I Said, She Said

“A quiet guy? Davis? Not on your life. He’s a regular Machinegun Kelly of verbiage. Ain’t that right, Pete?”

“He’s always talking about something, except when you’re on the bus; you bring out his inner mime.”

“Oh I like that, Bernie. High-five me.”

“Sore elbow, Pete. Rain-check it on account.”

“On account of what?”

“My sore elbow. Weren’t you listening?”

“So gentlemen … Davis has a difficult time talking to women?”

“Women? No. The ‘Goddess of Love?’ Yes.”

“You’re on fire today, Bernie. Low-five me and I’ll buy you lunch.”

“You’re speaking to me now, Pete. But it better be more than a soft pretzel; that ain’t lunch. Here’s our stop.”

“Goddess of Love? You’ve got to be kidding. That’s how Davis refers to me?”

“No. That’s our little nickname for you. Here’s our stop. Take care, Goddess. My turn to feed Bernie this week. Hey Bernie, it’s your lucky day … two pretzels. Knock the salt off mine and give this guy a large diet-something to drink.”

I Said, She Said
James F. Ross
2013

I Said, She Said

Were she an instrument, I’d know how to conduct myself. I might be old and alone but I’m not a fool. Clearly, she has no need for anyone. There is an outside chance, however — and I’m talking haven’t-left-the-gate outside chance — that she might be a woman who wants, rather than needs, someone. Just maybe … I’ll keep my head down, close my eyes, and count to ten. If she says hello, that’ll be a sign there’s interest. Eight, nine, nine-and-a-half … ten. Oh good God, she’s vanished. “Pete, what happened to the lady who was sitting there?”

Gone. Got off at the last stop. Told us to be mindful of you. Looked like you were meditating. Nice woman. You should say hello sometime.

“I should say hello? I gave her the ten count.”

Never give a woman like her the ten count; she’ll be gone before you get to five-and-three-quarters.

I Said, She Said
James F. Ross

Along My Walk…

Well Done Boston. Well Done.

Yes, runners have been known to twist an ankle while making the turn at Third Base; giving up five homeruns to Toronto in the first six innings … well played Boston. Well played.

James F. Ross

With All My Heart

If indifference is Latin for love, then yes, with all my heart.

I Said, She Said
James F. Ross

I Said, She Said

I’ve been talking nonstop since you sat down.

“Really? That’s the quietest conversation I’ve never had. I hope I was somewhat attentive.”

You have a knack for interjecting just as I am finishing a thought.

“You mean like right now?”

Uncanny timing.

“Maybe one day we’ll have a real conversation.”

Maybe. Not likely. Gotta go; this is my stop.

“Stop? It’s a vacant lot.”

It won’t be for long…

James F. Ross
2013

Author of My Race

An audacious character, informs me that he’s the author of my race; that the solitary reason for my expression, is his original thought. Whatever I pen, is a result of my being written this way. A difficult argument to amend; I’ll continue dreaming as though his life depended.

~ james

Thanks Giving, My Gift to You

An Excerpt…

Mother’s patience is being tested. “Vic, please come and sit. We can’t possibly stay as long as you’d like.” Papa takes his seat at our table, but continues the three conversations in which he is actively engaged. One exchange is with the line cook, whose experience encompasses more years than I am young. Nevertheless, he’s being instructed by a florist concerning the ‘correct’ method for preparing fried eggs. Defiantly waving his spatula in the air like a sabre, the cook sings his reply to Papa, who ignores the well rehearsed aria.

~ Victoria

From the draft of … Thanks Giving, My Gift to You 
James F. Ross, 2013

Expression

I am fortunate to have music, photography, as well as writing, to express all that I’ve become aware.

 

Yellow Flower

My Favorite Color

Harmony of The Twelve…

One string, then another. A random manipulation to many; there is however, rhyme and intention for good measure. My guitar sings to me; while I’m playing, and at other times when I give pretense to considering the merits of chasing after an impromptu diversion; which is more than anything else, an answer to unspoken prayer for relief. A soothing balm like no other; the harmony of the twelve never disappoints.

James F. Ross
2013

A Hint of Yellow

A small window fits a modest room. Sunrise reveals a lack of polish. Consideration for others, should anyone uninvited wander to this corner of the cove, has long been discarded. Dry crumbled bread, scattered beneath the maple drop-leaf, merges into a blended trail, ending at the edge of a floorboard entrance way. A singular conversation has commenced. An elderly artist defends his choice of color to a mentor who, despite her absence, manages to make her preference known. “Patience,” he whispers, and then confidently reminds her, “A hint of yellow … has always accentuated your blue eyes.”

James F. Ross
2013

Coming Through The Canvas

With each revelation, joy comes through the canvas … one layer at a time. ~ James F. Ross

A Slow-Dance of Radiant Splendor

Another day. Nothing different than the previous, or the yester-one before that. Complacency weighs heavy–even more so when realized. But like the color gray, it fairs better in hope’s light than din’s despair. The morning brew sloshes well with the last pot’s remains. The blend has a more pungent aroma than usual. The discolored linen window dressing, once a vibrant oyster-shell white, adds to the overall drab dullness of the room. The light is more than adequate, but has not yet made a grand entrance. Shadows are on the move. Plenty of time though to ponder the mystical elixir warming my mug and the front and center still-life. Without much of a warning, a notion interrupts my solitude but is respectfully considered, gradually developing into a possibility. It feels like … yellow. No. Yes. No. Thumb-and-finger, knead and purl under my nose–my suspicions confirmed. Yes. There is no doubt … definitely feels like yellow. But there is an overwhelming scent of blue that must not be ignored. Sunrise light commands the room and transforms the canvas into a brilliantly lit stage. This is my world: a colorful expression, a sanctuary. Each night, I dream myself to sleep. From memory alone, a moment framed in time, brushed onto this canvas with gentle caring strokes of love. We renew our last conversation. Perhaps this time, with a steady hand, I will create a slow-dance of radiant splendor. If not, I will begin again tomorrow. Another day, not much different than yesterday … or the one before.

James F. Ross
2013

The Resemblance of Friendship

A long time searching … exhausted a thousand conversations, and yet, entertains nothing except silent disregard. Somehow, that which was expedient, necessary … drifted into complacency. Pondering whether to cast off or allow the resemblance of friendship to survive.

~ james

Passing The Time

“Got a second?”

Yeah. Just give me a minute.

“I hope you don’t charge by the hour.”

Why? Is this going to take all day?

“Won’t likely. We should be finished before the cows come home. Although, it’s once in a blue moon that a problem like this comes along.”

I see. Maybe you shouldn’t have waited a month of Sundays before asking for help.

“Thought I might try to find a solution on my own, Old Man. Not unlike someone from your generation.”

Well, everything in its season. I’m finished now. How can I help you?

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute …”

What now?

“No problem. I figured it out on my own. Seemed like it took an eternity to solve. Thanks anyway.”

Two eternity’s … and like you said, no problem. Feel free to ask again in the future.

“You’re certain?”

Yep. When I’m tinkering in here, I’m usually not very busy … just passing the time.

~ James F. Ross ~

Horse Whisperer

With the use of performance enhancing drugs on the rise, professional sports teams might need to consider hiring a ‘Horse Whisperer’ as a bench coach.

~ james

Somewhere, over…

Somewhere, over the rainbow, someone is longing to be where you long to leave. ~ James F. Ross

Mind Recess

Mind Recess

The Speed of Wonder