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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
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
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
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
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
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.
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