Today, I’m speaking at Rayville, Louisiana at the high school. My schedule continues to fill with speaking appointments and book signings. Here is a poem I wrote that I intend to use in my Jim Limber presentation at schools and libraries. I hope you’ll let me know what you think of it. Write me at rickeyp@bayou.com.

Come my children and follow me,
To the old sad South of 1863.
I’ll tell you of a black orphan child,
Cold, hungry, yet so sweet and mild,
Jim Limber is his name.

Walk with me through those Richmond streets,
Feel the February cold, hear the marching feet
Of soldiers of the blue and gray
See the tears of this orphan as he knelt to pray,
Jim Limber is his name.

The fever took his parents
When he was only five years old,
An orphan’s life was all he had,
Cold, hungry and alone.

Varina Davis rescued him,
From a guardian’s brutal blows,
Brought him to her family,
And gave him brand new clothes.

He lived there in the White House,
With Maggie, Jeff, and Joe
Then he vanished in the past,
When the Yankees made him go.

As I walked alone by the river,
I heard a young boy’s voice,
Calling from the darkness,
I stopped, I had no choice.

In the darkness there I listened
To his footsteps drawing near,
A young black child stood before me,
I saw him wipe a tear.

“Who are you son?” I asked him,
He looked me in the eye,
“I’m Jim Limber Davis,” he said,
“Or was, until I died.

“I lived in the Confederate White House,
With Maggie, Jeff, and Joe,
Adopted into the Davis clan,
Sir, I loved them so.

“A Yankee took me here one night,
Put his foot upon my chest,
And pushed me to the river’s bottom,
I guess you know the rest.

“The river’s cold here, mister,
Are they going to drown you too?
This here’s a place of death,
For me and some other few.

“Why did those Yankees hate me?
Was it because that I was black?
I was happy where I was,
But now I can’t go back.

“I was too young to understand war,
But I see things better now,
I know the evil of men’s hearts,
And how to read a frown.

He looked down at the river,
As if he were lost in thought,
Then walked back to the darkness,
And left me there distraught.

One of the South’s forgotten children,
Whose story we must proclaim,
A Confederate ghost who haunts this earth,
Jim Limber was his name.

My 20th read of the year since January 1 was Purple Cane Road by Burke. In the 16 or so in the Robicheaux series, I have read all but two. Obviously there’s something about Burke’s style of writing and story telling that appeals to me. Here are some of the lines I underscored as I read:

“Ernest Hemingway said chasing the past is a bum way to live your life,” the sheriff said. /”He also said he never took his own advice.”

(Clete) “My ex said she could have done better at the Humane Society . . . I’ve had the kind of jobs people do when they’re turned down by the Foreign Legion.”

“You treat loss just like death. It visits everyone and you don’t let it  prevail in your life.”

These are just a few of the many quotes I could have listed.  Such quotes give me ideas for my own writing. There’s also a list of detective terms I made from this read. I’ll list them in a future post.

At the coffee shop, I heard this song for the first time. I liked it, so I thought I’d post the lyrics. The song is “I am Ready for Love” by India.Arie, two-time Grammy winner.
I found the lyrics here: http://lyricstrue.net/bandsongtext/INDIA.ARIE/I_Am_Ready_For_Love.html
I am ready for love why are you hiding from me
I’d quickly give my freedom to be held in your captivity
I am ready for love all of the joy and the pain
And all the time that it takes just to stay in your good grace
Lately I’ve been thinking maybe you’re not ready for me
Maybe you think I need to learn maturity
They say watch what you ask for cause you might recieve
But if you ask me tomorrow I’ll say the same thing
I am ready for love would you please lend me your ears
I promise i won’t complain I just need you to awknowledge I am here
If you give me half a chance i will prove this to you
I will be patient kind faithful and true
To a man who loves music a man who loves art
Respects the spirit world and thinks with his heart
I am ready for love if you take me in your hands
I will learn what you teach and do the best that I can
I am ready for love here with an offering arm
My voice my eyes my soul my mind
Tell me what is enough to prove I am ready for love
I am ready

I love playing guitar. I’ve always loved guitars, looking at them covetously like a starving waif looking at a loaf of hot bread. My first instrument was not a guitar though. That honor fell to a six-string, lap held steel guitar. My daddy called it a Hawaiian guitar. It was tuned in E. From that instrument, I moved to the mandolin, still an instrument I pick up occasionally. I also learned to play bass guitar somewhere along the way. Yes, my father did have all these instruments, and I played them all in public with him at one time or another. My father didn’t like to go to bars. He did like for us to play music at nursing homes and TB sanitariums, places like that. He was an extremely generous man who loved to share his music with the world.

Then I learned to play guitar. Dad made me practice every day. Even when blisters developed on my finger tips. “The blisters will turn to callous soon–if you keep practicing. If you want to be a guitar player, and if you want people to listen to you when you sing, you’ll have to learn to live with some pain.” I didn’t understand for a long time how many levels of meaning were in that statement about pain.
And so, I learned to play guitar. To make extra money (sometimes it was survival money) in my life, I’ve taught guitar lessons, and I’ve taught them successfully, just as my father taught me. I teach using country music. It gives good patterns to learn with. If you want to learn to play guitar by ear, here are the steps:

1. Buy yourself a chord book. Learn all the major chords until you can change one to another easily and quickly. One simple strum per chord will do until the chord fingers develop their muscle memory and flexibility.

2. Learn basic strumming/picking patterns. This depends upon what type of music you want to learn.

3. Learn the major chord groups of each key.

4. Learn one song in one key. Then change to another key, and then another, until you can play the same song in every key. Then move on to another song and do the same thing, then another song. After a while, your ear kicks in and you can figure out any song you want. The first song I learned in this fashion was “Little Brown Jug.” It uses the standard I-IV-V progression of many country songs.

Ha, ha, ha!

You and me,

Little brown jug,

I love thee!

Each of these points could be expanded, but I hope this gives you an idea. Today is Father’s Day, so there’ll be lots of activity. But as I think of my own father on this Father’s Day, I realize that one of the greatest gifts he gave me was his own love of music, and the ability to play guitar by ear. He so saturated my life with country music that to this day, I can still recite all the verses of hundreds of Country Music classics and gospel tunes. Some of them I can recite or sing along with even though I haven’t heard the tunes in years. The musical instruction my father gave me was a rich legacy.

The callouses formed on my finger tips as a young boy are still there, and yes, Daddy, I’ve finally become a working musician. And you were right—I’ve had to learn to live with all kinds of pain to do it.

I have a busy day ahead of me. I thought I’d make myself take a personal inventory as to why I’ve chosen to be a writer. This is a brainstorm list, so I’ll probably develop and perhaps even revise it later.
1. I’ve always loved words, loved reading and writing them. Always loved books and the worlds they take me to.
2. I’ve heard the Muse sing to me. I couldn’t resist her beauty, though deadly she may be.

3. I’ve read many biographies of writers and realized that many of them are like me: curious, eccentric, wild and on the edge, perhaps a little insane.
4.  My writing will leave behind a legacy. (in comparison to my other and previous “jobs”).

5. Writing connects me to the past. Like the ancient bards and scops, I can pass on history.

6. Writing is (sometimes) good personal therapy.
7. I have recently realized that I will never and could never be truly happy if I weren’t a writer. I’ve heard that Kafka said that to want to write and not write is to invite madness. I think that would be true of me.

8. Every writing project helps me grow personally in some way.

9. Writing–because of the research, marketing, and promotion required–results in my meeting the most interesting people.

10. Through my writing I feel I can truly be useful to people in some way.

*Write me and let me know what you think of this list and I’ll send you a free ebook of one of my plays. rickeyp@bayou.com

Today was extremely busy. I worked on finishing up an editing project and had a signing at the Snyder Museum in Bastrop from 1:30-5:00 p.m. Tonight, I’m doing some computer work while my air conditioning friends finish up the installation of my new unit. The one that came with the house we bought was at least 40 years old.

Tomorrow will be spent in marketing and writing. Saturday, I’ll be at the Monroe Zoo’s Wet N Wild Zoobilation 2007 10am to 4pm. The zoo is called Louisiana Purchase Gardens and Zoo and is fantastic. I’ll be set up where the 3,000 or so visitors to the event will pass right by me. Sales should be fantastic.

I’ve had so many good things happening with the promotion of my new children’s book, Jim Limber Davis: A Black Orphan in the Confederate White House.  Many future events look promising, but I’m hesitant to speak of them this early for fear I’ll jinx them. (I searched unsuccessfully for the origin of that word). One thing is for sure: This book will make national news. It is a book that promotes family values, racial harmony, and how the color of one’s skin has nothing to do with love and acceptance when you’re talking of the hearts of good people.

Today, I thought I’d post Cohen’s song, “Hallelujah.” This song, like much of what Cohen writes, has long haunted me. I first heard it last December. Heard it again today in the coffee shop. Lots of memories attached to it. It’s funny how songs speak to our hearts, carrying those memories of words and scenes and feelings like silent spectres. I found the lyrics here: http://www.seeklyrics.com/lyrics/Leonard-Cohen/Hallelujah.html
Leonard Cohen – Hallelujah Lyrics

Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew her
She tied you
To a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

You say I took the name in vain
I don’t even know the name
But if I did, well really, what’s it to you?
There’s a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn’t matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Last night, I was the featured speaker at the Sons of Confederate Veterans camp in Eldorado, Arkansas. I spoke on my children’s book and my future plans. Everywhere I go, folks are moved by the story of Jim Limber. I’ve only found a few who are embarrassed by the story—that would be the Southerners who are determined to be politically correct at any cost. I guess when you’ve been trained to eat crow, truth doesn’t taste good.
My main salesman contact at Pelican is on vacation this week, so that has put my Louisiana travel plans in limbo, as I can’t set up signings etc. without him.  Today, I must finish an editing job, or I’ll be really behind schedule! Tomorrow, I have grandfather duty in the morning. Thursday, a signing at the Snyder Museum in Bastrop.
Coming Up: Yesterday, I attended a teacher’s meeting for a couple of hours. I’ll be part of the Strauss Theatre’s summer workshops–the featured artists the week of June 25-29. Long days, lots of work, but so much fun. I’ll have a couple of really sharp theatre interns working with me too. The theme is going Hollywood, and my week is focussed on “Survivor.” If you have a child age 5-13, you should enroll him/her in this program. Last year, over 200 children participated. Call the theatre at 318-323-0474 for more information.

My first book of poetry was a self-published chapbook, Cracks in the Mirror: Experiences in the Boston Movement.  The old Boston Movement morphed into its current version, The International Church of Christ.  Surprisingly, my little book of poetry helped the many people who bought it and made me a little spending money.  This morning, I decided to post some of the responses to my first poetic effort:

RESPONSES TO CRACKS IN THE MIRROR

Your book of verse on your experiences in the Boston Movement is the best thing I’ve yet seen on idealism degenerating into tyranny.  It’s the Orwellian nightmare of “Big Brother” all over again, and your vision of the experience is immediate and wrenching.  It’s the perfect work to give to a Boston Movement adherent, anyone tempted by rank legalism, or anyone who wants to know what it’s like to be caught in the web of
cultism.—Don Glover, Minister, Forsythe Avenue Church of Christ, Monroe, Louisiana.

I know your inspirations will help many in that healing process.  They certainly have helped me.—Emma Hodges, Former ICC member in Australia.

I want you to know ho much I appreciate your poetry.  My favorite is “The Butcher of White Plains,” because it is the most graphic of the brutality in the Boston Movement.  Your poems are so powerful. I can relate to them all.—Susan Irwin, Former Boston church member.

You don’t know me and you obviously would get tons of letters from people all over the world after they read your poems. I wanted to write and thank you for such an enjoyable reading of humor and memories.  You recall experiences of the movement so realistically—straight from the heart, to other hearts knowing exactly how you felt.—Angela Sanders, Former member ICC church in Australia.

My husband and I have recently read your book, Cracks in the Mirror.  We understand your pain and appreciate your coming forward with these powerful poems that express that pain in no other way we have yet seen.—Ann McDonald, Balls, Texas.

Yesterday, I had my signing at the Barnes and Noble on Youree Drive in Shreveport. I arrived early as I was to meet some editing clients from East Texas for lunch. The Barnes and Noble here surpasses anything we have in Monroe. They have wireless, but it’s not free. You must have an AT&T account. The manager helped me get online so I could sit in the coffee shop, check my email, and do some writing as I waited for my friends, Norma and Marvin, from Diana, Texas. When they arrived, we went to lunch at Ci Ci’s Pizza. (I love pizza). Norma is a talented writer who will be coming out with a truly moving novel soon. The novel is entitled, My Name Is Lisa . . . Norma is an experienced social worker and her knowledge and compassion for children has helped her write a truly socially significant novel. I’ll have more to say about Norma and her book in future posts.

After lunch, I manned my post in Barnes and Noble. The manager had placed my table at the front of the store, so every customer who came in had to look at my table. Sales were brisk. I met several new people and lined up some more work with Shreveport area schools in the future. As always, I learned much from this signing. Barnes and Noble liked me and the managers invited me to return when Stories of the Confederate South is printed by Pelican.

Our band’s performance at Enoch’s went well. We had a good crowd all night. Hot and humid, but we escaped the rain. Our performance was solid. Waigne Cryer recorded us live. Possibly we can construct a CD from the night. We quit playing at midnight, but Tom and I stayed till 2:00 a.m. (closing time), talking with audience members and to Doyle, the owner. Needless to say, I’m a little tired this morning (but thankfully not hungover).

Today, I have so much to do that I don’t know where to start. I do have an opportunity to sell books at a church in the country today. They’re having a special service and activities. I’ll likely start with that and go from there.