Time – a prison

I see my Daughter’s life, spent in a time capsule,
locked in this prison, a prisoner of her own devices,
waiting for the phone to ring, to bring her to life,
to open the cage door, behind which she keeps herself,
hidden, setting her free for a moment, to run,
with living time, instead of locked up in it,
letting it be her guide, carrying her along.
The moment of life passes, time once again stands still,
as she reincarcerates herself, relegated to that void,
that pain filled space of motionless, lifeless time,
dead time created by, imprisoned by her belief
- in this conman, a man steeped in bullshit, in lies,
this imbecilic child in a man’s shell -
that it’s love coming from this controlling child / man
fated by, fuelled by the emotions of a child, my Child.

Oh !!!, to turn back the clock, if but I could,
teach my Daughters, they need not, should
not follow, blindly, the footsteps of us who would
send them on a journey towards self-destruction,
we, who guided them along without instruction,
we who failed them miserably!!!
That we, be their mother and me.

B. J. “A ” 2
May 5^th  2002

Ideas, thoughts, feelings
inhabit space and time,
they come to mind .

Baggage one carries throughout life is but an evil spirit,
it kills, slowly, the soul, is the enemy that keeps one
from being free, is the bondage – like Bob Marley’s chain -
that is dragged across one’s subconscious memories,
upon life’s experiences, weighing down one’s brain
like millstones, from long ago, wrapped around the throat,
forced to carry around the neck until drowned
- for those not strong enough – in the waters of living.

These pieces of a past – be it yesterday, today, tomorrow
or from yesteryear – drive down the spirit, the soul of women,
of men into the depths of an abyss, a hell, and into the rivers
of a life best left in the gloomy darkness of the past
from whence they came, after being brought to life,
into the light, into sight, to be touched,
to be acknowledged and understood,
to release the heart from being wood.

They, these shadowy pieces, should be given wing,
set free after having spoken their piece, letting the heart sing
of their passing, as they pass into the darkness, into the either,
from whence they creped, like a snake, so that neither
the experiencer nor experienced need handle that baggage,
- live out their troubled lives in a gage, full of rage -
nor carry that baggage, but once, to some waiting train
 or given wings, leaving the shattered soul and this plane.

Give that baggage a well-deserved vacation!
Walk away – forever – never again set foot in that station!

B. J. “A ” 2
May 3^rd 2002

My aching Tears

My tears ache, they cry out, reaching for sun beams,
only to find, to feel, - touch nothing - lifeless , empty dreams
are all around, surround me in that nothing it seems,
leaving me to think, to wonder what it all means.

I reached out, to touch you today Mandy, only to find
your voice on the line, for a second, then an unkind
act befell me, you hung up, a sure sign,
I feel, - you prefer to keep me out of your mind.

Nothing more than phantoms, seem my hands Mandy,
as I try to reach you, to touch you. Can it be ?,
that my ideas are grasping at a ghostly ideal.
My hopes, my desires, my dreams, what I feel

is what is meant to be !, my life ?, my fate ?, is it real ?
I hope and pray Mandy, that what is before me
has no hold on, has no foundation in reality ?
A heavy sadness has crept into me this gloomy day,

- just like the cold grayness that came and pushed away
the brilliant warmth that did blanket this land
a brief twenty four hours ago, and I wonder ?, at the hand,
and why ?, it wants to make my fragile, aching soul

cry out so, in fear that my Daughter, I no longer know
and whom, it seems ?, wants to know me not.
An empty, vacant, aching heart is all I have got
to remind me of my Child, who seems fraught

with pain of her own, who shows anger, indifference,
that I matter not and can make no difference.
to the way she thinks, the way she chooses to live her life.
How she copes, how she handles her strife,
as she walks the sharp edge of life’s knife.

B. J. “A” 2
May 1^st 2002

   I hope not Mandy, but do think so, that what I left for you this morning – my thoughts, my feelings and my understandings - dated April 29^th 2002 – will not reach your eyes, touch your soul, raise your spirit and they – like me – will be set aside, left unopened, or worse !!!, ( if anything could be worse ) then what I feel at this moment .
   I do hope and pray Mandy, regardless of where you are at or how you feel about me, that you will take the time to see me, - even if I only come to you in written words – and understand your old man, and maybe ?, even reach out to me .
   I am and always be here for you Mandy, my door, and the door to my heart will always be open and so do not be afraid to use this knowledge my Daughter .
                                  Love
                                      Dad .

My Dearest Mandy

Girl, my beautiful Child – into my life you came.
I gave you your first name, for a while my last name.
You were a bright light in my life – that shone,
radiating hope, that, now fades, is almost gone.

I feel it in my heart, my soul, every day at dawn
realizing, in pain, once again, I will not be seeing you,
my Grandson, having fun, wondering ?, what to do
as this life, these times, experiences slip away.

Lost forever, never to be known again, so I pray
that whatever it is ?, will change one day !
I call you daily, once, twice, your phone rings and rings
You see it, you know it, you hear it, but nothing it bring

to my ears, but itself, not a sound, not a word,
not a whisper, a thought, a feeling have I heard.
Not an explanation as to what this is all for ?,
as I see, as I feel you slowly close the door.

That death bell sounds, it doth toll,
 it rings out loud - in my heart – with strife,
strife that, with all else, has stolen my soul,  
taking piece, of what little is left of my life !

B. J. “A” 2
April 29^th 2002

These days, wet – with Linda, & Melanie .

Tears fall like dying leaves, their dust, blowing into my eyes.
Tears slide down my cheeks, slip off my chin, fall onto my shoulders.

They, given birth, created by the steely cold of life’s experiences,
from the aching, braking heart, shattered soul of a woman I know.

From the uncertainty, doubtful heart, fragile soul of my woman Child,
my tears fall, they come crashing down at the birth of, and at the hands of

fear of the unknown, fear to face life, even with her wisdom, at her young age.
Fear of losing at the game of life as her youth reaches towards growth.

These tears, I feel deeply, these tears fall like a torrential rain.
They come thundering down on me in suffocating, choking pain

For all I want, – lost – experienced, cannot have, want again,
want to hold onto – good or bad – some kind of life to sustain.

I pray, that one day, the sun comes out, upon them, will shine
upon all their heart aches, sorrows, melt away, - all -, in time.

Their pains, their heart aches and will set them free
to discover, to find their life’s dreams, themselves to bee

In this writing – laying before your eyes – my dirge, my song.
With this, I pray that you see, find strength, will be strong,

take life by the coglioni’s, stand tall and carry on,
- knowing that in this life, most are but a pawn –

as I have, yet seemed not to have done
and find, that I may just not be the, only one

of so many – more notable, famous, infamous – who feel they,
in all likelihood, left, said, done, gave little and may,

or do, feel that their talents, their wisdom, their knowledge
possessed- possess- was not truly given, shared as we sit on the edge

feeling we have given, shared very little of ourselves.
Feeling empty, little, like a dwarf, like elves.

Girls

I - as you – know that life is but a rocky road.
I am not referring to that sweet stuff call ice-cream.
I mean the weight of life, that heavy load
one carries into that abyss, the ocean deep
where no one gets a glimpse of what they seek
nor can hear your ( what’s inside you ) silent scream.

These places, where no one may know your nightmare,
 these places no one can see into, know your dream,
unless, that is, you have found the freedom to share.
For me, all I see – with these eyes, blind –is despair
and having been there, I have the experience to compare
and the light it shines, opens your doors, let you know I care.

My thoughts, my words, this poem shows you, I will always be there

 B. J. “A ” 2

Wm. J. Atfield Jr.

April 14^th 2002

Night Moods

Stars weep, they cry in the night sky
for those who laugh in the light of day,
yet, not with spirit, heart soul or eye.
They see not the game they play,
nor understand what laughter is about,
nor can they know what laughter is all about.

Dreams

Some cannot see by the light of day,
only in the darkness of night can one say
they see all, for that is when the veil slips away
to reveal all that has been blinded by what may
lay before the mind’s eye in the bright light of day.

This night brings

This night, as so many have come before,
take flight – life / night, brings nothing more

than those that have been, will be born.
nights waiting, harbingers of the forlorn –

as I sit before this one eyed monster.
For life’s many moments – the creator

as we exchange glances, stare
into the abyss, the windows – and share –

of each other’s lifeless soul,.
To learn, what ?, what is there to know !,?

Easter

Time’s light, dances across the crucifixion,
falls upon the cross, the spaces in-between
- two thousand years is where we have been -
and on towards the light of resurrection.

Springing out from that darkened cave,
came a man who was not, yet was brave.
I, and this place, in time, dance alone.
Then, as before, we were on our own.

Not once – by anyone – was it shown,
- nor by any means we have known, -
that the hearts who know and are known,
took the time, the thought to care,
or a fleeting moment, in which to share.

Passions lost to the past -
passed a long time ago

The childhood of Linda B

From the sickness of a father, came bricks !
From that denial by mother, came bricks !
From genetics, experienced sister, came bricks !
 from the same, created brother, came bricks !
From fear, denial, burial, nothing will fix !
Walls, fences, barricades, road blocks does the trick !

The pain inflicted by the hands of father, brother,
perpetrated by sister, a blind eye, turned, by mother
have been the masons, laying all the bricks for this wall,
walls that have created the rough ride to your fall,
keeping you uptight, in fear of one and all.
Searching, finding, experiencing, all seem to lead back.

Throughout the years, nothing found to put you on track !

Reaching out – Touching

Grappling hooks tossed to the top of this wall
- catch !, -, yet, are unable to pull it down.
not one brick comes lose, wall will not fall
to earth, will not touch the ground.
the attached rope, a possible means by which to scale.
with every attempt to climb over, to allow, doth fail’

Try, as one might, to scale these walls !
Try, as one might, to knock down these barricades !
Try, as one might, to go around these road blocks !
One finds these walls to high – far too high to climb,
the bricks, far to secure in their mortar to be dismantled,
the barricades, of cement, cemented in time – immovable,
the roadblocks stretching out into infinity, no way past.

All merging, meeting, greeting with restricting rejection.
Hands, thoughts, feelings protecting the soul, with a piece of cloth
that tells a story, has more to say then words ever can.
It prevents freedom, the motion of every man.

Wilderness

The bush within which I live, the wilderness of my life,
- life created by the hands of men, men I know not -
life created by the very hands of this man.
Wilderness lies all around me, in lifeless memory,
memories of a life lived in the realms of others.
A life once lived ?, now but a memory
of another life that overwhelms.

Melaine

My heartache weeps, profusely, for you Melanie !,
knowing that my tears will never wash away
 the pain, the fears you are feeling within your growth,
your understandings, your desires, your desire
to be needed, appreciated, loved and your need to be.
All I have to give you, is all the love that is within me
Melanie, and I pray that it is able to help you through,
allows you to see the roads clear, the paths far and near
and is able to allow you to set your soul free
 and not to be waiting on life to happen,
waiting for life to ring.
Open the doors and, my Dear, sing !

B. J. “A ” 2
April 13^th 2002

Looking into life’s journeys

And I wonder, just how many of us are dancing to its beat ?
I wonder, just how many of us do nothing, but only walk it’s street ?
I wonder, just how many of us go through life, standing on our own two feet ?
And then I wonder, what drags us ?, as we crawl towards what we fear to meet,
yet, all of us, cannot escape our fate and in our own time, surely will greet.

B. J. “A” 2

November 18^th 2013

A stretch

There is this Beautiful Lady, I have come to know.
In her desire to reach, is it to me ?, she wants to show
legs stretched out, “ one foot on the sun
the other firmly planted upon this earth ”.
For this old man in the moon, what fun !,
as he orbits this little blue planets girth
forever passing by, getting a glimpse at creation,
that beautiful place, came mankind, what fascination !
After she had stated this, her spiritual desire,
I, of course, turned it into my passions fire.
This Beautiful Lady, of course, meant something higher
while I, reaching out for what I require.
Will we ever get passed this game we play ?
Will our souls touch each other ?, one day.

B. J. “A ” 2
November 10^th 2013  

 Symbology

For thousands of years we have walked this plane,
 among the wavering shadows of symbolism.
A state of affairs that deserves much criticism,
for much revolves around it and one must explain
why it is that we have been guided by their interpretation,
 for what has been set, we may never get another explanation.
Upon this plane, most walk with blind faith, seldom do we wonder?
Wonder about this ancient mechanism that takes mankind asunder,
beating upon our souls like Thor’s hammer of lightning and thunder.

B. J. “A ” 2
October 28^th 2013

A Dreamers Dream

Yesterday – a force that sends fragmented pieces of dreams
into the waking, fragile, waiting arms of today.
Today – a receptacle that coalesces these flakes of reverie
into images that reach out to solidify one’s future.
A Dreamers Dream.

What are dreams anyway ?
They are but fractured reflections,
pieces of one’s daily / nightly journey
throughout one’s adventures upon this plane.
Except, of course, those few derived from a psychic nature.

Dreams tell a story of history.
Dreams speak to us of our hidden emotions.
Dreams show us the true nature of our desires.
Dreams will carry us through the tumultuous times.
Dreams will become the comforter, masquerading in riddles
 
B. J. “A ” 2
October 28^th 2013

Linda

Linda Blair, is a woman with too much care
in her heart for so many, who seem to care not.
This forces me to wonder ?, what it is they have got
that entices her, lures her into their lair ?
What is it ?, Subconsciously, that is being sought,
by this woman named Linda Blair?
To me, it seems troubling and ought not
to be, for the price seems to high, the fare
to steep for the ride she is on- that should be forgot.

I look intently, I see deeply, then I stare
into the mournfully sad eyes of Linda Blair.
This mill stone, weighted soul, so fraught
with pain, aching heart, tears caught
by winds hanging high in the air
above this woman who cannot help but care.

This thoughtful woman named Linda Blair,
 whose days have come and gone, will come and go
leaving me to wonder why ?, what for ?, what do I know ?
Do I know anything ?, in the end what will show ?,
 me anything about why Linda Blair,
suffers the head aches, the heart aches, why she doth care.

Life is to precious !, time is too short !, to share
it with such negative forces, forces the cause despair
to my friend, troubled friend, Linda Blair,
who, no matter what the cost, has a needs to care.
Psychos have come and Psychos will surely will go.
This my friend, you have, surely come to know ?,

that this is part of what makes your world go round.
Linda, know !, to survive upon this psychological ground,
you must awake, you must take a firm stand
and realize that it is time to let go of the hands
of those negative forces that take you down.
Find your place, fill your space, ( positive ) make it sound !

Time has brought me to this understanding, and to an end,
and so, my troubled soul, know my dear Friend,
that in my efforts, I have truly striven
to leave you with more than I have ever given.
For you, a bitter pill ?
As always – Love Bill .
B. J. “A ” 2
March 27^th 2002