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This online collection of cultural stories, poems and essays is unique. |
 This book is a collection of cultural Black stories, set in the now and forty years ago. The first set, On A Mission, contains numerous stories: Mother Smith, Annie-May,Clara-Jean,Itty-Bitty-Ol'-Nasty Man, And The Mighty Zay-eusm are the main ones. These are witty sometimes sad characters, that find their way to carry-forth.The book also contains cultural poems, essays, and prose. Most of the stories are being created, as I post them, it is a raw blog. I am interacting with my readers taking suggestions for stories, finding out about their interests. It is a work in progress, I go through my stories and smooth then out. It's for fun, some of my stories may eventually find their way into it. The blog is casual and conversational, urban musings. I keep a blog, with the book, to keep readers posted. There are, teaser, excerpts chapters, from my book. Tales & Myths from The Inner city, a work in progress..The Paperback version, of the book is being smooth out, and edited, and marketed. I featured some of the concepts from this book, on T-shirts, mugs and other gifts : http:www.Zazzle.com/qmarpat. Thanks, I look forward to supporting you, too! Stop by my blog, and say,"Hello". We will have fun and laughs! I have included short reviews of some of the stories, thanks, so much for being a reader! Thank you so much, for hanging in there with me, You can also catch up with me, at: www.Hubpages.com/Qmarpat I have wacky veggie creations and few recipes and jokes, I look forward to hearing from you. I want to thank all my fans, that "Liked" me on Facebook. I love my readers! I wish you Happy Holidays and a very prosperous New Year! Take care-rixxie |
| He considered himself, the perfect weekend wino. The girls would call, Willie E. Bopeson, that and he would, queal like a pig with laughter. He'd turn on beat box, James Brown would belt out, "Can't stand your love",Willie would do a little impromptu nasty dance. The odors coming from his dirty,stained pants would run them away. The kids back in Mississippi, would call him little Willie Bo', when he was ten, playing kickball,His parents moved here when he was, seventeen. He worked, now, loading trucks during the week, near the dock. He did alright for awhile, he fell into drinking on the weekends, to kill time and pain. He met some park winos, so now he belonged to something. Willie got in late every weekend, to his little studio apartment, it would be kind of stuffy, and hot. He'd be ready to load trucks, every monday morning ; it would take two bottles of dish washing liquid, to wash the drunken weekends off his skin. The other tenants were either just as bad as he was, or they lived there because of poverty, and ignored him. He liked being able to let loose and be wild and crazy, with nobody to answer to. He could use his wifes' death as a reason,but that had been twelve years ago, he should be alright, now. Willie loved Ethel, the way she took care of him and mothered him, into a peaceful calm. She'd cook his favorite foods, while singing gospel songs, like the ones his mama, sang to him to put him to sleep. He felt safe with her, like he had back home when he was a kid. Ethel suffered with cancer, three years before passing away. He was like that then with her, and now, he had become this and he had convinced himself, he liked it equally. He had a place to be on weekends, to get away from himself,he took pain relievers and drunk tea to hide the shakes. Willie sat up straight in the park, and put his bottle back in his pocket. He had snapped out of his daydreams, he looked up to see a lovely black woman with braids, get out of Mother Smiths' station wagon. She had the unmistakable sway of Clara, one of Mother Smiths' relatives. Willie was sitting by himself, next to two red garbage cans, squitting in the sun, clasping a old blue blanket. "Hey-Willie-Bo, I told cousin Atty to drop me off" She walked over and sat a little ways down on the bench. "They'll be back in about twenty minutes, with some real food, spaghetti and chicken and all, they had to go by the resthome for deliveries." "Hi, Dollin, you look nice today, you brang ol' Willie a little somethin" "Yeah I have a bologna sandwich, they'll be back." "How long you been out here, Willie?" She tried to stay down wind,she liked him but it was too-much to take. "I got out here about seven, this morning." "Willie you can get a little help, it's not too late, A.A., something." Willie looked straight at her, and stopped eating his sandwich."This is me now, Dollin, it's how I am, if I was, to-a-rah, find me a good woman, one that ain't all saint-tee-moneous, I might get married". Clara laughed out loud. "Willie how you gonna get a woman in your condition?" Willie threw his head back and laughed with food in his mouth. "I could see it if you were, like Zay-eus staying like he is, he has so many things that hunt him" "Sweetie, Zay-eus, is in a safe place inside, when Zachery fell apart, Zay-eus was all that was left". "Yeah , but it's his mental illness,don't you want to see your friend like he was?" Willie tosses the blanket around himself, and picks up his boombox. "Zay-eus is alright, in his own safe world, girl, it's probably a game he use to play when he was little" "I liked Zachery, I like Zay-eus, I just wish I coul help". "You are doing something sweetie, you bring him food and care, that's all anybody could do." She stood up to shake her legs out. "The doctors said he was disconnected, he seems so strangely, peaceful." "I know-I know kinda scary life's scary Dollin". "I makes fun of thangs just so it won't hurt so much, I taught him how to do his dance". Willie got up and and started wiggling his dirty hips, around. " I taught him how to do his Zay-eus ceremony." "Willie you're a mess,what am I gonna do with you?". Clara was trying not to holler out loud, when she spotted the stationwagon, they were back.Atty, Latricia, and Juanita all had a bag or a box. He gave a donation to the church every month, and they brought him food, for several days each week. Mother Smith was head of the pack, and spoke first. "Willie-Bo', you bring your little drunk self, over here and get your food boxes." Latricia, giggled and eyed Willie with distaste. "He really is a little tinyn nasty man!" Clara rolled her eyes at her cousin, she bout to start him for real. "Latricia-don't start here-", she was interupted by Willies radio,"Ain't it funky now", was blasting, and he was doing his little nasty man dance. He lifted up the blanket and shook his dirty behind at them. He began a drunken song : They call me itty-bitty ol' nasty man, livin all up in the garbage can, aah-aah-aah" he was shaking his behind at them in a mocking way, and used a chicken leg for sword. The cousins were laughing, Mother Smith shook her head and headed back to the car. "Shut-up Wille, Jaunita, said and threw the blanket over Willies head, they all headed back to the car. Willie sat down with the blanket on his head and howled wildly. |
| Clara moved around her small, two bedroom, cottage-style house, her aunt Annie-May had rented her, slowly and putting off her several daily tasks. The cozy cottage smelled of huge pots of spaghetti, she got paid to help her cousin Atty deliver to the sick, and shut-in. The flowered soft cushion couches, had recent drips of spaghetti sauce. She was in what her cousin Latricia, who shared the small house with her, called, her "I don't give a damn mood". She got her large hips up, her size 14, didn't brother her and she didn't mess with it. She loved her cookies; hence her nickname "Cookie", lord knows she loved cookies. She was up looking for her favorite red wide belt, and maybe a sponge, to wipe off the sofa. It woud be about an hour before, cosin Atty and Jaunita got there, Latricia would be there anytime now, she took a early business class,she was a office aide part-time for the college, but she wanted to advance to a higher position, within a year. She did hair braids, presses and other styles, she did Claras hair, she had thick black extensions she had in a upsweep ponytail. Clara looked for some beating, hip-hop she had borrowed from her sixteen- year-old nephew, Darrick. She could get ready faster, when danced to the music , and steppin fast. The beats came out loud, and Clara begin to swing her arms around, like one of those stomp movies she had seen. She had tied her hair gansta-style with a blue and white scarf, to match her blue long sleeved shirt and jeans. The music was loud like she like it at thirty-three, with no regular guy it made her feel sexy. Clara stopped for a moment getting thirsty, started to get a coke, the thought to herself " Naw I feel raw!". She got out some of the fried, chicken livers and gizzards and hot sauce, and made a big pitcher of, Kool-Aid. Ten minutes later clara was doing her stiff impression of stomp dancing and chopping on , chicken liver sandwich, with a large glass of cherry Kool-Aid in her other hand. Latricia entered dropping her heavy green bookbag on the hall floor. The intoxicating aromas of the,spaghetti, and whatever her nutty, cousin was cooking made her mouth water and her, stomach ache. She had ran out the house, for her early morning class, with just a apple. She walked in the living room and almost fell-out. Clara was doing some awkward hip-hop moves her nephew probably taught her. "Girl I know you not up in here having a funky ghetto, party all by yourself, you are so crazy!" "Ha-ha-ha-- yeah! How ya' like me naw! They both burst out in laughter, and Latricia started shaking her skinny hips to the loud beats. "Whe-ew! that's all for me girl, I swear you a fool!" They both laughed, and latricia obviously tired from school sat down on the stained red-flowered sofa. "I'm hungry give, me some of that stuff, you made for them hungry misfits, and I told you about eating spaghetti on this sofa. You cleaning it this time" "You so damn evil, Latricia I swear!" She sat down and wiped her face on a napkin. " Those people ain't all crazy, well "cept a couple, little nasty Willie Bo', is a lunatic, but he funny" Latricia wiped her nut-brown smooth skin and pushed back her curly hair. "And what about Zachery, I mean "The mighty Zay-eus"? "Girl-see I told you your behind is evil, you know Zay-eus, is sick, he doing his best, he alright." "Alright? Have you seen that ceremony he does, every September 16th, the anniversary of all the bad things, that drove him over the edge?" "Yes I've seen it twice, I try to avoid that date". Clara tried hard to suppress laughter, she had a kind natue despite her silliness. "Why do they call him Zay-eus, CLARA_JEAN, huh-huh, why-why?" She begin to tickle her cousin trying, to get her to speak things ahe'd rather forget. "Leave me alone you cow, ha-ha-ha-ha-okay-okay, they won't tell me much, when he had lost his job and the house caugt on fire , he said his name was Zay-eus". Clara was almost hysterical she had said the latter in one breath. "You can get your own food, HOOKER--st-op-p!" "Okay- I'll stop when you tell me what Zay-eus mean" "Stop you freak! It don't mean nothing he's crazy, okay-he said it's the black version of, ZEUS. "Oh-my-GOD!" They both fell on their knees laughing, Clara tried to stop, she really like, Zay-eus. |
| I had to overcome alot of hurdles, to finally just sit down and complete projects, that I left hanging for years. I mentioned the surgery in the intro, that was just the tip of the iceberg. I knew nothing about computers, and had to hunt and peck my way through blog sites. I have added a whole new world of possibilities, for my writing with the discovery of the internet. Three months out of the hospital I began to buy a computer components, piece by piece I had no idea what I was about unleash. The internet has changed my whole life. The notion of information on demand, has greatly enriched my writing endeavors. I sat at the computer puzzled middle-age lady never quite got around to learning. |
| Attie Smith, Mother smith to the congregation, she helped feed and clothed, gathered up the bowls and baskets of food she had prepared. She passed baskets of unwashed laundry, and pushed aside mounds of unwashed platters and bowls to make room, for todays task. She passed the hall mirror and lingered on her tired image. Her nut brown skin was dry and wind-chapped, her curly short hair was astray and dull. She felt eighty, instead of sixty-three. She was glad that her middle, daughter Denitra,was on her way over to bring her a fresh dress and comb her hair. Denitra was a career counselor at the local university, she only lived twenty minutes away. She was still single her other two daughters were married with two kids each, with husbands in the military, and lived in another city. They sent money each month, she quickly used it, to purchase food for the poor and sick she tended . Denitra had her number, she felt her mother was a little compulsive, so she took her to purchase food, but made sure she got her own groceries first. And when they went to thrift stores she made her buy herself some things, before she'd let her get anyone else any. Attie, separated all her food into individual, packages and in black marker wrote their name on it. She held Zachery's package and hesitated she some how couldn't bring herself, to write "The Mighty Zay-eus", on his food-box. It would be like acknowledging the devils that drove him over the edge, and caused him to live in that burned-out house twenty years later. If she didn't he wouldn't take it, she wanted him to eat, so she just put, "Z", on it. She didn't want to remind anyone of that tradgedy. She put Zacherys box on the couch with the rest. She heard Denitra, knocking and ringing the bell. She had to work later, that day, she had flexible hours. Denitra leaped in and shoved to breakfast burgers at her mother, "ones for you mama got to go to bathroom, real quick. "Girl I told about drinking those super-sized, drinks!", Atty laughed whiled she brushed her hair down. Denitra, was back in a coulpe of minutes, she was really pretty thicker curlier, chin lenght shiny hair, olive tone flawless skin, and despite her weekly trips to the fast food, place she stayed a perfect size ten. |
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I wonder how the people at the other end of the line feel but if you actually got a conversation going, I could imagine it would be quite interesting!
