Almost any action movie. Current favorites are Mamma Mia, The Day of the Dogmen, Thunderheart, and almost any Steven Segall or Jean Van Dame movie.

Anything but opera. Especially like CCR, Steppenwolf, Eric Clampton, Fleetwood Mac, The Doors, Shania Twain, and Denise La Salle. I like any music that suits the mood that I am in at the time.

Almost any mystery. Also like adventure or war stories, The People series, and some westerns.

Depends upon the mood I am, but I am partial to blue, green, or light shades.

Another Lost Angel
By Dave Sell © 2008
(1)
The little girl,
Wearing a too big sweater,
A summer cotton dress
Without socks or tights,
Trudged down the windy
Winter streets hurrying home
To escape the cold.

As she reached her block,
Her shoulders drooped,
Her pace slowed to
A slow shuffle as
She approached the
Entrance to her
So called home.

She slipped the keys
Into the door,
Slowly opened it
To be met with the
Smell of burning
Crack and Marijuana
And Heavy Metal
Shaking the walls.
(2)
She walked into
The kitchen to
Find her mother
And boyfriend
Drinking beer and
Smoking a pipe.
She slipped by
Her mom’s boyfriend
And entered her room.

She took off her sweater
and dress hanging both up
for school tomorrow.
The slid into her closet
And rolled in to a fetal position
And covered herself with dirty
Clothes hoping not to be hurt
Or touched that night.
(3)

The music stopped about
Five in the morning. She
Slipped on the same clothes,
Snuck into her mom’s room
And took a couple of dollars
For lunch,
Tip toed to the door
And quietly left for school.
She knew the
Janitor would let her in.

She knocked on the Janitor’s
Door and he let her into
His office where it was warm.
He shared his breakfast and wish
He wasn’t illegal so he could
Help the girl,
But fear of deportation
Dominated his mind.
He let her sleep until the school
Bell rang, waking her to go to class.
(5)

She spent the day staring out
The window wandering what
She had ever done to be
Treated like this. The teacher
Noticed the dirty face and the same clothes
As yesterday, but decided
Not to interfere.
She might be wrong
About her suspicion of abuse.
The bell rang and the girl
Headed home once again.

Opening her door,
The little girl was met
With her boyfriend shouting
And slapping her mother
About accusing her of
Taking his money.

The little girl screamed
“I took it. Leave her alone!”
He grabbed her,
Lifting her 65 lbs.
Above his head
And shook her like a
Rag doll and then
Threw her four feet
Across the living room
Floor where her head
Hit the ceiling at the
Same time her back hit
The wall.

There was a small
Crack heard around
The room as she
Slid to the floor,
Fell sideways, and
Started up with
Surprised but sightless eyes.

(6)
She lay there for three days,
Before her mother came
Out of her drug made fog
Long enough to realize something
Was wrong with her little girl
And called 911. The paramedics came,
The police were called,
Arrests and charges were made.
The boyfriend got two years,
The mother six months for neglect.
(7)
Three months after leaving
Jail, the mother gave birth
To another little girl.

Wonder if the ending
Will be the same for her?

Sorry that I have not been here for several days.

I have been busy setting up a new site where I can post jokes, slide shows, videos, music, inspiration, and original poetry and short stories without violation the blog rules here.

Please check out my home page
http://regretablesoul.checkoutmypage.com

If you like the format and would like to join my network at anther site, let me know. It will simply be a place to escape the cares of the world and have a laugh or good cry.

Born a Label

By Dave Sell ©2008

From the day we enter this world until the day we die; we are labeled and live our lives accordingly. Look at you birth certificate and you will be labeled male or female (a biological fact) and you will be listed as Caucasian, Asian, Native American, Hispanic or Latino, Black or Other. Each of these labels has unwritten stereotype actions we are expected to fulfill.

For example, males are expected to be bread winners and fathers. Females are expected to be mothers and take care of the family. Yet the only truism is the fact that males father children and women have them. Neither act makes a man a ‘father’ or a woman a ‘mother.’

The race label carries it’s own baggage. Each race has it’s own view point of the world; it’s own expectations of it’s members; it’s own cultural expectations; and often, it’s own self-fulfilling prophecy as to the role the members will fulfill in education and job expectations. Yes, there are many economic and social factors that effect each group. But, the label itself carries unwritten attitudes and expectations heaped on each person from birth.

I was born on paper a ‘”Caucasian,” but what does that really mean? What makes me a ‘Caucasian” other than skin color and some ancestry. The only thing I know for certain is that I am an American since I was born in the good, old USA.

When I look at my heritage, who or what am I? All I know for fact is that my Dad’s family speaks German, came from some place called Black Russia, and entered into the United States in the 1920’s. On my mother’s side I only know that my Grandmother’s mother or Grandmother was 50% Cherokee. That implies that either her mother or father was a full blooded Cherokee. The other partner’s race is unknown.

Then, just to make things interesting, the full-blooded Cherokee didn’t exist because he or she didn’t sign some roll-call sheet before the Trail of Tears. Considering the times, I am sure the full blooded Cherokee was passing for white just to survive with the rest of the world—at that time-attitude toward Native Americans.

I guess that Government needs a new race label called “Mongrel” This label is needed for so many of us Americans who are really the result of interracial mixing of the last few generations. To top it all off, I have had so many units of blood in transfusions the past five years that there is no telling what racial heritage or heritages is racing through my blood stream!

Then you take all the labels that the world has bestowed on me—husband, father, student, no good drunk, sorry SOB, teacher, soldier, loner, artist, etc.

Just who are what am I?

All I know is that I have lived for 61 years on this planet. I have done things I am proud of and things I am ashamed of. I have had all those labels in my journey through life.

Today, am medically retired. I like to blog, listen to music and draw Native Americans. I am still married and a loner. I take pride in whatever races created me. I believe that I am drawn to some many Native American ideas and ideals simply because a few drops of “Cherokee” blood course through my body.

When it is all said and done none of us will be anything more that “Dust in The Wind.” –by Boston and The Eagles—after we die.

Drawing, reading, blogging, writing of sorts.