James B. Earley
Biography of James B. Earley
James B. Earley was born and reared at Mounds, within the rolling hills of Southern Illinois, nine miles north of the confluence of the Mississippi and Ohio rivers. A Californian since 1956, he resides in the San Francisco Bay area. Having served twenty-one years in the employ of the Robert Mondavi Winery, Jim retired October 2006 from his treasured assignment...personal chauffeur to its legendary Founder and Chairman...Robert Mondavi.
An ardent disciple of the Robert Frost philosophy of simplicity in style, and clarity of thought, Earley vigorously pursues that poetic vision, passionately navigating its intoxicating culture...in rhythmic verse..........
Subscribing to the spiritual notion...'poetry is the window to the soul, ' he enthusiastically embraces the medium, in any form, however the content.
Welcome..to the portfolio..of poetically infused short stories. Mostly serious..occasionally contrite...some whimsical...a few wacky...others tacky....though all...consistently...of the soul. Please browse....or linger..if you will!
......For taking the flight, experiencing the mood, and sharing the passion.......thanks..
This collection is dedicated to my family...the Muskeyvalleys/Muscovalleys....and...to Southern Illinois, and the little town called Mounds...and all the people in it...in that time...which I thought...would last...........forever......
Email address: email@example.com
James B. Earley's Works:
Published two volumes poetry: 'A Vision of Home' Copyright © 1989, and 'A Sultry Summer's
Evening' Copyright © 1995 – 1996.
'A Vision of Home'
“At the core of any artist: keenly sensitive antennae and wide open transmission channels. Artists in every time and place share the unique ability to both receive ‘messages’ and to send ‘messages’ at high decibel levels—even the subject of tenderness may seem high voltage.
Poets, like other artists, characteristically experience life from outside themselves intensely and respond from within themselves, in kind, passionately.
Objective: Tuning totally into even a fleeting moment, knowing the magic of being one hundred percent alive, and transforming the essence into a statement—perhaps, even a work of art. Choosing to honor a mini-speck of life experience in the continuum of time.
Stirring appreciation for the ephemeral as well as for the profound; highlighting the tenuous connection as well as the lifelong bond.
To offer a response in such a compelling way that strangers resonate, remembering precious fragments buried deep in their own psyches is a magnificent gift. It helps us to know that apparently isolated occurrences, encounters, and incidents in the larger scheme of things may still count.
It helps us to understand at a gut level that we are just slaves stumbling blindly toward oblivion. Not just sinners waiting to be saved. Not just automatons dutifully maintaining a monotonous pace on some never-ending treadmill.
Poets, like all true artists, help us to stay wondrously alive.
Earley has captured seductive moments, images, and sensations that he has cherished and has offered them to us as reflections of the universal experience.
He is on target.
Each reader, of course, will be drawn to their own favorites. Many will be moved, having wondered, too, at the mystery of not ever really being able to go home again. Few readers have not soared vicariously with Kareem, athlete extraordinaire. Perhaps every reader has nurtured remembrances of his/her own ‘Malibu.’
‘A Vision Of Home’ helps us to affirm the wisdom of a statement someone once said: ‘Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but by the number of breathtaking moments you have.”
~Shirley Millender-Williams – Oakland, California
'A Sultry Summer's Evening' Copyright © 1995 – 1996
'A Sultry Summer’s Evening…..And Other Short Stories'
'Welcome to all who join this poetic excursion into that realm of joys and sorrows, as I have known them. Sharing a range of experiences; from casual observations of nature, love of family and friends, to a view of a societal racism so morally bankrupt where even the Church is a willing participant.
A racism whose arrogance awakened the consciousness of a then 19 year old Negro Marine Corps Reservist, who during the Korean Conflict, being ordered to active duty at the U S Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island, South Carolina. Upon on early morning arrival at Beaufort, this hungry young man dressed in full military regalia entered the nearest restaurant in search of a mere breakfast meal. Immediately the innkeeper admonished, 'We don’t serve Colored People here.'
I found it disturbing that a society so incongruously hypocritical could have the audacity to demand and insist that I defend to my death to assure that society’s longevity. Yet, on that very day deny me the simple courtesy of common access to a restaurant solely because of the color of my skin.
It rankled me at the time, and rankles me now even more. For, through the ensuing years, tens of thousands military persons of color have given the ultimate sacrificial gift, their lives, to an ungrateful Nation. The harsh reality remains, that nothing has changed.'
~James B. Earley
- Martin Luther King’s…..Final Dream
- Fiscal Conservatism - A Fiscal Fraud
- Hypocrisy’s Child
- Pounding...War Drums…from The Right
- Today’s....The Only…judgment Day
- Sunday Mornings…..Indiana
- Ted Cruz…….For President
- Karma….Perhaps The Boomerang
- American Politics…take Note
- ‘tis….Whose Side Of The Fence…..The Rhym...
- Heart And Soul…aligned….Corrupt
- A Thought For Sunday Morning – Or Any Mo...
- Forty Six…wary Folks - Just Pickin’…….Co...
- Selma's Absence - Bigotry’s Presence
James B. Earley Poems
A Mountain Speaks
That distant valley Far below Was I...as a child ........Eons ago
A Vision Of Home
Somewhere within dwells the soul of a boy And childhood dreams of Illinois ....With thoughts.....of home again
Black Man's Dilemma
Where would we go if told to leave This land where our kidnapped forefathers grieved For life as it once were And not as destiny's mind perceived
So...long...the day......so short....the hour Stolen moments....angst...........deceit ......Another night.....sooo....long....the hour Stolen moments......bittersweet
Who was the villain When it all began Some fair-haired stranger From a faraway land
Alone.........I sit By the fishing hole Didn't bring..don't need ...No fishing pole
There was a knock upon my door …In…the light…was she Grab your coat and in the rain Come take a walk with me
An Ounce Of Crack
All around us Youths are dying Victimized by greed Of a WALL STREET kind
Good And Evil
Devastation wrought In agonizing ill Of God's omnipotence ..Or..Satan's will
Because Of You...I Rise
An emotional moment For there in the mail Was a bundle of cards All..wishing me well
Eighteen Souls...At Woodlawn
Woodlawn Cemetery...Santa Monica …Just beyond the Palisades Where eighteen souls…lay buried …….Within a plot..beneath the shade
Friend - A single Soul Dwelling Within Two Separate bodies ..................................Aristotle 384-322 B.C.
A faith with trust This pledge to give In thought and deed As one shall live...
Is happiness...an illusion ...On the wings of time Sought...and pursued... Though impossible..to find
Continents of heritage
Varied such blood lines
Of cultures they've come
This land conceived
Miscegenation has bred
A modern genealogy
Apprehensive the tread