Raining

The rain trickles down the young boys face. His hands cast a shadow upon his head. He is in tears, weeping and torn apart. The rain is falling a lot faster and harder as he walks alone down the beaten path. Why you may ask is he doing this? A lonely boy in his teens fighting for his life. The boy softly sings to himself "Gee I'm glad it's raining.There's always something to be thankful for. I'm awfully glad it's raining. Cause no one sees the tear drops when it pours." Many years ago his parents abandoned him in front of a boarding house for children. The year was 1938 and times were hard. The stock market just crashed last year and was starting to see a come back. Franklin D. Roosevelt was president at this time and striving hard to keep America a safe place. The little baby cried out into the night. Screaming to be heard. A faint light started to come from the upstairs of the boarding house and heads down to the front door. The door slowly creeps open and the light peeks out of the door. A faint shadow peers were there should be a face. The light shines on the bundle on the ground. The baby still cries out and fusses around in the basket. Pinned to it was a note which read:

Dear Sir or Madam
We are sorry for just leaving our baby boy on your door steps. Its just we couldnt take care of him anymore. We are struggling for our own lives. We hope that you could provide a better life for our young boy. He is normally a quite child, and doesnt fuss much. He has yet to be given a name, but his fathers name was Richard. So if you could please give our son the life we couldnt. We would be forever in your debt.
Forever gone,
~M~

The person at the door was the caretaker of this place. His name was Harold. he was in his late 30's and still un-wed. The babe looked up through the blankets and stopped crying. Harold picked him up and looked into the childs eyes. With a scratch in his voice he spoke. "Well hello there young one. I guess Im going to be taking care of you and be your father." The baby giggled some as if he enjoyed it and then Harold went on."Since you dont have a name and your real father was named Richard I will call you Ricky. Yes thats it Ricky." The baby went on smiling and giggling. The door shut behind Harold as he went up stairs to his room. Trying to be quiet and take every step with ease. Taking him to his room so that he can get some rest. He blows the light out on another seamless day.

The rain is starting to fall harder and hard on poor Ricky as he is trying to reflect back. Still singing away out loud. "And no one knows the thunder. As your heart breaks in the sky, And they think those rainy nights. Cause that sad look in your eye." More tears falls from his eyes. It pains him to remember these memories. He sits down on the curb now resting his feet. The poor boy has been walking for miles it seems.
Harold has been working his hardest on raising Ricky. Years have gone by and Ricky has grown some. The year now is 1941 and Pear Harbor was just bombed. This shook up the United States hard. But it didnt effect Harold one bit. He has his little son Ricky. Thought it is not his own child but he is raising him with all the love in his heart. He cared for that boy so much. Ricky is starting to talk more and more these days. I know a common 3 year old child can carry on conversations. Ricky was a little slow at it, but he wasnt "stupid" as people would say about him. Ricky was really a smart boy. He knew his abc's, 123's, and starting more and more on his states. Ricky was still to young to really recognize and understand things but he wanted to. A strong willed boy but that would only get him so far.

It was a real dark night and there was something in the air that wasnt right. A sudden crash came from downstairs, but Harold and Ricky couldnt hear a thing they were fast asleep. A dark dark man stepped through the window and worked his way around the house digging through all there stuff. he slowly crept up stares. Harold was woken up by the strangers quest through the house. He made sure he didnt wake Ricky so he wouldnt get hurt. The bedroom door was slowly pushed opened and the thief steps through. Harold was scared for his life, but he had to stay strong for Ricky. The thief attacked Harold with a knife but missed. He tried to fight him but he wasnt strong enough. The thief rammed Harold into the wall waking up Ricky. He was still half asleep as he watched his father getting beat up but the thief. By this time Ricky was in tears and crying out "Daddy!" Harold noticed that he was awake and got sidetracked. The thief picked up his knife and jammed it into Harolds chest. He dug and dug and twisted the knife deeper and deeper. Harold cried out in pain as the blood spilled onto the floor. Ricky cried out some more "Daddy dont die. I love you!" There were sirens blaring in the background. The cops were already on there way. It seems the lady next door heard all the commotion and the cries from poor Ricky. By the time the cops got there and the ambulance it was to late Harold was already dead, and Ricky was there laying on his chest crying and still calling for his daddy.

"Sure am glad it's raining. The gentle river soothes the pain inside. I'm glad the stars aren't shining. This wounded warrior needs a place to hide." Ricky sings out some more as the rain falls down. He rises to his feet and continues to walk down the long dark road. Its about 11:40 at night and it more dark than normally. As he reached into his pocket he gets the only thing he has left of his father Harold. It is an old dirty pocket watch with the name Harold carved into the inside of the lid. He clinched this tight in his hands not wanting to ever let it go.

After the death of Harold, Ricky was forced into an orphanage. He was only 3 and he doesnt know much in this world. But the judge and the cops said it would be best for him. What do they know? Ricky was put through hell there. He was forced to slave day in and day out for years to come. The place was kinda run down and the roof leaked a little. There were pots and such scattered thought the home. The kids had chores to do like any other kid, but they had it worse. They worked 10 - 15 hours a day with little breaks and barely any food. Ricky laid in his bed at night battered and bruised. His feet were swollen and his hands are all cut up. This didnt matter to the lady that ran this orphanage. This was a crude lady in her early 40's. Her teeth was old and rotting away, and her breath smelled of death. She treated the kids like dogs, and no one would do anything about it. Those were some hard times on Ricky. His memory is fading of the only father he ever knew, but he still grew strong on the inside. Ricky spent the next 7 years in that god forsaken place before he finally found a home.

He was more than relived to see a young couple in there 30's picking him out of all the kids there. I guess it was his strong stature or his well behaved manners. Whatever it was it got him out of there and into a real bed. Ricky was about 10 at this time. The people who took him is was a nice couple the mans name was Charles, and the women was Heather. To Ricky he called them daddy C and momma H. He really didnt feel that comfortable doing that but he figured since they were nice enough to pick him that he would give them a little something in return. Charles and Heather was already blessed with a child, but something happened during birth and poor Heather cant have any more children. They wanted another child so bad, and also give there other child a brother. The childs name was Thomas and he was 11. A little older than Ricky but it made no difference. Through the years that Ricky stayed there him and Thomas became close, real close. They were bust friends, and Ricky was happy. At nights while Thomas laid there sleeping, Ricky looked up at the stars and wondered about his real parents. Weather they had any other children or if they were even alive or not. He laid there sleepless night after night wondering the same things.


Ricky sings some more, "I thought I had found someone. I could count til the end. What they wanted was a hero, All I needed was a friend." The rain doest seem to be letting up. It seems to be getting worse and worse. Walking alone on the side of the road cars passing left and right, but Rickys head still hung low. He knew something was wrong with this night. "Why" he cries out in between his endless singing.
It was a sunny day and the family went out for a picnic. They found a nice spot on this quiet hill. The sky was clear with a few clouds, and the sun was feeling great down on there skin. Heather brought a lot of stuff for them to eat. She even brought Rickys favorite, Cherry pie. Ricky and Thomas was running around playing cops and robbers. Charles and Heather laid there on the picnic blanket and watched the kids run around.
"Gee I'm glad it's raining. I hope the morning sun won't come up soon. As long as it keeps raining, No one knows my heart broke right in two." , sings Ricky. A car goes by an splashes water on Ricky and just soaking him more than he was. He keep walking onward toward the bridge.


Ricky and Thomas was having so much fun. "Kids come eat!" yells Heather. Ricky comes running toward her. You can hear Thomas yell out saying that he is on his way, but something wasnt right. It seems earlier that there was a real bank robbery, and the thief and the cops were heading that way. Thomas wasnt paying attention when he was crossing the road. Next thing you know you hear tiers screeching and someone yelling "I think you killed him. Lets get out of here!" Heather starts to scream. Charles run toward the road to see what really happened, but stops little Ricky from following. "Stay back you might get hurt." said Charles. As he reached the road Charles could see the mangled body of his son laying there twisted up in a pool of his own blood. He fell to his knees and started to cry. Heather couldnt take it and went down there, but she lost it when she saw Charles. He yelled out toward her "Dont look hunny. For God sakes dont look." Ricky was stunned, but didnt cry. He thought that it was all a dream. Over and over in his head he kept saying "Why him? Why not me?" They had a close casket funeral for young Thomas. It seems his face was so mangled that it was unrecognizable. Not many really showed up cause they didnt have much family. Just a happy little bunch fighting on there own.

It hit Ricky hard at the funeral. He couldnt stop from crying. First his only real father and now his best friend. It seems Ricky has lost the only things he cared for in this life. He left the funeral and started walking down the street. It started to rain on him, but this didnt stop him. The sky started to get darker as each moment passed. It seems as if Ricky has lost it. He wasnt in the right state of mind. But of course who would if you just lost your best friend. This is were we came in.

Ricky made it to the bridge. He climbed up and sat on the edge of it, and lowered his head. Still holding onto that pocket watch, and still crying. All these memories flow through his head like a flood. There is nothing he can do about it. As he clinches the watch harder he goes into the last part of his song. "I thought I had found someone. I could count til the end. What they wanted was a hero, All I needed was a friend. Sure am glad it's raining. I'm awfully glad it's raining." He finish up with a sniffling of the nose, and a loud splash. All that was left was the pocket watch on the edge of the bridge. The pocket watch from the only father he ever has ever known.

A Delight(full) Art

Art is a form of expression. It has been around since the dawn of man. But most people now just take it for granted. Yeah there are some amazing pieces of works out there but most people are collecting it because of the elite status it brings them in there circle of friends. I could sit here and talk to you all about the different artists that have changed the way we view things but we all know them. So I wont waste the time. The reason I am writing this is because of this.

Miss Amanda Delight. The woman, The myth, and the legend in my eyes. I don't know where to begin to describe her. I wouldn't even want to attempt it because this girl is more than words. I have gotten to know her a little bit over this past year. Here is a little bit for those who don't know. Taken from Miss Delight herself.

Taken off of. http://amandadelight.blogspot.com/ (bookmark this now and become friends with her on facebook and become a fan.)

Amanda always says, "I am passionate about human emotion, sacrifice, pain and love. I paint portraits that depict these feelings. Every face has a story to tell, and every story is different." Born in California, Amanda Delight grew up in a military family, traveling the world. She received her first commission by the age of 12. Upon entering The Clark F. Miller, school of radiology; Amanda discovered portrait painting. Throughout college, Amanda painted portraits of classmates, co-workers, and all members of the hospital staff. It was in these years Amanda was inspired to paint the spirit of the people around her. Amanda’s work is constantly morphing as she combines traditional oil painting with modern mixed media techniques. Her work has been featured on several networking sites for artists and her portraits are hung in homes throughout the US and in many parts of the world.

Beyond her words is her paintings. I have seen this girl do some pretty amazing stuff with just the simplest of art tools. Amazing doesn't even begin to describe what the paintings make me feel. She also inspired me to write some of my own works. Those where shared when they were. This is about her.

As I sit here and watch her paint with the boss (her daughter) I get a feeling of watching history in the making. Each brush stroke is another page in history. Writing the pages of men with a painting of everything. They say a photo is worth a thousand words then how much is a painting worth? To me the art she makes is priceless. To be painted by her is an honer and a blessing rolled into one.

 So why am I writing this? I just wanted to tell people to give people my insight into what I see and how I see it. And to let people know about her. This is someone not to be forgotten. I know I wont ever. With all the hard times and the evil she manages to escape into a world we all aren't bless to see.
Art is an amazing thing even in its simplest form. But what she creates is beyond art. Beyond words themselves.

-Chris-

Welcome

Welcome to those who are willing to read this. This is going to be a place where I bitch about things, share my poetry and just random shit. This is going to be the new home of my PSA's. I will probably post my older ones up first and go from there.