Eye of the Storm: The Times and Rhymes of Master Michael Ramsey

By Master Michael Ramsey

With a unique style and colorful prose, Eye Of The Storm reflects the private thoughts of a man and insight into his heart. Alternating between heartbreak and uplifting, this poetic memoir will take you on a journey from the beginning of creation to the end, and along the way. You will experience all the colors life has to offer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9780999213247

Book preview

tested.

"EVERYTHING HAS BEAUTY, BUT NOT EVERYONE SEES IT"

-CONFUCIUS

THE REFLECTION POOL

EVERYONE IS QUIET BECAUSE MY DADDY IS SLEEPING…

So I am quiet. And I just look at him. I want to wake him, but he looks so nice lying there. Dressed nice like a business man. He's probably tired from working so hard. So I won't wake him. I'll just look at him. They say I look like him. So I see his nose and I touch my own. It's a small nose. My mommy's nose is big and wide. My daddy's is small, like mine. I want to touch his nose, but he's sleeping. He has pretty eyes, too. Even closed they are so nice, like a doll's eyes. Like my sister's doll's eyes. The kind that opens really big and bright, and then close to make them sleep when you move their heads. He used to look at me with his eyes and when he smiles his eyes smile. And they were big and brown, like shiny new pennies. I don't know how he did it. How can a person make their eyes smile? But my daddy did it all the time. He always smiled. He must be very happy a lot. I would cry when he would leave the house. I would cry and scream that I want my daddy. I want to go with my daddy. And he would come back through the door and grab my hand and we'll walk out together. Then he would say that if I wanted to be with him I couldn't cry. So I stop. And he smiles. There are a lot of people crying now. They must not be able to go with him when he wakes up. But I know he'll take me. He'll take me to see all his friends. But all of them are here now. And they are all crying. So he must be going some place special when he wakes up. Some place wonderful and I will go with him. My sister is crying. She always wants to go with us, but my mommy says that it's only for the boys, and she has to stay home. But daddy always brings her something back. And when he comes back she always runs to him, flapping her tiny arms like a little bird, and he always lifts her way high in the air. And she spreads her little bird wings and she flies up there, way high in the air. And she spreads her little bird wings and she flies up there, way high in his arms. And she's happy again. This time I will pick out something really nice for her when we go to this wonderful place so she won't cry anymore. Maybe another doll that has big smiling eyes like my daddy's. My mommy isn't crying, but she looks tired. She's dressed up really pretty too. She must have come from work and is sleepy now. Her eyes are really, really tired. Everyone's eyes are really, really tired. Really red. They should take a nap. And they're really quiet because my daddy is napping. They are sitting around in their nice clothes too, waiting on him to wake up, just like I'm waiting on him. I wonder where we'll go. We always go to these big fancy grown people places where he'll see all his friends and laugh and drink nasty soda water. He had once given me some soda water and I didn't like it so I spit it out, and it made my breath stink, and my daddy laughed at me and told me that when I grow like him I will probably like it. I don't think so. But I would watch him as he talks with his guy friends and lady friends. Mommy never did like his lady friends, and she would always get mad at him because he had lady friends. So when I would see them with him I would never tell mommy because I don't want her to be mad at him. And I don't want him to be in trouble. When he's with them he smiles a lot and laughs a lot. And the lady friends smile a lot with him too. And they play in his hair because his hair is really, really long and shiny like my sister's doll's hair. And I wonder will my hair grow really, really long and shiny like that because I want ladies to play in it too, like my daddy's. And when he sees me looking at him, rubbing my own head, he'll come over and say that I will be just like him. And his lady friends will smile. And this makes daddy's eyes smile. I know some of his lady friends are here now, but I won't tell mommy. I don't want daddy to be in trouble and can't take me with him to his wonderful place. So I whisper into his ear that his lady friends are here, and I tell him that I won't tell mommy either. But he's still sleeping. And I look at his face. A very slender face with grown people hair under his little nose and chin. His hair is spread out under the pillow he's sleeping on. It's very long and shiny and pretty. My sister would braid it whenever we came back home. He would sit on the floor and my sister would play with it like his lady friends play with it, and braid it then, take it down and braid it over. And he would let her do this for hours as he sat on the floor, and I would sit next to him and his eyes would be really, really red, and his breath would smell like smelly nasty soda water. The day he let me have some he told me not to tell mommy, so I didn't, but I think she knew because she said my breath was smelly, and this made daddy's eyes laugh. And then I laughed, and then I couldn't stop laughing. But right now his mouth is very still. I never seen it so still. His lips are big and pink and when he smiles his teeth shows and they're really nice. My teeth are big, like mommy's, and I don't like to smile. But daddy tells me that it's nice to smile because I have his smile. My lips are big like his too. And kids would make fun of me, but no one makes fun of my daddy's lips, and he lets his lady friends kiss my lips, and this makes me smile. I hope he gets up soon. I'm ready to go. Mommy made me put my church clothes on and daddy has his church clothes on too. So we look alike. Daddy has a lot of church clothes but never goes to church with us. But when we return from church I would go find my daddy to show him what I look like in my suit, and he would show me his suit and tell me that I look just like him. And I would wait to go with him in my suit, but mommy wouldn't let me. But I'm wearing my suit now so we must be going some place really nice. So I hope he gets up really soon because it's getting really late and mommy hates it when daddy stays out late. So I try to wake him by touching his hand and I jump because it's not like touching his hand when I would hold them as we walked down the street. His hands are big with long fingers and they're always warm. Not like mine. My hands are always cold, and at night I would put them under my sister's pillow when we slept. My daddy is wearing the ring he always wears. He said he would give it to me as soon as I could fit it. It has shiny letters that spells, M.R. That's how you spell his name and that's how you spell mine, too. So the ring would be for me, too. Right now it doesn't fit none of my fingers. Not even my thumb. It's a pretty ring. Daddy has a lot of shiny rings and chains and things. And he has a favorite leather jacket that he always wear. And when he takes it off I put it on and look in the mirror to see if I look like daddy. It's very big and it always smells just like him. But right now he's not wearing any of it. Only our ring on his little finger. His hands are folded across his chest and he don't move when I touch them and they don't feel like his hands. They're cold, like mines. And I look at his face and it doesn't look like his face, but it looks like my daddy. And this confuses me. His shiny face isn't shining. His face always shines like the sun. My mommy's face is darker like hot co-co. But daddy's face looks like beach sand. And it is always glowing. My face is like his, and I would see the color of his hand and the color of my hand when we walked down the street. He would say that we were mixed with something and this would confuse me. Now I look at his face and it's my daddy's face, but it's not like my face, and his hands are cold like my hands and they don't feel like my daddy's hands. And this confuses me. The people behind me are beginning to talk loudly, and I want them to be quite because my daddy is sleeping. But I'm hoping that he wakes up so that I can see his face and eyes and his smile; and so he can tell me where we're going because I'm ready to go. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't like this place. I want to go home with my daddy. So I'm hoping that he wakes up now. My mommy is arguing with daddy's lady friends behind me. She is mad and my uncles try to calm her down. I whisper to my daddy to get up. Mommy's mad. I whisper to him that he has to get up to stop all this because only he can stop it because he always fixes everything. But he doesn't get up. And this confuses me. And there's so much noise behind me now because mommy is really mad at daddy's lady friends, and when she gets really mad she begins to fight; so she fights, and my sister fights right along with my mommy. My sister's face is like mine and daddy's face, but right now it's so red that it looks as if it has been burnt by the sun. My uncles are telling everyone to leave because they're making too much noise and my daddy is sleeping. But I want him to wake up to stop mommy from being mad, and to stop my sister from crying in her pretty dress. But I look at his face and it don't change none. Not even a flicker of his eyes are moving. Doesn't he hear what's going on? Why won't he wake up? I scream in his ear: Daddy! Wake up! Mommy is mad and Tiffany is crying! Daddy, let's go home! I scream in his ear: Daddy! I have my suit on just like you! Let’s go someplace wonderful in our suits, Daddy! Daddy! Why won’t you listen to me! Daddy! I need you! But not even an eyelid opens on his not-so-daddy face. I begin to get mad like my mommy is mad. I look at daddy's eyes that are closed and I get mad because I want to see his big brown doll eyes smile. Maybe if I lift his head his eyes will open like the way my sister's doll's eyes open when you want them to wake up. I look at his nose that's like my nose and touch my nose because it's like touching his nose. I look at his lips that are big and red like my lips, and I bite my lips because the kids always makes fun of me; and I get mad because my daddy gave me these lips and now he won't smile. I look at his hands folded across his suit; his little finger with our ring on it, and suddenly my hands become so cold that I stuff them deep in my pockets. My daddy is just lying there, ignoring everyone around him. Ignoring me. Sleeping very still. Peaceful. Lying on his long shiny hair in his nice suit. He is my daddy because I look like him, but he don't look like my daddy. And this confuses me. My uncle comes and grabs me by the arm. The arm that's pressed so tight against my body with my hands stuffed deep inside my pockets; nested there for a bit of warmth. My uncle pulls me away from my daddy, and this makes me mad. And I scream and kick and I bring my cold hands out and I fight like my mommy fights; and my uncle lets me fight him, but I don't know why I'm doing so. My uncle, too, looks like my daddy. Just younger in the face. Like a young-daddy. He is my best uncle. He is my daddy's little brother, and he is always with my daddy and me when we go to my daddy's grown-up places. He wears his hair long like my daddy's and dresses nice too, like my daddy. But now all his hair is gone and his head is shiny. And now he wears all of my daddy's rings and chains and things. And now he wears my daddy's nice jacket. And it smells like my daddy. And I suppose this makes me mad. He has the same eyes, nose, and lips like my daddy, and I suppose I am so mad because I'm so confused. Everyone is leaving now, following my uncles outside. My mommy is still here with my sister in her shadow. I am carried by my best uncle that look-a-like my daddy. My arms are wrapped around his neck and we slowly walk away, and I see my daddy getting smaller. My mommy walks towards him and I can see her whisper something in his ear. Maybe she can wake him up. Then she touches his face. Then she touches his hair. Then she touches his hands. Then she kisses him on the lips, and he still just lays there. My sister is angry and she wants to cry, but she holds it deep inside. Her tiny chest goes up and down really, really fast. Her eyes are really, really small. Her face is really red, and her hands are really, really tight. Her knuckles are white. I ask my uncle, Why don't my daddy wake up? His voice is soft in my ear, low like the nearby rumble of a thunderstorm; like a lion. His face is wet. And what he says electrocutes my entire body. And this confuses me. And we leave. Walking away from him. And I see him and mommy and my sister getting smaller. And my sister turns to me and the look on her face, her eyes, I never seen this before. And I can feel my eyes burning, becoming cloudy, and my nose stuffy and I bite my lip and I wrap my arms around my best uncle's neck tighter and hold onto my cold fingers and my nose is runny so I breath deep and I can smell my daddy. And I look at my daddy, just lying there, getting smaller.

And I'm so confused. So I hold my breath to make the running nose stop, to make the shaking hands stop, to make the smell of daddy stop; I hold my breath in my chest until it hurts and pains and burns. Until it feels like fire.

Then I cry.

PROBABILITY

WHAT IF YOU HAD STAYED AT HOME THAT NIGHT…

What if you had forgotten to go out and remained on the couch with us eating TV dinners like we used to; and every once in a while smile down on me to say that everything will be okay because we may not have what we want, but we have what we need everyday; and kiss my mother more, and buy her flowers from the flower store; and help pour my sister some juice in her cup, and then pick her up so she can fly; and watch as I try to be you as you prove what a father is supposed to be; and love us unconditionally; and tell us dreams about a white picket fence around the house next to apple trees; and raise your family righteously so that we can raise our family properly and be proud eternally that you are our father.

WHAT IF YOU HAD STAYED AT HOME THAT NIGHT…

What if you would had listened to my sister sing her song about what a hero her father is for protecting her from all the evil that evil men cause; and call her your little angel; and give her fatherly love so she wouldn't have to find it in bottomless bars and clubs; and all life long suffering issues too because all life long she only misses you, and now that you're gone everyone comes to abuse because you were more than her father, but her protector too; so she attempts to fill a void so hollow it swallows her entire spirit; and she becomes lost to the world of all cost, being fed lies that cash money dreams bought; and her broken heart screams echoes like bleeding sirens in her ear which no one hears because the pain has made her so numb and lifeless that she hides behind tented shades of shame, and prays for a few more days of light to search for the righteous because all she ever wanted to do is remember the way her father’s likeness brought her so much brightness into her life, just like you would have heard from her words as she sings her song; if you had stayed at home that night.

WHAT IF YOU HAD STAYED AT HOME THAT NIGHT …

What if you had given my mother all your attention that you divided among all your women, and began living a life catered towards making her your wife; so we wouldn't have to grow up seeing the sight of crack pipes, coke lines, and rope tied so tight around her fragile arm; and count the missing days and forgotten nights that we stayed up with tired eyes on dim street lights just in case we might see her walking home as we were left alone, scared and hungry with only stale crackers and old bologna, confused and lonely; as she continues only to fail because the Hell inside her continues to dwell; and she can no longer hide her pain that continues to swell so she decides to sell anything because she sees no value in herself; and wanders through time trying to find that first high she received when you looked into her eyes and told her that you loved her; just as you would have done, if you would have stayed at home that night.

WHAT IF YOU HAD STAYED AT HOME THAT NIGHT …

Would my life had been any different than the stereotypical image of a fatherless young black male headed for jail cells; would you have raised me right and proper with ambition to become a lawyer or doctor; would you have put guidance in my ear; would you have guided me from my peers; would you have been near when I called you; would you have been there for my faults too; would you have shown me how to tie my shoe, and as I grew into a mature age, would you have dressed me in a suit and shown me how to tie my tie; then when I reach that main stage, how to love a woman right; how to share, how to put away childish things, how to behave; how to fill out a resume and college application; how to prepare for the world through integrity and patience; would you have been proud every time I made the Honor Roll spot, and cheered loud for all of my missed jump shots; would you have stopped the gangsters and thugs from approaching; would you have fought my temptation of drugs and smoking; would you have told me to never pick up a gun because as long as I have a mind there is nothing I couldn't become; would you have taken me fishing for quality father and son time; would you have introduced me to faith and religion and explained the meaning of why Jesus died; if I were to mention what I was thinking would you have taken the time to stop and listen; would you have been excited when your grandkids came; would you have been honored to bless them with your name; would you have looked me in the face and been amazed at how much I look just like you; and if I would have told you that I loved you, would you have said it too?

I stand, living with my back against the wall, watching the bending bows of the archer's draw, pending the final call, the fatal fall; sending visions through my mind of all the many probabilities that I may could have had an entirely different life…

If you only would have stayed at home that night.

"YOUR CHOICE IS NEVER STRONGER THAN GOD'S PURPOSE."

—M.M. RAMSEY

REALITY TV

GOD BLESS THE CHILD THAT HAS HIS OWN…

So the probability of dining from the silver spoon of American Dreamers is as rare as dodging raindrops in a hurricane. Some slices of homemade apple pie, no matter how long ago, remains bitter-sweet to his taste buds; a gut punched gag reflex with each scent of nostalgic spice. Premieres stay recorded in the collection of the mind to encore, and encore again the Academy Award winning performance of the supporting cast featured in your bio-pic. Timeless classics.

If I would have heard the ominous dirge; the dramatic symphony rendition of violins and percussions then I could have expected the suspense of a thriller. That some lurking serial killing madman, possessed clown, swamp monster emerging from the miasma of dark-blue lagoons was approaching to unleash their hell and havoc upon the unsuspecting souls that we were. The typical cliché of the American urban. If the soundtrack was to play the haunting trademark taunt of a certain hockey masked psycho, a bladed gloved scissor hand, or demonic Muppet baby, then I would have known that death is unescapable. But in the soft winds of eerie silence where calm waters creep under moonlit high tides of sleeping shores, the frigid temperatures of the abyss lie in wait; with peace, the perfect black becomes the only villain.

All the world's ugly was our golden globe. My mother, now warred commonly at a state of unrest since the absence of my father, coveted more and more on cocktails of substance stimulation and prescribed promiscuity to steady the rage. My sister and I stood witness with doe eyes, helpless under the bright beam of approaching destruction. We shamed for her because we knew she was shamed. So proudly we marched to school, prepared for the thrown stoned words of the more privileged project children. My sister and I accepted every boulder with unflinching bravado because we knew that our mother's fight was the cause of it all. So we shamed with her.

My only escape became the light determination of self-preservation. My mother's