My Pride of Barbados

Written by Arthur Zulu

Continued from page 1

We seem to liken our best flower to a loved one. Consider this: if you have a lover, to what would you compare her? A Morning rose or a sun flower? Certainly not a bramble. Or a thorn tree.

But there lived women in times past, who were bramble and thorn trees. And they still live today. God deliver thee from their hands. And mayrepparttar good Lord not give me thorns and brambles.

Give me not Samson’s bride who will give my riddles to my detractors. Or a nagging Delilah that would lay barerepparttar 118070 secret of my success and bring me to an untimely grave. But do give me a woman withrepparttar 118071 tenacity of Juliet and sensibility of Abigail.

Give me not Agememnon’s wife,repparttar 118072 unfaithful Klytaimestra, who murderedrepparttar 118073 warrior forrepparttar 118074 love of Aigisthos. But give me Penelope, daughter of Ikarios, and tenacious wife ofrepparttar 118075 much endearing man, Odysseus.

Give me not a wicked Jezebelrepparttar 118076 exterminator of imaginary foes, or a Marozia, Donna Senatrix of Rome, killer of popes and “holy men.” But give me a godly lady likerepparttar 118077 beautiful Queen Esther of Susa—shapely like a sculptor’s handiwork, skin like cinnamon, eyes likerepparttar 118078 dove’s and feet likerepparttar 118079 gazelle’s. And Minerva grant merepparttar 118080 power to compose sweet poems for fair maiden.

Give me not Helen or a Lucretia,repparttar 118081 causes of many fights and sorrows. Rather give me a Queen Elizabeth I,repparttar 118082 Virgin Queen, a woman hard to woo by men. Or a La Gioconda—the stately Mona Lisa withrepparttar 118083 bewitching smile.

I do not desire a Queen of Sheba,repparttar 118084 wealthy visitor of wise Solomon, who lacking honor ended up onrepparttar 118085 bed ofrepparttar 118086 libidinous king. But give merepparttar 118087 shepherd boy’s wife,repparttar 118088 Shulammite, “a garden barred,” “a spring sealed up,” and “a wall,” with “breasts like towers,” shunning “circlets of gold” and “studs of silver.” May her breasts like a cluster of pomegranates, continue to tickle me till my dying day. Let her very bosom delight my soul from summer to spring and from autumn to winter.

May I be inrepparttar 118089 ecstasy when she plants her sweet lips on mine as I look into her dreamy eyes. Let her angelic fingers caress my bones as we lay byrepparttar 118090 fireside in winter confirming our love to each other. May her rich mellifluous voice liven my spirit and make my day.

Let her—my Penelope, my Juliet, my Abigail—be beside me in my sleeping and waking hours. May she—my Esther, my Elizabeth, my Mona Lisa, my Shulammite—be with me in fair and in bad weather.

Let her berepparttar 118091 majestic flower inrepparttar 118092 fence of my country home.

Let her berepparttar 118093 flower of all seasons—purveyor of joy, harbinger of happiness. Let her be my forever red and yellow petals— yellow for sun rise, red for sunset— unfailing asrepparttar 118094 sun.

Let her, even she—my love, my life—berepparttar 118095 pride of paradisaic islands in far away waters.

Let her be my Pride of Barbados!


Arthur Zulu is an editor, book reviewer, and author of Chasing Shadows!, How to Write a Best-seller, A Letter to Noah, and many others. For his works and free help for writers, goto:

Web search: Arthur Zulu

Arthur Zulu is an editor, book reviewer, and published author.

Bernie Ebbers and The Tempations

Written by Roger Wright

Continued from page 1

If you disrespect every body that you run in to How inrepparttar world do you think anybody’s s’pose to respect you?

Bernie opened his eyes andrepparttar 118069 back seat ofrepparttar 118070 New York town car was gone.

He was inrepparttar 118071 back yard of an old grey stone onrepparttar 118072 south side of Chicago. It was summer, lots of smiling. And on those two tables, heaping platters of fried chicken, ribs, and sausage, burgers and greens. Sweaty pitchers of lemonade. Kids shouting and that same song playing:

If you don’t give a heck aboutrepparttar 118073 man withrepparttar 118074 Bible in his hand Just get outrepparttar 118075 way and letrepparttar 118076 gentleman do his thing.

Bernie shook his head, closed and then opened his eyes.

He could do this. He was good with new crowds. He could always sell. Always had. Always would.

That song kept coming:

Yourepparttar 118077 kind of gentleman who want everything his way Takerepparttar 118078 sheet off your face boy It’s a brand new day. Respect yourself. . . .

Bernie approachedrepparttar 118079 wise old man who seemed to be atrepparttar 118080 center of all this. “Mavis”repparttar 118081 man was shouting, “Cleotha, Yvone, come over here now!”---he was smiling, motioning over three women who Bernie guessed to be his daughters.

But as Bernie began to walk towardsrepparttar 118082 man everybody was calling Pops, Bernie realized that no one could see him.

He reached out to pat a small, running child’s head andrepparttar 118083 child didn’t even look up! He said, “Good afternoon sir,” to a man drinking a cold beer andrepparttar 118084 man looked right through him!

Bernie tapped Mavis Staples onrepparttar 118085 shoulder where she stood listening to her father speak and Mavis didn’t even turn around!

Bernie Ebbers, totally alone.

He smelledrepparttar 118086 burgers onrepparttar 118087 grill. He could seerepparttar 118088 smiling, laughing people in what was a legendary Chicago back yard picnic atrepparttar 118089 Staples, he could hear that song (Respect yourself! Respect yourself!)

He was completely alone. No one knew he was there.

Bernie Ebbers felt himself began to break. He heardrepparttar 118090 bass line---

Respect yourself Respect yourself

Bernie Ebbers thought he had known every kind of pain there was to know. He thought he’d facedrepparttar 118091 worst. He thought, none of this was really my fault.

But in that back yard onrepparttar 118092 south side of Chicago: realizing that, no one could see him. That he had no idea where he was. No idea how to get home to Mississippi. No notion of what do next.

Bernie Ebbers kept hearingrepparttar 118093 song (Respect yourself. Respect yourself) and he felt himself breaking into a shame that was new. A shame that came from no one being able to see him, No one even knowing he was there. Bernie Ebbers knew he would break and he would never even really know why.

He reached out his hands in shame, in terror and in total aloneness and he began to cry.

And just when he did:

Pops Staples handed him a heaping plate of chicken and burgers, beans and greens, looked at him with deep sad eyes and said,

“Son, respect yourself.”

Roger Wright authors the Blog CHURCH FOOD.

He connects things in very strange ways.

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