Johnny Hue's

December 31, 2009

Yesterday’s words without a doubt were dedicated to the memory of a dear person; anyone reading the past missive would and in fact could probably recognise who that was and writely sow; we called her an angel. I miss her.

On this last day of this year, 2009, this next person too, has meant so much to not only mme, but to tons of people in more than one country, mmined you. Though the word ‘retired’ was put upon him not long ago, he’s definitely not even close to that past chore as of yet. His work continues full speed a head as we ‘speak’ simply because that’s who he is and has been for as long as many people can recall. This day, in mmy aye’s at least, is for him. Although unlike the last person who no longer is, this man in fact is still with us. No one can be more thankful for that than I. He’s more than a person can imagine as a close friend.

One more before this year is threw; a tribute rings then, if you will, ‘fore you, Johnny…

Today’s written; in revelation to the same kind of think; too, of course honour ring another individual. A dear friend. One whom I’ve met when in another of the most dire sir come stance is in the year 1994. I had just relocated to a rez in South Dakota after a short time being involved in a blitz build Jimmy Carter Work Project/ Habitat For Humanity… the story goes…

A few months after HFH, I was tightly gripping a running chain saw wild standing precariously up in a tree most of which was overhanging on a church rooftop. I was, amazingly enough, cutting this huge thing down, piece bye peace with the aid of no one or no thing except for a ‘rez truck’ which to its delicately attached rear bumper was a long rope that now with brains almost recovered I consider it had been dangerously tied to the aforementioned huge monstrosity. Needless to say, if this tree were to go in a different dire wrecked Shine then I was proposing, the aforementioned vehicle would have probably gone along with it and drastically so crashed into the church wall as well. The tree was one about to ‘TIMMMMMBERRRRRR’ down so to speak; when just seconds before I met this kind person.

He looked up, smiled, wave and yelled loud while introducing himself and welcoming mme to his town. He also asked what I was doing. Needless to say, things worked out just fine. The tree glided nicely to the turf and the rooftop of the church stayed intact. Not only that but out of its stump which I had left about three feet still protruding from Mother Earth; a sculpted three seat bench was cut from its core. A light bulb idea of thanking the trinity for saving the church roof.

Johnny is a saint of a person really although in reality’s definition, and perhaps in time as well, won never knows how this will work out due to his chosen vocation; but for the way this person lives his life and the many people whom I’ve also witnessed that he’s touched; a long list of admirers will be a legacy. A list that will embrace mostly the poor, unfortunate, without justice, sick, infirmed, down ‘n out, needy, knocking on deaths door, in a hell of a hurt then, now or forever and beyond on and on; it’s his calling to give a hand, his heart, a smile of you’re really, OK, he’s there ‘fore you no matter what. That’s who he is and has been ever since changing his originally intended vocation in the military.

This mman has always been ‘The light;’ everyone’s champion so to speak and most importantly he’s been the gift of any and many of humanities whirled of who could care less if we live or die?

He ALL ways does and proves it every single day of his life.

He’s traveled the world doing such things and no matter where he’s left his touch, his love for humanity has been left behind for those who have witnessed his amazing kindness; a soul like only a few before him have possessed and perhaps maybe only a few now or even in the future will be wholed.

The love and kindness he’s brought into others lives, the smiles he’s shared, the SELF he’s given endlessly and unconditionally, can only be compared to whomever one may think is their favourite remembrance of any person in their lifetime who has brought more than happiness, warmth and the gift of his heart opened to your page.

Johnny, a name he prefers even when wearing his white collar, which is almost never. He’s a very special person and sooooo close to the pinnacle of mmy list; one that only mmy mother takes precedence - of course ;o) Thank you pal.
This tribute is especially for you:

Johnny - Hue’s

Once upon ' Butte's St. John steps
first we met

the greeting – both’s time on
not soon forget
he bares - the souls find
shared
witness - enter kind

He showers us - enfolds width light
oft times views - graced in pearls night
uncondidtional love his rite
the visions – devotion, style
soul’s truth to his smile
such giving - ones self
know one can be
a more
a joy
observe shelf as he

he’d most likely retreat
to much humble inside
upon hearing these thoughts
he'd sooner abide
in the words that we too are
just as he is
yet
once i'mm in mme i
know that this biz
oft hoping
too further step
light
in his shoes
is a dream i may dream
when atuned too
his hues

a spectrum of voices - justice – too truth
one world speech - one word proof
love - him dearly
a kindness to reach
our Johnny K

I Remember

Well tomorrow night’s the big night for many people.
Lucky for some who held their place of employment,
End for sum people there weren’t a lot of sums;
‘Fore moor than a phew purr haps many knot sow; knew.

It’s been a tough year or two in this whirled;
Maybe for you, you … and you
And of course you two, thrown ‘fore the bus.
But suffice it to say, that’s all be hine’d
Dust now, end soon it will be –try life.

Like all ways looking towards the positive
A brighter day, a son Shine’s glow
The moon light’s song to enter another phrase
End so I suppose it’s time for mme at least
To look back babble and dribble about diss drivel; a pea’s.

Nothing’s easy in this life especially for creative people
When we choose the paths we do no matter what happens
Or where life takes us threw;
It’s always an adventure two snap in hell’s straps
None the least when it’s tough we all find
Out who is close and who isn’t; be hind’s.

With those little tidbits and these things or that
This is another poem composed from many, facts;
Memories. It may remind you of someone
It reminds mme of at least one person who
I’ll honour on this last day ‘n all through the years
As well as all the years passed, too come in future matters.
This person told mme many times when all others leave you
That’s when in fact I could depend on her love
No matter what: and did; and still:

I Remember

I remember her hands, so warm to the touch.
I remember her smile, her laughter ‘n such.
I remember us walking to stores not so close.
I remember our hand in hand Sunday’s to Post.
I remember her morning sounds stirred us for school.
I remember her coaching us, “…try golden rules.”
I remember her asking, “…you fighting again boys?”
I remember her yelling, “…you two stop that noise!”
I remember her roar from above, “The phone’s ringing!”
I remember her listening to the radio, singing.
I remember her worry, “Will you be gone very long?”
I remember her law, “…home when lights first come on.”
I remember her kisses, the Shine in her eye.
I remember her tears, long embraces, goodbye’s.
I remember her talking,”... so long’s, “on the phone.
I remember her silence most times we’re alone.
I remember her singing when singing meant glad.
I remember her soup spoons wild swingin’ when mad.
I remember her stompin’ the floor, “End drum beats!”
I remember her calling, “Come up! Time to eat! ”
I remember her baking, warm tastes from the oven.
I remember her hot bread and butter was lovin’.
I remember her pies, cakes, cookies - sweet treats.
I remember her croquet’s, mmy favourite meat.
I remember her soups, short food stretched the week.
I remember her special tastes, pinched her left cheek.
I remember her saved recipes, preparing our meals.
I remember her band-aids on scratches and heal’s.
I remember her spoonfuls of medicine were wiser.
I remember her treatment for colds,”...Vaporizer. “
I remember her sponging mmy back; hot baths - tub.
I remember her saying, “...get the Vicks Vapo-Rub. “
I remember her charges, she took care of many.
I remember her sacrifice, so we would have plenty.
I remember her washing each baby in the sink.
I remember her colour of choice was pure pink.
I remember her ‘Happy ’, each parakeet she named.
I remember her gladness, finally driving in rain.
I remember the first time I rode in her car.
I remember mme thinking, “She’s come really far.”
I remember her gifts of sewing our new clothes.
I remember her huggin’ when we almost were froze.
I remember her Afghans, each one specially made.
I remember her feeling, her warmth wouldn’t fade.
I remember her voice most times whispered near.
I remember her love in, “Goodnight,” oh so clear.

A Boy Scout Camp

December 29, 2009

A poem or, a thought for today; a preamble if you will or maybe just a ramble this is depending on what you read into this group of words.

While living in a different part of northern California then I had a few times before, and more than a few years ago, one of the many times back ‘n forth to that lovely state, a very good friend and I visited a place that seemed out of the ordinary; it was really an extraordinary and a historical encounter. Sutter Creek ran right through the property; that creek being one of the places the gold miners of the 49ers discovered gold.

I’ve titled this poem, ‘A Boy Scout Camp,’ knowing full well that the place we visited had nothing to do with the Boy Scouts other than the fact is that sometimes a Boy Scout troop from any number of places would have either an afternoon or an over night stay; multitudes of humanity never even knew where it was or that it even existed; at least at that point as I recall. Now? Who knows?

I loved the rustic place for lots of Mother Nature reasons, and visited there often; many times because a family I used to hang out with, lived and worked there in the smallest, little travel trailer you can imagine a family of 7 with a big dog and sometimes other friends stay over’s.

Needless to say, it was more than crowded but the family was a loving one and most times everyone got along really well. The Hearns and Jones’s was the family and later on in one of these posts I’ll probably include the poem I’ve written about them as well as a story or two about who these people were. Michael ‘the dad’ and Kathy ‘the mom’ were quite the couple. Great parents they were and two people who raised or are still raising really, 5 great kids…but that’s a later post. In any case, this is the present and this is:

A Boy Scout Camp

A Boy Scout camp it wasn’t
Although at times it felt like it might have been in history
What it was really was a religion’s retreat
A place where out of town believers
And at times specially permitted, locals would congregate to
Camp, picnic, sunbathe, boat, sleep, swing and swim;
Aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, mostly all welcomed
Depending on the over lords whim and of course
The pittance charged was not sow fat but thin.
Campers traversed meadows, dense landscape, rolling hills
Extolling dales, gravel paths; a weathering deck with rails
Which overhangs a summer’s slow running brook
The spill over from the dammed up dam began and shook
The runoff from the petite streams before it;
Channeling shimmering rocks, leaves, branch debris from trees
Into, at the lowest level near bye at least what they called Sutter Creek.
Yes, the same one where gold was discovered decades before
And still is, a little at a time, in unknown, undisclosed exultations;
Perhaps along its bank and in its slow deep, too faster shallow meanderings.
The rustic cabins where we slept were teeny ‘n preemie tiny
Cubicles with kneel down lofts, the beds not soft
The crawl ladder led the young to adventures past or fantasy future’s rung
Thin blankets held over from many nights of others dreams passed
To the now curling in them; a miniature sleeping space with charm
Protected us from animals, not bugs, running water reigned,
Winter temperatures fell; summer’s heat was soared after noon.
Cabin’s had a little comfort at least, although our sleep was never that sound.
I tossed and turned, churned closest to the wall of move over pleas.
Sneeze and we’d scare a bug from its nest, a knot on the low whish ceiling.
All the acreage administered by a church group from Houston
Supported and invested by their members and mostly
Endowed by the inventor of the touch screen; so I’ve heard.
A kinder, considerate landowner and multi- millionaire man
Who was the son of the odd couple in the house on the hill
The obvious one to the left on the way towards the cabins
The one with the husband who surveyed the woods
His moving surveillance cameras you’d never think, “Who could be
Hidden in the trees?” Camera’s mounted too high end the sides of poles - sleeze
He keeps watch over everything that doesn’t and does move
Including unsuspecting bathers changing clothes, groove
In what they thought was serenity in the bush
If you met him you’d notice both his hands had hooks
I never asked why or how that happened
All i know about him is that he used to be a probation officer
The overlords stayed awake too late with the aid of odd named pills
They rise every day in a dazed stupor, close to lunch spells
Always appearing to strangers as sort of
A kind man and wife stay at homework teaming
At spiritual times invited people for dinner, or Thanksgiving
Saying prayer before every meal, speaking in whispers
Their smile professed they’re the best of the best
Until or unless you were one of the one’s who
Were unlucky enough to be under their employ
Or one of the unfortunate creatures in their who cares
Who gets fed or how would they drink today episodes
That’s your job if you dare to care - and you will when you stop ‘n stare
And hold time with any animal that came to you for help.
Their private park setting was an escape from the cities
Of hellacious noise, the stifling heat that encompasses asphalt
This pastoral bliss with rolling paths, climb twists was a place not to pass
Where those who endured the unbearable week were welcomed
Kissed by the alms of Mother Nature speaking soothing sentiments
Where the tree’s gift of rhythms played on each others branches
Shook their mingling leaves in touch with harmonious breezes
Most of which were eucalyptus and smelled pungently so
The man – made dam was the best idea when one can
Survey the land surrounding everything within its earth sand shores or
While gliding in one of the fiberglass two person paddle boats
Leisurely experiencing an ultra murky green glistening pond
I remember one time we were there fond of the wild things
Floating through the mysteriously moving lily pads
That well fed deer just jumped out from the trees
And on to that little island in the middle – then she
Just stood there regally watching us as we approached in
A slower than slow boat to China drifting
Feat, still - in order not to frighten her away
She was beautifully calm and inquisitive to our view
As we drew nearer, she scrambled back through
To the density faster than she had appeared
Pond surprise! Another fish jumped out of the water
From its resident depths to see what had stirred
Do you remember at sunset how beautiful the sky was?
Do you remember the blues of the heaven’s…
The slow fade to black as the day drifted toward late
And we paddled in our own rhythm to moor at the dock and
The photo you took of the little green lizard on mmy shoulder?
I do… and I also remember how we strolled through
The night, snails pace - holding each others heart and hearing the
Gravel under our gait on the way towards that bench
The one seemingly placed for a panorama of spectacles - loving life
The same one that over-looked a smooth glare of
The pale glowing moon mirrored on the glossy green sheen
Do you remember how we sat there in shadows silence
And in awe of our vacation views drifting away from stormy life - blues?
Yes, we were welcomed by the birds songs, the nights hush and the
Squirrels long, inquisitive gatherings and especially
To natures multiplied shades of stillness, of tranquility and of peace
Do you reminisce, do you picture bliss with any of this?
I do miss these things … and you.

December 28, 20009

I guess, for a while at least I can continue Blogging if for nothing else then to have a place on the net, other than www.mmickyshine.com that is; to present these words to you. Since beginning THAT web presence about 4 or 5 years ago, it’s always been difficult just to sign into ‘n change the thing… mostly because the person who built it was a computer nerd ‘n one who didn’t make it very easy for anyone else to follow in his feat steps, so to speak… and of course I’mm not a Face book or Twitter twit, least not yet anyway; so if anyone cares to connect to see what I’ve entered on the net other than on mmy www.youtube.com/mmicky site where most of the films of mmy current artwork/paintings are located, then this is the place for that, those or these entries. I DO get ‘wordy’ at times so plea’s bear with mme ‘n you may have a good time or knot.

Whether or not these writings will be supplying you with just plain ‘ol things of whatever it is I’d like to present here or in fact if they’re an original poem personally composed either in the past and very long ago or up to the present, short stories maybe you’ll be a witness too ; not sure but what I amm sure about is that so far, there’s more entries on this blog now then there ever has been since it began just last year and close to this time as well.

Funny how that happened. Maybe it’s because a new year approaches and I’ve gotten into the mood of blogging again; dunno… At this point anyway, I’mm probably blogging to mmyself and most likely will for a while until the URL is scent around to anyone who would want to pay attention; hopefully THEY’LL send it on to their friends ‘n so on ‘n sow on.

Which brings us to this point really… What’s the point of this blog anyway?

Well to tell ya the truth. Most of this past year I’ve been writing a lot. Not just lately but all year it seems… sending tons of emails to many places for lots of reasons… some of which were to just keep sending mmy artwork out there in the World Wide Web. Then just lately because people have been expressing how either interesting, cool, fun or just plain frustrating it is to read mmy emails, stories and such that I began or continued really, to send these same people mmy poetry and a few more short stories in what some have called MMicky-Speak, which I may add is not something that had originated from yours truly.

When hearing the cool compliments from them, mostly the ‘difficult time’ one’s. I’ll usually write back and apologise and promise never do it again or maybe I’ll just tone it down a bit. Funny though, whenever I DO say these things, about 99% of those folks write back and ask mme to do no such thing… “Pleas continue sending your words the same way.” Exclaiming they’re either so funny or it’s no big deal to slow down when reading them or to decipher the contents. So I do. Lots of mass ‘O kissed’s out they’re; either that or this writing helps their spelling look gooder. So I asked mmy self, OK, why not let the hole world get involved? End? Hear, oui, our…

Obviously most people write pretty commonly, one may say but unlike the commonness of everything mostly written nowadays, this writing isn’t as common. Least this is what ‘They,’ tell mme. If after a while you’ll be coming back or just reading these things, (unlike this one of course) Yule note this that, aisle you’s moor homophones than won kin remember while composing these thinks so that it may become, some again may say, a little more ‘interesting’ too those of you who our reading these hear thinks.

Most people, friends or acquaintances at least, either get into them by joining in a little at a time, or not at all in which case some will never respond ever again, or they’ll just sign their name like TThis or KKnot or whatever the first letter of their name is, they’ll usually double that letter… as sort of a MMicky Shine copy cat way of signing off. Or they’ll just read what is scent and leave it at that; responding by writing back in the ‘normal’ way. If you’ll notice I’mm no compositional genius, but aye try.

Other times people will just comment from time too times on how difficult or not it ‘twas trying to read or decipher what it is that was sent them lastly, oar two begin width.

So there ya havit. This is what this blog will mostly concern at this beginning. On the other hand, and the best reason won’t only be because of the way I choose to write, spell or whatever you care to call it, but most importantly it will be of ‘THE CONTENTS,’… which won would hope won’t be your every day blabber… well, sometimes perhaps but social conscious themes or community consciousness about all sorts of people, places and thinks are mmy passions; subjects that will be related to often.

Compositions will be written like what you’ve scene hear or it’ll be a copy and paste thing like poetry or stories or maybe entered will be whatever the latest thing of anything is current at the time was or maybe will be in the future. Ya neva no. What you will know is that things will change all the time; that’s just the way this life goes. I also relocate more than your average itinerant.

So then, I hope you keep in touch, come back ‘n visit when you have time or care to check in to see what you’ve mist or knot - ‘n there, oui go… next?
Mai cha Marefu’
MMicky Shine

It's Christmas When it Isn't

Well, it's almost the new year and I'mm gonna try to be more consistent then last year when it was about this time that this blog began. Once a year doesn't quite seem enough as far as a blog goes so I'll try harder.

In any case I've been composing more words this past year and think I'mm about ready to present them to you...and you.

Since it's that time of the end of the year, the first word puzzle for ya, relates to .... well, maybe you can figure that out.

In joy

IT'S CHRISTMAS WHEN IT ISN'T

It’s Christmas when it isn’t
End,all threw the err
Under dark trestle’s or
bridge is Saint Nick didn’t come there
They’re all huddled up Count less blankets,
Stiff cold sum all a lone,have know one
To give too or hold
Like chilly dogs or poor cats
They shudder,Arctic shakes
There froze in the parks
Cement alleys, snow flakes
There’s no one they talk to
There’s no one who smiles
There’s no place to walk through
Isolated their trials
Communities not found them
Spire, steep pulls knot scene
No stocked kings, know man tells
Nativity’s no dream
They hold on to nothing
End none - whole’s too they’re
Their wish is they have one
Sum one who summed we’re
Just one won who see’s them
Yes touched them, presents
Communities self witnessed
Circle’s love, human tents
Next Christmas purr haps, Oui
Wild gifts, opened sure
Wheel, share with one other
Not gifted to; sow - poor.