The Adventures of Jamesy the Brave. Shadow Man Attacks!

Hello, I'm Jamesy the Brave, Super-Dog. Behind me is Sebastian, who is also known as Captain Courageous. Don't tell anyone!

Here, Captain Courageous and I are looking for evil villains from our secret headquarters, which has some kind of walls you can see through, but bump your head if you try to walk through.

As you can see, we have a very modern spy device. If you look through this, monsters look like they are very close.

So we never look through it.

The Captain spies a monster.

It's Shadow Man!

We rush to the attack, but Shadow Man disguises himself as a plastic bag.

The Captain puts him down.

While I go on the look-out for the real Shadow Man.

I know he's around here somewhere.

For all I know, he could be right up my butt.

Oh, my gosh, there he is.

I think I'll go see my mommy, now.

Don't they know Caped Crusaders don't have to take baths?

Come back again for more adventures. My fur will be dry by then.

Now available online at Amazon Books.

Off the Hizzook

Language has been evolving with the internet and texting, simplifying as communication by keyboard has become more commonplace. U no wut I mean, LOL. As a writer, I've been ignoring the trend, but I've always wondered why I still have to ask someone, "What's your e-mail address?"  Four stinking syllables! Even worse, I can't just ask anyone to mail me something, anymore. I have to say, "snail mail".

Besides that, I've always wanted to add a word usage to the English language.

In 02, when I put my first poem on the internet, "An Ode to Rap," someone commented I was "off the hizzook." Since the only snoop dog I'd heard of was the original Snoopy, it took me six years to learn what it meant. So how come the rappers get away with all the new words? In the spirit of the original poem, it's time for a writer to step up to the hizplate.

So be the first on hizblock to start a new trend. Instead of "I'll send you an e-mail," just say "I'll eel you."
Easy, huh? Half the syllables, half the time to speak or keyboard.

Like that?  Eel me, and let me know.

Stick with me, this works. So don't say "Send it by snail mail," say "Snail it."

See how this fits together? A couple of slimy creatures.

Slippery eels slithering through fibernet cables or the ether seems natural. Electric eels on an electronic network. A snail lumbering along the road with an envelope on its back is a great metaphor for the postal service.

Now, don't go postal on me. Only kidding, LOL.

I realize this new language might be repulsive to some folks, especially the ladies. Slimy snails and a slippery cylinder of skin filled with muscle. Who could like something like that?

So I'm officially beginning a campaign to introduce "eeling" and "snailing" into the language.

Oh, and here's the poem that was "off the hizzook."

An Ode to Rap

They can't be bothered with grammar or phonics;

ain't nothin' wrong with talkin' ebonics.

They word up a rap, monophonic

to music nowheres near harmonic.

Some play da gangsta, act demonic,

show off a gun and break sardonic.

Their fans won't think that they're moronic

'cuz most of 'em are catatonic.

Most got no talent and it's ironic

that they get rich off their histrionics.

I'm sure the world will never hear

a rap that comes remotely near

to a metered line, crisp and clear,

that holds the English language dear.

A poet elicits a sigh, a tear,

or a thought to cherish and revere.

A lilting verse that brings you cheer

when read aloud to please the ear,

or the little jest that you see here,

a poem is a gift, sincere.

The differences between a rap and a poem?

They're obvious but some don't know 'em.

Rapping is talking with rhyme, not reason,

but words have souls and the poet frees 'em.

                             John Bushore

                            

An Ode to Rap was selected by Poem Kingdom - an

internet poetry forum - as the "Spotlight Poem"

for February, 2002.

The Adventures of Jamesy the Brave

Hello, my name is James and I'm cute. Cute but feisty.

Don't tell anyone but I have super-powers. Doo-doo, Dod-doo, Doo-doo, Doo-doo James Dog.

Snazzy tights, huh?

I'm always on the lookout for villains.

Like this one! Mister Bad-Suck

Here I'm attacking at super-speed!



This morning, I looked out the window.

Wow, was I surprised to see strange monsters out there. The same monsters I see everyday.

One of those nasty monsters got right in my face.

The same monster who bit that hole in the screen last week. I hate this monster the mostest of all monsters. 

I ran outside, not even taking time to put on my super-costume.

I was right. That monster was very lucky to be on the other side of the fence. I tried to get at it, anyway. I snarled very loud.

Look, there's nothing hanging down. It's a girl monster. The worstest kind.

I bet I scared it away and it'll never come back. One of these days, I'm going to meet a monster more my size.

I can hardly wait.

James Dog will return.





Who's MonkeyJohn?

I just realized anyone coming to this site will have no idea who "MonkeyJohn" is. It started about 15 years ago, when my nephew, Mike Hilinski was about 4 years old. His older brother, Matt, and my kids, Travis and Jackie told him that humans were descended from apes. And that I was the original ape. They said that he'd gotten my name wrong, it wasn't Uncle John, but MonkeyJohn. So the next time he saw me, he said, "Hello MonkeyJohn," and all the other kids yukked it up.

Later, when my kids' stories began to be published, I realised youngsters wouldn't know how to pronounce Bushore, so I changed my children's author pen name to MonkeyJohn.

When my first adult novel, Friends in Dark Places, was published, I attended a book signing with another author on Halloween. The book store asked that we dress up, so I bought an eye patch and pirate bandana. The other author, Sharon Oberne, is a reading teacher and asked if I'd be willing to read to the kids. Presto, MonkeyJohn the Pirate was born. Dickens went along the first time.

I found a cheap pirate hat in WalMart and became a regular at the Buddy Reading Club.

On Ocracoke Island, I bought a replica flintlock and an old sword.  Diane sewed me a pirate shirt and things progressed from there.

Last year the Buddy Reading Club received Presidential Citations and I was honored to give an award to a young author. My picture ended up in the American Reading Association's national newspaper. Now I sometimes read at different Norfolk Schools on National Reading Day, which also happens to be Dr. Seuss day.

Can you imagine hearing "Green Eggs and Ham" from a pirate. AARGH, I do not like green eggs and ham.

But sometimes, I'll read something written by MonkeyJohn

A Just Reward

by MonkeyJohn

A flying saucer floated down

and settled in my yard.

A ship from outer space, I guessed -

which wasn’t very hard.

It came down beside the doghouse,

way over by the fence.

Old Spot growled low and stretched his chain,

to come to my defense.

On trembling legs, I snuck up close

a camera in my hand.

With proof of this, I’d soon be rich,

be famed throughout the land.

Then with a whoosh, a hatch appeared;

a slimy thing came out.

A shapeless blob, with one dark hole

that seemed to be a mouth.

And sure enough, these words it spoke:

“We’ve watched you long from space,

examined you to judge your worth –

the merits of your race.

“We found you to be brave of heart,

so friendly, kind and true.

We have great power, knowledge, wealth;

all this we’ll share with you.

“We’ve noticed your great loyalty

a very precious trait.

We offer immortality.

Come join your friends in space,”

My gosh, I thought, it offers all,

this being from afar.

“Hello,” said I, “How kind of you,

to offer man the stars.”

An eye appeared, and looked at me

as though it found me odd.

“Man didn’t pass.  Now go away. 

I’m talking to the dog.”

Published in Beyond Centauri – July 2005

Everybody was Kluck-fu fighting

Yesterday, we went to Hal's Henhouse (He raises chickens, Delawares, Rhode Island Reds and Sex-link chickens.) and bought a dozen Delaware laying hens. As you may know, chickens must establish a pecking order, so there was a bit of commotion when I put them together in the evening. All the hens were flapping and kick boxing. But by next morning, peace returned to the coop.

Still, some of the older biddies get a serious case of the red-ass when they meet strangers.

But the roosters don't seem to mind. Here's a Barred Plymouth Rock Cock (yes, I'm allowed to say that.) strutting his stuff for the new girls.

But the white Delaware stud moves right in on the new opportunities.

So, the girls have their choice of the black cock, or the white cock.

They chose to have dinner, instead.

Animals are the kwaziest people

This is James Cocker, just turned two years old on Christmas Eve.

You wouldn't know it from this picture, but James has an attitude problem. He spent his puppyhood in an apartment with my son and  his girlfriend, coming to live with us about six months ago. He's decided he doesn't like cats, chickens, birds, horses or my iguana, Dickens.

James also doesn't like airplanes and tries to catch them when they come in low over the yard to land at the small airport across the street.

This is Zooey, a 4 year old mare.  

 She also looks laid back, but looks can be deceiving.
(Does this pasture make my ass look big?)

When James first came to us, he ran into the pasture and attacked Zooey's feet. She calmly walked away, knocking him over. Since then, they haven't gotten along. Today, Zooey and the other 2 horses were outside our bedroom window, where they often gather to enjoy the warmth of the sun reflected off the house. James took offense and began barking through the window, so Zooey gave him a close look. So close, she shoved the screen in. When she wandered off, I fixed the screen. She came back and shoved it in again. I fixed it, then went out. According to Diane, James began barking again, so Zooey came over and bit a large hole in the screen. I guess she showed me who's boss.

This is Sebastian, my almost 3 year old Golden, who we rescued from people who kept him in a crate day and night and then couldn't understand why he was so rambunctious when they let him out to play with their children.

He ignored the whole affair at the window.

 We live on the east side of the Great Dismal Swamp canal, on land originally part of the swamp. The canal drained this area in the early 1800's and it's been used as agricultural land ever since. It's flat as my washboard stomach (You believe that!?) We moved here on Memorial Day, 2000 and didn't have any major problems with floodwater for the first few years. Even Hurricane Isabel's flooding wasn't so bad. Here's a shot from 2006, our house is on your left. (That's Candy out front. She's a bit of a lucky gal. Three years ago, just before Christmas, she had a 10 pound tumor removed from her spleen. Now she's 12 and slowing down, but at least she's still here.)

Three years ago, or so, they finished the new highway 17, which used to run along the edge of the canal. Since then, flooding has been a major problem. The farmland behind us used to drain into the canal, apparently, and can no longer go out that way. So floodwater collects right here in our yard, where two drainage culverts are supposed to drain into a ditch heading eastward, but the ditch hasn't been cleared out for half a century, because the ditch machine broke down 20 years ago and was never replaced. That old ditch is so clogged it can't take the extra water. Here's a picture of my raised bed garden, water so high you can't see the railroad ties around each bed.

Here's the stable

Okay, you might think that's bad, but you can see it's only just above ankle deep. The last couple of floods, it's been knee deep. Can you imagine walking through brown water with horse turds and chicken manure floating? Not only that, our septic tank goes under water, so you can imagine how much disgusting liquid that adds.

Three years ago, we called the city, as did many of our neighbors, but got no response. Not only did they ignore our plight, but they cleared and dug out the ditches out farther up West Road, two miles away, where there's never been the slightest flooding. I contacted the local paper's "Pilot Warrior," also known as John Warren and he got on the city. So what did they do? First two city workers showed up and painted a couple of arrows on the road. A few days later, two more guys arrived and shoveled a tiny bit of muck from the entrance of the culverts. When John Warren found out, he raised hell. This time, they sent out a sheriff's work crew (Cool Hand Luke and the boys) who cut down bushes in the ditch across the road and shoveled muck from the ditch up into the field. They worked 4 days, but only got about 10 feet of ditch cleared. We figured that was the best we'd get and hoped it would help. After the last flood, when everyone complained again, they sent out a huge "vacuum" truck. The crew had been ordered to clean the ditches under driveways, but no one had told them to clean the main culvert. They were good, conscientious guys, though, so they cleaned it when I asked. I've since heard (from an un-named source I don't want to get into trouble) that the guy in charge of Chesapeake Services said, "If those people didn't want to get flooded, they shouldn't have moved into the swamp area." Nice, huh? How come the city issued building permits?

Anyway, here's my point. George Washington surveyed this area in the 1700's and figured out how to drain the swamp with a canal, which also allowed lumber to float to market. It drained all the land east of the canal, as they'd calculated. A road was created by the soil dug from the swamp and placed alongside.  In the 2000's, the road-engineers decided to move the highway a mile off the swamp, because they would have had to fill in more swamp to accomodate 4 lanes. So what's the first thing they had to do? They had to fill in swamp, raising it several feet above the surrounding area to provide a roadbed. This blocked the natural drainage set up centuries ago by the early settlers, who had no computers to design the drainage. Progress is wonderful.

Also, the city can't clear ditches because their machine no longer works. But guess what? Let a developer decide to put in a neighborhood, they'll suddenly find the machinery.

Come on, Chesapeake, it's so bad out here that these two young geese came in through our door to avoid drowning in a flood.

I wouldn't lie, would I?