slipped his pass key into the lock. Then he threw the door open.

The room was completely dark, the blackout curtains pulled tightly over the windows. At first, I couldn't see anything and wished that I'd brought a flashlight. Then as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness, I saw what I did not want to see.

Sprawled on the bed was the body of Blue Bottle Bill Beady covered with sprigs of lavender and a variety of what appeared to be herbs. The smell of death and the fragrance of the lavender caught in my throat. For a moment, I thought I was going to be sick. Then Dr Meadows broke the silence and snapped me back.

"My God," she groaned. "What in the world?"

Ricardo turned on a dime and bolted from the room, but not before proclaiming, "Voodoo, I told you, voodoo."

I approached the bed, somewhat cautiously, and looked down on the body. On the nightstand, I saw a blue bottle, like the kind apothecaries used years ago. I picked it up and noticed a trickle of liquid inside of it, then handed it to Dr Meadows, who was now beside me.

"It's poison," she said quietly. "I've seen this before, but it's rare in these parts. It is a form of voodoo, or more precisely Louisiana Vodoun. Still, it's murder, or put more kindly, euthanasia."

"The little girl?" I wondered. "The girl, Josephine?"

"You won't find her now," Dr Meadows said blankly. "She'll be long gone. She is what they call a Voodoo Queen, a kind of high priestess, with the power to give and take life. She was never here for sex, well, she might have been, but her primary role was to assist this poor man through the what they call the door of death."

"But why?" I murmured.

"Usually," Dr Meadows said softly, "the recipient of the death potion is already dying. My guess is that Mr Beady was terminally ill. I can't say he wanted to die, but I suspect he knew he was dying."

Two weeks later, Dr Anne Meadows returned to The Pink Flamingo Hotel and confirmed that Blue Bottle Bill Beady was certainly dying of terminal lung cancer, but had been murdered prematurely from the administration of a poison.

"The girl you knew as Josephine gave Mr Beady a mixture of neurotoxins, derived primarily from Caribbean fish and amphibians," she explained to me as we sat in the breezeway her first evening back. "My report has been forwarded to an FBI special task force, but the chances of ever finding the girl are extremely slim."

"It's sad," I added in a quiet voice, "he had an amazing talent."

"It is tragic," the doctor confirmed, "but there are sometimes demons in us all that we can't explain. Mr Beady must have known more than his fair share."

She stood up and turned to face me. Once again, that infectious smile seemed to brighten the moment.

"I'll be leaving in the morning," she said, "it has been quite an experience here and I have enjoyed your company."

"The pleasure has been all ours," I replied. "We'll all miss you, especially Ric."

She chuckled. "Yes, he's quite a man." Then, with that winsome look in her eyes, she asked, "Off to work?"

"Yes," I confirmed, "another night in the jaws of Hell."

"Goodnight then," she said with a note of regret. "Please take care of yourself."

"And you," I reciprocated, then watched her walk from the breezeway into the hotel.

That night, my shift in the Corner Pocket seemed especially long. By morning, a hollow feeling was gnawing at me. I skipped checking on Ricardo and went directly to my room, undressed and curled into bed. No sooner had I shut my eyes, when there was a faint rapping on my door.

"This better be good, Ric," I shouted as I rolled out of bed and wrapped a towel around me.

I went to the door and flung it open.

There in the morning light was Anne Meadows, dressed only in a hotel robe.

"Dr Meadows?" I exclaimed. "I thought you were leaving this morning."

"Yes," she smiled, "but I have some unfinished business to attend to."

And with that, she pushed me back into my room, spun the door closed with her foot, and stepped out of her robe.

The End

 

© Copyright Kennedy James. All rights reserved.

Here's what I'm listening to this morning ...

John Lee Hooker & Bonnie Raitt ♫ In The Mood

 

winter ...

winter ...

winter comes in a flurry of snow
the nights are cold
and the mornings colder
but some will say
their hearts are warmed
by the company of family
and the endearments of friends
while others survive by their wits
and endure the heartache
of living alone

Here's what I'm listening to this morning ...

Nouela ♫ The Sound of Silence