Poet Horton

Grand Babies

Poet, my love, tonight or tomorrow you and I will become grandparents. Macina and Doug are bringing into the world the next generation of the Hortons and the Manvells and unfortunately the Dunns. I fear for our grand daughter and I wish that you were here with me to bring this new baby into this screwed up world. Her name will be Feori Nichole Dunn and I’m sure she will a most beautiful child and I can’t wait to meet her.

You can be assured that I will be telling her many stories about her grandfather and I will do my best to be the best grandparent that I can manage to be, God willing!

Poet’s Song

While I was busy making a 1970’s life and home for my young family, my sister was riding Harleys and partying with Poet all over the country. My name is Noreen, and after many years on the road and a baby girl needing a daddy, Poet eventually married my sister, Lori.

Back in the 70’s and 80’s, music was a huge influence in our lives. Not only was music in our blood, our parents and grandparents were musicians and entertainers, but the music on the radio and in the clubs told the story of our lives.

One day I was going through my cassette collection looking for songs for an upcoming DJ gig, when Poet asked if I had anything by the Bellamy Brothers. As a matter of fact, I had their greatest hits album, so I played that for him. As I listened to the words of “He’s An Old Hippie” we realized that this song was all about the Poet who I knew. So here it is:

In Memory of Poet

With a sad and heavy heart, I am posting this to let everyone know that this morning, September 4, 2008, sometime just after midnight, Poet left this world to meet his Maker.

He died while dreaming of his precious and devoted wife, Lori, and his daughters, and his many rides down the road over these 53 years to so many adventures, with Lori on the back of his Harleys and by his side for over 30 of those years.

At the end of yesterday’s post he wrote that he had decided to stop typing and get some much needed sleep, and that is what he did.

Shiny up, Poet. We love you and miss you already.

~N~

Silent no more…

Osama Bin Laden…Saddam Hussein…Barack Hussein Obama…? Just what it it that ties these three men together in the anals of History? Is it simply that they all share names that are Islamic in nature? Is it mere coincidence that all three had, on more then one occasion, refused to wear an American Flag Lapel Pin? Is it mere speculation alone that alludes to the three having all turned their backs during the playing of the National Anthem?

Thruout History mankind has turned to the “Prophets” and the “Healers”, and “Shamans” and all other names given to those who’d claim to be able to forsee the future of man. In all nations, in all cultures some form of this practice exists. Even in today’s religions the foretelling of the return of christianity’s “Son of God”, Jesus Christ himself, is preceded by that of the “False Prophet” the very one they say will bring down the worlds civilizations and destroy mankind itself. And according to the myths and prophecies of nearly all known beliefs around the globe, our time is looking more and more like the time-line the doomsayers have been awaiting. They say that He who will bring these things to pass will be handsome and charismatic while playing to crowds of followers, promising change while never really explaining the reality of what awaits.

Sound familiar? Think about today’s reality before you cast a vote for change for change’s sake this coming election. That’s all I ask. You have to live with your decision…maybe!

Not Quite What Was Expected

The ol’ lady and I took our girls and two of our youngests friends out to the water on Father’s Day weekend so that we might enjoy a few days of relaxation. It didn’t quite turn out the way she had expected. What with all the stress she’s under handling just about anything and everything , she didn’t quite appreciate everybody telling her “not” to do so much. She felt like everyone was criticising her every move in voicing their opinions on whatever she said, or so it seemed to her. In all actuality they were just a bit overly concerned that she was ruining her health by doing so much. What they can’t seem to comprehend is that she likes doing things for people less fortunate then ourselves. We’ve both pretty much been that way from way before we even met, we’re scooter folk for crissakes. We know what it’s like to be down and nearly out. Our people have helped us in times of need and it’s only natural to reach out when you can and assist a fella or a dame in need. Especially if they have kids. Never suffer the innocent we believe.

Father’s Day

Now the funny thing about the upcoming Father’s Day Weekend, is that my ol’ lady has decided to kidnap me for the weekend and carry me and the kids off to her mother’s place on the water. The reason I always find any visit to my in-laws humorous, is that when I first got together with my wife all they knew about me was that I was some horrible, tattooed, bearded, outlaw biker that was just out to get their money! As far as they knew, and all that they’d ever believed about, “my type of person”, was pure evil incarnate that went through innocent girls like candy bars! I was a street person while they were very upper class and to them, the two worlds aren’t ever supposed to mix. I still grin whenever I think about it. Don’t get me wrong, they’ve grown to, pretty much, love me. After all, me and the ol’ lady’s commitment to each other has outlasted and been far more solid than any of their own pairings, of which we’ve witnessed all of them go through a number of tumultuous relationships over the years. And of right now, they all seem to have finally settled somewhat with their present mates. Yes, indeed, can’t wait to see my in-laws this weekend!

Twist of Life

I come from a rather large family, eight of us to be exact. Five brothers and two sisters. I’m in the middle. Born to a military family we traveled a lot so I was always the new kid on the block. Not that that wasn’t hard enough as it is, but I had to follow my older brothers and the one sister through school, time and time again. Fact is, they could read and write, do the alphabet forwards and backwards and count in two languages before they entered school. This seemed to frustrate the teachers for some reason so the school board came down on my folks stating that it was their job to teach. Whatever else was said I’m not sure, but when it came time for me to go to school, the teachers all assumed my parents had already taught me so they neglected to even attempt to teach me anything. Therefore I never learned to read and write until around the fourth grade and only then because of my mom giving me comic books. That itself was the beginning of the system letting me down. This kind of action plagued my youth. When we returned from Germany the US school system was just starting integrating the schools. I was sent to one called “Lula G. Scott Elementary”. A one time school for Blacks that the system surely didn’t care too much about. But even there I was a bit of a problem and wound up having the school system shut me out again. This time they promised my folks that if they kept me out of school that they would graduate me and even allow me to attend any after school functions if I so desired, just so long as I didn’t enter the school itself, especially during school hours. Needless to say, I graduated from that school then it was on to the next one. All in all it was pretty much the same wherever I went, so I never really went to a complete school year and wound up dropping out completely after one day of the eighth grade.

It wasn’t long before my character started getting me into serious trouble. Not just with the law but with street gangs and other hoods. Eventually I wound up being busted and sent by the courts and the military’s “Champus” to “Boys town”. This was a place outside of Cincinnati, Ohio called Mount Alverno, a school for wayward boys run by the “Brothers of the Poor St. Francis”, an order of monks. I was there for three and a half years, but did manage to run off a few times while I was incarcerated there. I also broke quite a few records while there. I’ll talk about my time there on another occasion. I will, however say that an incident hat occurred while I was in “The Yard” actually turned my life around somewhat. And that I owe much of what I’ve become, (the good part of me that is), to one Brother Victor Callahan. He showed me trust, and his actions still influence me today. I owe him a lot. And I often wonder whatever became of him. Mt. Alverno was torn down in 1971 shortly after I was released back into the world. Which explains why I was released I guess.

Never judge a book by its cover

“See us here we heathen type
smoking evil weed from homemade pipe
with greasestained jeans
and unkempt hair
a big ol’ “hawg”
and no underwear

filthy mouths and wicked minds
a form of life of the lowest kind
we fornicate, we fight
we ride, we lust

we eat like pigs
no-one we trust

uncouth, unclean, uncaring we
and naught but this they ever see
 so we flip the bird
and laughing shout…

” WE ARE THE PEOPLE OUR PARENTS WARNED US ABOUT!”

The wonder behind the “Thunder”

Memorial day always brings out a bit of angst in me. Don’t get me wrong here, after all, I’m a two service vet with two honorable discharges. And I fully support the actions of those members of the new Rolling Thunder crowd that commemorate the service of veterans everywhere and so show their support with this annual run to the wall and all. But what tics me off ever so slightly is this rolling thunder claims of their all being there for the first rolling thunder! That, my friends, is a load of bull! For one thing, the first event took place a few years earlier then when they’re claiming it did. Not only that, but the first run was over a helmet protest and simply escalated from there. Hell, the “Wall” hadn’t even been built for crissakes! The reason I know this was because I myself was there. The idea originated in the nudie bars in DC where many of us congregated at the time. The original crew were made up of one per-centers and radical independents, the unrecognized motorcycle society that so few wish to acknowledge. But like so many factions of our world, it has been turned to other meanings, much like the “Hog Riders” association taking the nickname of our Harleys and making it into some yuppie free for all, club patches and the whole nine yards. So is the way of “Rolling Thunder”. They’ve managed to do much the same with the handle given to the sound of gathering sleds of an underground nation.

Well, more power to ‘em, let ‘em go for it. Watch as they try and make respectable a tiny section of our life. Only thing is, if you look close enough, what makes them up these days are simply part timers and weekend warriors, old taggers that’ve found a new release in an old world. Like I said before…there are so few of us left, you rarely see the reality of what lays hidden behind the facade of today’s so called, “bikers”!

On to Brimfield…

For several years I’ve been going to a place called Brimfield, in Massachusetts, to set up a booth of Native American gear, cowboy gear, antiquities of all sorts and collectibles ,ranging from the mundane to severely eclectic one of a kinds rarely seen anywhere else. Billed as the largest Flea market in the US, it offers what no other market has. The rule of thumb is that if it can be found for sale, it can be found in Brimfield!
This year my youngest will once again accompany me to the market for 4 to 5 days of working the retail, wholesale, trade and hustle business of the flea marketeer. She loves doing the markets with me, and with Brimfield being the largest and by far the most exciting, she is about as excited as a school girl can get over such things. But she really does have a good time with her ol’ dad, selling and trading our wares with the public at large. Gives her insight as to the character of different people, aids her in mathematics by her dealing with money repeatedly. She has learned different methods of packing and storage, setup and presentation, reading maps and figuring out directions.
This year though, what with the price of gas constantly rising and the frailty of the buying public’s fears about the economy, may be our last hurrah for awhile, at least when it comes to going all the way up to Massachusetts and dealing with paying high setup costs, out of sight gas prices and a faltering economy. We may be stuck doing the occasional yard sale or local flea markets if things don’t pick up soon. Between my failing health, aging and other family issues, long drives several states away could very well become a practice of the past. But you never know, things could always change. And I’m hoping they do, after all, it’s what I do!