Poems, Prayers, And Promises

Our friendship is like the beautiful shadows of evening,
Forever growing, till life and it's light pass away....



by Jimmy Holmes
May 3, 2002

“Pick me!” said the rose.

“Why?” asked the visitor to the garden. “You are but one of many.”

“Because I am the One,” said the rose.

“Perhaps, though I would first gaze upon others,” replied the visitor.

Then, returning only to find emptiness where the rose had been,

The visitor picked another, of classic beauty and wondrous scent,

And held it close for a lifetime.

Still, at idle times, he found himself gazing into an emptiness and asking,


And, as a mystic echo from the void, always and forever came the words:

“You know why.”



Pickled Plums
by Jimmy Holmes
February 18, 2002

Funny, the things that fade into mind
from day to day and time to time:

This day, for instance, I’m walking again
the road from Walco to Lake Louise,
plucking plums from tiny trees.

They line the road, all on one side,
from the bridge to the field before the “Y.”
The fruits are knotty, and bitter, and green,
fit now only for bouncing off somebody’s bean.

Some years, I can wait for a later time,
when the plums start to ripen ---

green bright’ning to gold,

gold yielding to pink,

pink into red.

But that isn’t easy:
I already know
when the plums become red,
it’s their time to go.

The birds know it, too,
and they never wait,
but take their share
before it’s too late.

So with Mama’s help
I cook up a plan
to get my share
while green is at hand.

I’d always loved olives,
and I had in mind
that green plums could be kept
for a later time.

So Mom saved the jars --- the tall, skinny ones, you know?
And the pickling was set,
all ready to go.

Then the jars were lined up,
stuffed brim-full with plums.
Salt water was added,
and the pickling was done.

With their lids screwed on tight,
the jars on their shelves,
the waiting was now the only thing left.

I couldn’t wait.

I ate ‘em all up in a week!

. . . except for one jar ---

That one I buried in the back yard
at 312 Poplar Street in Walco.

I wonder if it’s still there?




Jim Bob Hawkins was a registered Red Neck from the word go. He lived in somewhere Alabama and found two cars when he cut his grass.
He dated Nellie Bell Brown who lived across the creek and down the hollow from his family. He wore payday overalls unbuttoned on both sides,
a sack of Red Man chewing tobacco tucked in the bib and brogans size 14 with out any socks. Oh yeah, and a John Deere cap.
Among his attributes and good standing in the community were, he was an usher in the first church of the fridgidare. The reason he became usher
is he could look real mean and shook the plate under each persons nose. Naturally they would have to give something so he would move along. He also was
recording secretary of the Order of the Possum lodge. In order to become a member you had to Sull for 8 hours non-stop. Jim Bob sullied for 12 hours
and ten minutes, thus he became recording secretary. The president sullied for twenty-four hours thirty two minutes before the call of nature made him move.

The job of recording secretary was a no brainier cause everyone at the meeting's just sat around and sullied at each other, not a word was spoken,
so Jim Bob had nothing to write about. That was fine being Jim Bob couldn't write a lick. As time moved on, Jim Bob and Nellie Bell fell in love and Got hitched by
Rev Goodfellow. The night before the wedding Jim Bob told Nellie Bell since they were to be married the next day, they might as well get a jump start
on the love making. Nellie Bell threw such a fit, the subject wasn't brought up again for six months. They finally got together and Nellie Bell starting having morning sickness.
She went to the Dr. and he told her to bring a specimen next visit. Poor Nellie Bell had no idea what a specimen was. Jim Bob didn't know either. They were in a fix
till Jim Bob came up with the answer. Walter Nobody who lived a mile or two down the road finished the sixth grade! Surely he would know what a specimen was.

Jim Bob got on his mule and rode down to Walters place. An hour later he came dragging in home with a bloody nose, ear nearly torn off and a black eye.
Nellie Bell asked him, what in the world happened? Jim Bob replied, " I asked him as politely as I knew how, " what a specimen was" He said,"Aw go pee in a bottle,
I told him to go crap in the creek. One word led to another and we got in to a fight. Finally they agreed Walter must know what he was talking about being he was a
scholar and all. The only bottle they could find was a R.C. Cola bottle, she filled it to the brim, the only stopper they had was a rolled up brown paper sack.
Jim Bob soused the paper sack about two inches down the neck of the R.C. Bottle and off they went to the Dr. When they pulled up in the Dr's yard, Nellie Bell got cold feet.
She said, "Jim Bob, I can't go in there with this bottle, everybody will know what we been doing. Jim bob spoke right up," Give it chere, I ain't scared of nobody,
I'm recording secretary of the Order Of The Possum." He marched in with the R.C. Cola bottle full of specimen. By that time the brown paper sack, acting like a wick,
drew the specimen out of the bottle about three inches and was beginning to smell ripe. They took a seat and Jim bob balanced the bottle on his knee,
put on his best sullying face and stared the other people down in the room. Everybody got to sniffing, he sullied even harder, finally the nurse came by and said,
"Is THAT urine? Jim Bob said, " Naw its Herin.

This story relates to no one living or dead, tho it could be a cross between Fat Daddy and the ugly in Childersburg, or Pee Wee and the two sacker in Goodwater
that Kathy knows nothing about till now. But if I put it off on them, I would implicate two of the sweetest girls in the world. I guess I'll call them anonymous.




by: Lathan Hudson 

Thurmond invited me over to his house on the tenth day of his twelve days of 
Christmas to listen to him read - or as it turned out, tell - a Christmas 
story to his nieces and nephews and many of the neighboring kids who always 
showed up at his place for the holidays. Thurmond said he humbly expected to 
become famous for his holiday storytelling and that he was proud to be the 
forerunner of what would surely become an old family tradition and what 
better place for it (the tradition) to begin than at his house. 

When I arrived on the night before The night Before Christmas, all of the 
children were gathered 'round Thurmond. When I looked on the mantel above the 
fireplace, I could see Thurmond's stockings were all hung with care and the 
Christmas tree with all its decorations and colored lights reached almost to 
the ceiling. This was vintage Thurmond. He really knew how to celebrate and 
it was easy to tell that Thurmond's heart was in a good place. Just by 
looking in his window you could see with one eye, at least for this holiday 
season, all was right with the world. Thurmond turned the lights down low, 
put his book down by the chair he was sitting in and proclaimed, "A great 
story should not be read, but should be told from the heart."

As the children sat attentively on the floor, Thurmond began…

"Once upon a time there lived this poor, poor frog named Jeremiah. Jeremiah 
was a bullfrog…But that's another story. Although the frog in this story was 
poor, he was not without pride and he had lots of friends. 

"Christmas was just around the corner and the poor, poor frog had no money to 
buy gifts for his friends. He had just lost his job at the POGO factory 
(where he had been chief consultant), and when his friends tried to console 
him, he would joke and say, 'business just wasn't jumping' and his boss had 
to let him go. 

"The poor, poor frog went to the local bank to see if he could borrow some 
money to buy his friends some Christmas gifts and have a few extra dollars to 
help him through the holidays. The vice president of the bank was a mean 
and miserly old man named John Justin Padieuwasch (pronounced Padd-i-wack), 
and it was rumored that he once had his own mother evicted from her home for 
being one month behind on a mortgage payment. 

"Well, when the poor frog approached Bank Vice President John Justin 
Padieuwasch abut borrowing money, all he got was a scornful glare, a couple 
of Hrumph! Hrumph's! and these words: 'Mr. Frog, what can you offer for 

The poor, poor frog was dumbfounded! He hadn't even thought about collateral 
for a loan, so he hopped back to his pad (his lily pad, actually) and looked 
around for the most valuable thing that he owned. Then, in the corner of 
the pad he saw it. It was a priceless antique heirloom. To tell the truth, 
the poor frog didn't really know exactly what it was, but the heirloom had 
been in his family for generations and was shaped like a large bent up 
walking cane. Nobody had ever actually said what it was or given it a name 
except to say that it was a priceless heirloom. It was rumored that it once 
belonged to his famous Great-Great-Uncle Bull. His Uncle Bull (Frog) had 
been a soldier and a comrade of Teddy Roosevelt and had actually led the 
famous charge up San Juan Hill followed by Teddy Roosevelt causing Teddy to 
exclaim, 'Bully!' which he (Teddy) later became famous for saying. 

"The poor, poor frog hurried down to Bank Vice President John Justin 
Padieuwasch and said, 'I want to use this priceless family heirloom for 
collateral to borrow some money to buy Christmas gifts for my friends.'

"Bank Vice President John Justin Padieuwasch snickered at the poor frog. 
Then, just as he was about to turn him away from his office, kindly old Ben 
Barnes, the bank president, happened to pass by and stuck his head in the 
office and demanded to know why a bank customer was being laughed at and 
turned away during the most sacred of holiday seasons. 

"Bank Vice President John Justin Padieuwasch's face was turning red and he 
said to kindly old Ben Barnes, the bank president, 'This poor, poor frog 
brings what he claims is a priceless family heirloom into our bank and says 
he wants to use it for collateral to borrow some money to buy foolish 
Christmas presents for his friends. I don't know what it is. It looks like 
a worthless old stick to me. He says he really doesn't know what it 
is…Nobody in the bank knows what it is!…Yet, he (the poor, poor, frog) 
claims it's a priceless family heirloom.' Then he added somewhat 
sarcastically, 'Can you, Mr. Barnes, please tell me what it is?'

"Kindly old Ben Barnes, the bank president, then replied, 'It's a NICK-NACK 
Padieuwasch…Give the frog a loan!'"

***Merry Christmas!***



This is a short story from my book entitled

Thurmond's Grandmother and the Indian Tribe
By: Lathan Hudson

Thurmond said that his grandmother was a full-blooded, honest-to-goodness 
Indian and that her family had moved to Alabama from Indiana during the 
depression. She told Thurmond that Indiana had several different tribes of 
Indians and the history of how some of them got their names was interesting. 
Much research had gone into this by historians. For instance, Creek Indians 
were very resourceful and industrious and built their villages along the 
banks of creeks. They used the waterways for commerce and to ship goods to 
neighboring Indian tribes - thus, the name Creek Indians. She also said most 
Indians were friendly and hard workers, but there were some exceptions. 

One particular tribe had exactly one thousand Indians and when an Indian 
died, a baby would be born to take his place. The chief of the tribe said 
that the Great Spirit had willed it and the head count always stood at 
exactly one thousand. Until…

This is the story Thurmond said his grandmother told him…

There were exactly one thousand Indians in this yet unnamed tribe. Exactly 
half of them were industrious and each year they would plant a crop of Golden 
Delicious apples. Then they would ceremoniously dance to the apple gods that 
the crops would be plentiful. And at gathering time, the crops were always 
plentiful. The other half of the tribe was shiftless and lazy. Men, women, 
and children all lay around each day dreaming up ways to get out of work. 

One year at harvest time, after the industrious half of the tribe had picked 
a bumper crop of Golden Delicious apples - ceremoniously thanked the apple 
gods - and had gone into their teepees for a well earned rest - some of the 
lazy, shiftless Indians from the other half of the tribe sneaked up during 
the night to where the fruit was stored and stole all the apples. 

The next morning, the tribal chieftain sent a war party to retrieve the 
stolen Golden Delicious apples - which they did. The shiftless men, women, 
and children were brought before the tribal council. Naturally, the vote was 
unanimous to have them exiled from the village for life and a lasting curse 
was put on them. 

While wearing his feathered headdress - chanting eerily - and doing a dance 
around the ceremonial campfire, the chief proclaimed, "From this day forward, 
you will be known as the Indian Appleless 500!" 




Midi Playing "Forever Young"
By Rod Stewart