Work of Art

I might as well rename my blog, "Dear Jimmy."

If this is depressing you guys, forgive me.  Writing is the only way I know how to back away from the hurt exploding through my veins.  Jimmy deserves movies, novel, poems, screenplays, Oscar-winning performances played by the most talented and handsomest of leading men and please not Tatum Channing, no offense Mr. Channing.  But for now all I have is this little blog.  I think he understands. 



Work of Art

That Buddha love from within
His distinct voice throughout
A charm like no other,
A father, devout.

My Uncle Jimmy
Builds castles with air.
My Uncle Jimmy
His salt-peppery hair.

All dogs know his scent,
All cats love his skin,
They know he is just
pretty much one of them.

A man with a story,
A story of a man,
He shows up for us
However he can.

An artist through every
pore of his soul,
His music rings now
And I won't let it go.

Desperate to have him
In front of our face,
We must hold on to him
In our secret place:
In our kindness,
Our rawness,
Our plenty,
Our few,
Our hearts for each other
And every stranger too.

Jimmy- ingrained in each one of us,
Germany, Pentenville, an Arubian bus
Brookside Gardens, Atlanta,
and Ft. Meade,
Jimmy is you, Jimmy is me.

There isn't a balm to soften this blow
The peace will come when we see, when we know
He is here, in his children, his sister, his me.
We can hold on to each other,
His legacy.

Our Jimmy, a treasure from the very start
Our Jimmy, our own beloved work of art.