B.J."A" 2 - An Old Soul: April 2013

REPETITION

Part ( 3 )

Two sides to
The never ending story -
I am unable to let end

-OF

A well educated, upper class,

POLISH PRINCESS,
A real Beauty,

and that of
an uneducated, low class,

unintelligent, Canadian derelict.

A Frog!

Follow the journey of these two in poetry and prose.
Much of, is from the perception /perspective of the Frog.

The Princess has provided very little information.

A lot of insight though.

Chapter 127

In a letter from Joyce, - 2 Pages

August 10^th2008

You sure have Moneca, on your mind. Letter was mostly about her - trying to figure her personality correctly. People like her change quickly when the want, and are able to put off their real selves for some reason .

Her note to you didn’t sound, that she wanted be with her dada lot on her trip. She preferred her brother to him so I can’t see she is under his verbal words from the past, Maybe some but not much anymore, I would guess. Doesn’t seem to really like him. She sends 100 kisses in her leter and appreciation for you .

You said you give her credit for honesty, dishonesty, and deceptive, manipulative, cunning and shrewdness and crafty nature – also her negativity, judgmental, prejudiced, criticizing persona.

I don’t agree, she hates men, She seems to looking again for Mr. Right after 2 tries and several affairs no doubt. I doubt if you really can get at the truth and if the untruth turns you on without to much frustration, I guess you have to go for it .

You don’t intend to pay for Moneca, going places with you. Hope you stick to that, You are on and off concerning Moneca, and can’t turn off and be free, soi you’re stuck in your “ love delusion ” until you see what you need, to let go of her manipulations – in words and deeds. Apparently you are frustrated with Moneca, relationship even if call it love – I see frustration for some time.

Maybe going to work again will keep your mind off Moneca. That new, old friend would be good again. You need other people around you .

If you get pleasure from the little time Moneca, gives you, I guess who can saynot to take it even if you get pleasure or not.

Anyway, no more on Moneca, your 28 pages had her on most of them .

Don’t think you mentioned anyone else in the 28 pages. Mostly Moneca. Took me over half an hour or more it so it does take time and anything is better than looking at walls or TV.

Love

Joyce

Chapter 128

A poem for Moneca, - 2 Pages

August 22nd 2008

A Goddess

A Goddess, divine, a heavenly Angel, a fair Beauty,
a Polish Princess, - her fathers daughter, her nations psyche,

in force, sits astride her Trojan horse, poised

to unleash upon man ( this man ) all the warriors

in her arsenal – the backbone of her diatribes,

her vilifications, her tirades –as she –with venomous smiting -

tries to bring down this house - this man – who, for two, plus,

years did withstand the on slot - with the light of love

to shield him against all the slings and arrows,

all the stiletto words, all the striking swords,

the chopping axes, the beheading guillotines. ,

the poisoned tongued barbs, spears oozing,

dripping with far to much cynicism, criticism,

judgmentalness, all built upon a platform of self worth.

Insecurities ?,

Love - the gift – is the kindness given our Lady, fair

who believes it to be a weakness, an over used,

meaningless word.

You can fool some of the people all the time –

including one’s self.

You can fool all the people some of the time -

including one’s self.

But you can not fool me for very long !

Does this Ladies, psyche – projected on to me –

come to all ?, or just the chosen ?

Does our fair Beauties psyche ( self ) come from

the experiences of her adult journey ?

or had it been given birth in the arms of

ancient history – patriarchal times, when men played god,

and ruled by degradation and authoritarianism -

who’s voice still echoes inside our impenetrable-

mount Moneca’s, core being, and has for so long,

that it seems to be the voice of her own soul,

the echoes of which – from the past – are

indistinguishable from her echoes in the present.

Who’s voice is it ?. do I hear tearing at my ear !

The eyes through which our fair Lady, sees –

perceives all of life around her – of coarse –

comes from the labyrinths of her mind,

and the logic she gives credence to as being –

the be all and end all to her unshakeable word –

from this Beauty, of contradictions.

To ashes, this Phoenix – from the flames she ignites –

she has exiled, without reprieve, without hope of ever rising,

again to see, to know the light of day or to be the man

with this woman, to play the songs of love, to know the joys,

the pleasures of the heart, the soul. The spirit of the body.

Is all the above hypothesis, been a game, just for me ?,

always coming at me – this ice laden wind of Polish decent –

to let me know – for her – what I ment.

B. J. “A” 2
August 22nd 2008

Chapter 129

A poem for Moneca, - 2 Pages

August 22^nd2008
From blood to Thought
With every loving beat, of my swollen heart
– upon these crimson vessels, giving life to –
ride millions of thoughts, thoughts of you
riding on the zenith, the crest of every wave
flowing, turbulently down these shrinking, hardened,
aged, bluish tunnels of hope’s dreams,
dreams that reach into energy fields,
electrifying dormant synapses into glowing rainbows
of conflicting forces that wage never ending battles,
battles of whether or not there can be, will be,
could ever be that preverbal pot of gold,
the gold that can only exist- be found within
and within a pure, undefiled, undesecrated,
unbroken heart, not the heart that beats
to the tunes of that drum pounding out
ice castles, stone cold walls, the iron used in
erecting cages, the beat of shovels excavating
a trench in mother earth face, for that moat
- all these have I seen, have I felt, I have experienced -
that locks in your beauty, keeps out the light, the fires
that could, would want to evaporate, turn to dust, dry up,
remove the veils that guard, that hide, that protect
that beautiful, imprisoned light, that light that hides
behind masks, masks that hide in order to attract’
that seem to attract like kind – birds of a feather –
mirrors, mirrors, the twins - not the one’s that reflect
images of truth denied the conscious self while in sleep
dreaming the dreams of ?, that lay beyond today’s reality
of unrealistic expectations, of unnecessary fears,
fears justified by life’s journey throughout all your years
hidden behind beautiful, dry, hardened eyes without tears
for what has been freely, lovingly given
- rejected, for hopes and a desire to touch that illusive,

delusional White Knight ( Mr. Right to come into ) –

to fill your life, your sight with visions that just might
be able to satisfy, the unsatisfiable in you

B. J. “A” 2

August 22nd 2008

Chapter 130

A poem for Moneca, - 2 Pages

September 1^st 2008

From the Ether

A love came to this one from beyond

the visual, the physical, from beyond
the conscious – the heart is the ghost,
the spirit trapped within this plane -
it can not let go, nor fly into that good night
- with all that was and was not, still hanging on -
keeping it from fading into the passing light,
light on the wings of time’s never ending flight.

B. J. “A” 2

September 1^st 2008

Tapestry

Lady Fair, pulls at my heart strings.
No design, no effort, no desire brings
her into the fires of Love, for me.
A person, a man, a lover she does not see.
Taking hold of my thread bear heart,
unraveling it, until it is a part
- of nothing – nothing left of my heart shaped beat
but frayed fibers of light reflected, refracted, neat
upon the cold whims of stolidity – taken into shadows of.
into the hands of, the mind of death’s journey.
The aura of my tapestry, my forlorn love still hangs,
meaning little more then specks of dust, floating,
drifting upon beams of light streaming through
the distances between, what is me and what is you
before you turned your back, extinguishing the light,
the light of love, you choose not to accept,
nor want to hear, leaving it to drift upon waves
of shadows that permeate the darkness of all
your denied, all your buried emotions, that
the tapestry of, turned to dust, hides.

A will-o-the-wisp,

upon the tapestry you wove,
has become me and my love.

B. J. “A” 2

September 1^st 2008

Chapter 131

In a letter to Joyce, - 21 Pages

September 1^st 2008

I may as well get the negative out of the way first.

( 1 ) Moneca, is no longer speaking to me, it started three weeks ago, after a phone conversation, which the contents of, eludes me at this moment. I was taking a walk along the river, behind our place, a couple of hours after we had gotten off the phone, and I ran into her along the path. As I approached her, I crossed over to the other side of the path to greet her with a hug but she side stepped and moved over to the opposite side avoiding my intended greeting, walked right on past me without a look or a word in response to my verbal greeting.

If it had not been for her dog Carrow, hanging around my feet, not wanting to leave nor returning to her when she called for him a half dozen times there would have been no contact with her at all and no response from her to my greeting. She did her best to avoid, reject my greetings, have no contact what so ever. The following week , as I was working on the Ranchero I had given Melanie, in the underground, ( I had to get it started in order to move it ) Moneca, came into the underground to put her garbage into our dumpster, which just happened to be directly across for where I was working. From the look on her face, when she me, it was quite clear that she was uncomfortable and wanted to avoid me – for what ever reason – but did, finally come over after I greeted her with a friendly “ Hello Moneca”. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, I said “ I miss you ” to which she replied “ that’s your problem ” and I said “ yes it is ” with the understanding that she could care less. She then said that I didn’t call and, and something about communication, which lead ( in my head only ) to my saying, in silence, absolutely !, communicate to me, what ever it is that is in your head that has put you in this frame of mind ?, then did say “ considering the obvious Moneca, what went down on Sunday, you, deliberately avoiding me, not acknowledging my greeting, not wanting anything to do with me, the way you treated me, why would I be calling you ?,” to which she said “ I told you that I was hungry ” and that was her excuse to justify what she had done ( stepping to the other side of the path, walking past me down the path without a look, in total silence, no response to my greetings and if it wasn’t for her dog bringing her back from the thirty / forty feet she had walked past me before turning around and coming back for him, there would have been no words from her at all. Now, face to face, she laid into me about my not knowing anything, because she had just left a concert, that was held in the park – which we were in at this point – and she was leaving when I saw her and ( after telling her that I would take her dog with me seeing as how he seemed so determined to stay with me ) she then said she would not join me because she “ was hungry and if I needed a companion, I could take her dog ”. Needless to say my Dear, in the end, she went her way with both dogs and I in the opposite direction, alone and on my own .

Yesterday, ( Sunday ) - because of more black cloud bad luck – I was standing out front of Moneca’s unit, talking with her neighbor and one of the directors of this complex – the reason why Joyce, I will fill you in with, later – when the Princess, came up from the underground and walked towards us, as I said “ Hello Moneca, ”, as she was but a few inches away from my face, - it seemed as if I did not exist or she hoped that I didn’t - I got no response just the look, but she looked at and did say hello to her neighbor and the director .

Anyway Joyce, I do believe that it is over, her for sure and I hope for me too, but in thinking about it how can one get over something that never really existed ? Anyway Joyce, this may help me get over her, another cathartic adventure !

You are right Joyce, there is no doubt that – “ you sure have Moneca, on your mind ” – she fills all the empty spaces in time and in my mind as the included, six poems, or what ever they are, attest to.

I do not know how to answer “ Letter was mostly about her, trying to figure her personality correctly ” except that you are right, so I will move on to “ People like her change quickly ” and “ and are able to put off their real selves ”. My analysis Joyce, of who and what our Moneca, is, is as follows, Moneca, I do believe, if nothing else, has been her true self with me, ( for what ever reason ) for the most part and I believe that is because I pose no threat to her ( 1 ) because she knows I love her and she knows that that love for her is one of understanding, compassion, tolerance, acceptance and ( 2 ) because she has no desire for me, no feelings, therefore, no matter what she does or says, there are no consequences. There is no depth and so it is easy for her to walk away, doing so knowing that what I know stays with me ( and you ) and that no body she knows or hangs with will ever have contact with me, - she has made damn sure of that by never involving me, never inviting me to any of the social event she has attended during these past two years. I have been this ghost, this stupid Canadian she puts down - I am sure – to all her acquaintances / friends who have heard her diatribes about me, just as I have heard them – right out of the horses mouth - about others. ( 3 ) Anyway Joyce, I do believe that our Moneca, is two faced, is a hypocrite, is full of contradictions, is the epitome of every thing she has to say about others and I say this knowing that what we usually find in others, things that we find unacceptable, that we dislike, are usually a reflection of the thing we dislike about ourselves. I am not only speaking of the negative here, it also applies to the positive things we identify with in others. This being a part of her true personality as is when she shape shifts into the sacrificing, compromising, submissive, giving, understanding person in order to achieve her goal, satisfy her desires, much like most of us, just with much less sincerity – I do believe .

That is positively true Joyce, “ Her note to you didn’t sound that she wanted to be with her dad a lot ” she did not, for he is the creator, the force, the mirror that reflects, the mirror that she must look at, and into every day of her life – she is her father’s daughter. That critical, judgmental, know it all who never made her feel anything good about herself, then or at anytime in her life ( I do believe ), even to making it a point – on a visit back to Poland – to criticize her for what he stated was her poor polish grammar after her being here in Canada for a dozen years or so, Other examples that are telling – he put her down for escaping Communist Poland and for coming to Canada, where she is nothing and nobody, where her son – his grandson ( a very intelligent and very talented boy ) would be a bum. He also put down a very nice, scenic oil painting, his daughter painted just for him, for his birthday ( ninetieth I believe ) “ I don’t want it, I don’t like it ” and the final blow was to kick her out of his cabin .

These are some of the things a ninety year old father did to his beautiful talented daughter whom he hadn’t seen in six years – I believe - and only a few other time during the seventeen she has been away from Poland, living thousands and thousands of miles away, who has had to live without all the comforts of her past, her country, her family, her friends, her language, etc., etc. in a strange land. How does a father like that face himself ?, look into a mirror ? Anyway Joyce, I knew that she was ( even though she had her hard as nails, face on ) devastated by his treatment of her “ I never want to see him again ”. My August eighteenth two thousand and eight prose poetry – included – tells the story, that I do believe, to be hers, and does show just how much “ she is under his verbal words from the past ” as well as the present.

I do give that to Moneca, “ You said you give her credit for honesty ” for being her true self, her honesty, but none accepting of all her brutality, her cruelty, of the inconsiderateness in her honesty Joyce, and not for all the negative aspects of her persona “ the dishonesty, deceptiveness, manipulation, cunning, shrewd crafty nature ” and I would never give her credit for “ her negativity, judgmental, prejudiced, criticizing persona ”. I just accepted all these character flaws, tolerated all her imperfections, over looked all her defects because I loved her and love her and that my Dear, - I do believe – is what love and loving someone brings to a relationship.

“ I don’t agree she hates men ” I do not know Joyce, but I would have to say that from all she has told me about her feelings about her father, her brother, first and second husbands, and all the men she has had relations with ( serious, superficial or casual ) not much good has been expressed about any of them and as for love ?, well she has said that her second husband ( the father of her son Mat. ) is the only man that she may have truly loved, if she loved him at all, and that was only for about the first three years, before her first affair, in their eighteen ?, years of marriage. I believe that it was the affairs, European tradition, Catholicism, responsibilities, parent hood and later, a family of three, in a strange land, all alone, that kept her playing the part of wife for so long after it was over. Moneca, has admitted to me, after I had said one time and again a time or two after that, that “ it seems as though you hated men ” and she agreed, then told me that some of the men she had been seeing or had been involved with have said the very same thing to her. Was she playing with me ?, or was this assumption the truth ? Who knows ?, but her .

There is little doubt Joyce, that she is always on the hunt for Mr. Right, but one has to wonder, for what reason ?Anyway Joyce, men for her, - as far as I my experiences with her go and my observations of her, - are the ego builders, the purveyors of praise for her beauty, for her intellect, the givers of time, gifts, affection, love, our desires feeds her fragile ego, we let her know that – as in her youth – she is a woman desired, wanted, even though she knows and knew way back when, that for most, it was wanting a taste of nothing more then her beautiful body, her pretty face that men were after. And so Joyce, as I see it, she takes all that men have to give and gives little, or nothing more then what is required to keep us on the end of her line until she tires of her game and cuts us loose and I do believe that I am the fish she has just cut loose, set me free as she has done with Mr. hitler, Mr. waiter, Mr, jenneta, Mr. christian, etc., etc. I think she hates men Joyce ( her dad ) and anyone of us who may have the slightest resemblance to him or what he criticized about men along with her own unattainable expectations .

“ I doubt if you really can get at the truth and if untruth turns you on ”, “ I guess you have to go with it ”. Well let me tell you Joyce, I will never go with untruths from her and you are probably correct, the whole truth may never be known and I do know that she has kept – in her enlightenment of events – the truth – a lie by omission – from me but do have to say Joyce, ( I do believe ) that for the most part, she has been truthful with me and I am not sure if it is because she wants me to know and understand her ?, or it is because I mean very little to her ? Example – the last time we where together – I took her up to the top of Burnaby mountain for a romantic evening and to watch the sun set behind the north shore mountains and the twinkling lights of Vancouver light up the night shy like stars that came to earth to light up the city. I unfortunately have to tell you that there was not one romantic moment that place with the Princess, except for those inside my head. There were two statements that she made to me on our way home ( one ) if Mr. Right came along, she would for get about me ( my expression – drop me like a hot potato / leave me behind in a New York minute. ) and the other thing she had said, was, ( telling ) that she had asked her friend ?, / acquaintance ?, Christina, “ what is a matter with me ?”, to which Christina, replied _ really ?, - “ nothing, you just want the best, have high expectations ” and for me, this question of Christina, came on the heels of some sort of rejection by some man. The reason for my scenario above, Joyce, is that a day or so earlier, she had asked me if I wanted to see some pictures she had taken on the week end, of what was supposed to be a camp out at Stave Lake, with the Polish group she hangs with, but had said that she did not stay over night ? In the photographs she had shown me, from what I viewed, I did not see anything that even resembled a camp site, no camp fire, no tents, no gathering of people just photos of two men, side by side, in lawn chairs with the lake in the background, the same two men in lawn chairs with Moneca, behind and between them, and again, two men, side by side, in lawn chairs with Moneca, leaning on the younger, handsomer of the two in what I believe is a very telling scene – that look on her face, her hand in a passionate, locking of fingers, hand in hand with this young man, mid forties maybe ?, could not tell because of his beard, that goes way beyond a group of people ( the group was invisible, just the camera person) taking photos, don’t you think ?

Could this all be coincidence Joyce, ?, or was she telling me something with the photos ?, “ I met Mr. Right, a youthful European, educated, intelligent ”, “ but he was not interested in me ” the reason for the question of her friend Christina, “ What’s the matter with me ? ”. Could this be the story ?, that unfolded before me, telling of what had happened with her during the three or four days that these events took place ? Is it just speculation ?, theory ?, hypotheses, conjecture or is it her reality ? Who can say ?, but her !

No Joyce, I have not spent a dime on taking Moneca, out, for I have not taken her out – on a date, to the movies, to a restaurant, or any thing like that since we came back from our cross county adventure and Ontario a year ago, in five days ( September 7^th 2007 ). That is not to say Joyce, - that when we used my car to go to the river for a walk, or up into the mountains, or into Vancouver, - that on those rare occasions, it wasn’t my gas used at the expense of my company .

I think Joyce, that my love, “ love delusion ” if you will, will never end, just – as it now seems – slip into the shadows, shadows that will hide the light, hide the true colours of life, become the darkness of my days but no longer be the source of my days – just memories of what once was and was not, of what took place and what did not, of what could have been and what never became. No longer will I long for, will I pine for the Princess with the same intensity that has ruled over my life for these past two years. I guess I will always love her, always be her friend, my door will always be open for her even though we both know that my love, my friendship mean little to nothing to her and she will never step across the threshold leading into my place and to me.

I think Joyce, that my tightly held grip upon the dream for so long has begun to loosen, slipping, and soon to let me finally fall from that which I fell so hard for. What once seemed so solid in my desire for, now seems to be nothing more then a misty vapor of my dreams true essence. As all evaporates, upon awakening from that deep sleep and into reality, so do I, it seems. Can I ?, let her go !

Love

Bill

Melanie .

Chapter 132

A poem for Moneca- 1 Page

September 1^st 2008

I can not !

But so desperately want to stop crying a billion tears,

trying so hard to drown out some of the past two years.

My soul, drenched, wants to weep no more

for the love, I have kept in store

for this woman – beautiful – who wants not

what I have given, to give what I have got

to give and allow to live to the fullest

or provide a place for my head to rest.

I am unable to stop the constant thoughts of you

from seeping into the turmoil of my busy days.
I am unable to stop wondering what it is I should do –

a conclusion that might help change the ways

in which my thoughts, my heart can deal

with all that fills my hours with what I feel,

what I would love to have – forever with you.

B. J. “A” 2

September 15th 2008

Chapter 133

In a letter from Joyce - 4 Pages

September 13^th 2008

Your letter, of coarse, repeated things you said the past two years, of the on and off affair’

When time is right, you’ll be able to see the obsession, because it is one form of mental illness, if it takes over, like you describe.

Anyway, if you need to be used when she needs you, I guess that is what you will get !

Heartily, with Love

Joyce .

Chapter 134

A poem for Moneca,- 1 Page

September 21^st 2008

There is this Hole

I want not to stand on the edge of – any longer

looking constantly to the other side of – for

what could be ? – when all that faces me

is what lies in this – the black hole abyss.

Am I on the edge of ?, or in the centre of ?,
- a black cloud vortex enveloping my soul –
asphyxiating the life out from this spirit
that once upon a time, could rise above.

Is this the only place for my heart and soul ?

Is this the only thing I will ever get to know ?,

with every step I take, with the love that guides

my spirit beyond that which reality is –

that constantly slaps me in the face, as I face
the emptiness of the soul I have tried to know.
I have reached out for a star – a vortex of light ?

B. J. “A” 2

September 21^st 2008

Chapter 135

A poem for Moneca,- 1 Page

September 23^rd 2008

The Season

Autumn Green, caught my eye, and I fell

- love for all seasons I thought existed within –

only to discover, as time passed us by

there was – it seemed – to be only one season,

the season that comes to life, upon the heels of deaths decay.

Autumn Green, turns to icy cold, the coolness of

Winter’s, domain and her chilling grip upon this plain,

the plain of forlorn love – love that could take one above

– all – of mans desire and love for this one Season,

that pretends - all – with alleged logic and reason.

Spring, Summer and Fall, but hollow word.

Winter, the only heart beat that can be heard

- by these ears – beating from her beautiful chest.

Life – it seems – she can give to the rest.

B. J. “A” 2

September 21^st 2008

Chapter 136

In a letter to Joyce,- 7 Pages

September 23^rd 2008

How true Joyce, as much of my poetry and letters claim, - “ Your letters of coarse repeated things you said the past two years ” – life with the Princess is a merry-go-round, a carousel, a roller coaster ride that keeps coming back to the beginning, as thoughts become memories and memories come back to the thoughts of, thoughts that wanted to become a reality, a reality that did not want to see the light of day, did not want to come to life and so the thoughts became nothing more than an attempt to take that vision - seen in the clouds high above reality – and materialize the love for and feel a love from that turned out to be nothing more then an illusion, a mist dissipated by the cold, cruel breath, the words, the feelings of the ice Queen, the Princess, of this little blue Planet’s South Pole’s waste lands .

That time has come Joyce, which now seems so long ago, “ When the time is right you will be able to see the obsession ” lessened and two poems ( March 17^th 2008 and March 18^th 2008 ) attesting to, as well as “ Prisoner ”, “ A Beautiful Drug ” and “ Confession ” March 17^th 2008 .

Prisoner

An inmate, to this my obsession,

this Autumn Green Eyed, exotic woman,

the driving source for my confession.

What to do ?, nothing !, I can,

for she is buried deep within my heart.

I seem not the strength to let go

nor – even – where to find, where to start

to accept the obvious – that which I know.

How ?, do I extinguish this out of control fire !,

even dampen this burning flame of desire.

March 17^th 2008

Confession

My confession to come.

My obsession in sum.

The story that tells,

the heart that fells,

the soul that loves.

The flight of doves,

to hell fires,

to burn the desires,

out of the brain,

out into the realm of pain,

of knowing- acceptance,

of no last dance ?,

of no hope for romance ?

This the last chance, took.

This, a chance to look

into the world anew,

into what ?, once I knew,

experiences, a long time ago

experience, no longer to know

as my time has come to – past

as my spirit has come to fast !

March 17^th 2008

A Beautiful Drug

This Drug, became a habit,
the habit became sorrow,
the sorrow became a nightmare,
the nightmare became change and loss
the loss of – what beauty was imagined,
has come to an acceptance, of a reality,
a reality that existed from the beginning.

Change, will not go easily into that black night.
Chance, will not give up easily, not without a fight !
This grape, will not a raisin, become !
This ivy refuses to metamorphose into a chameleon !
The shadow, the door, the window, the drug remain alive,
The life in them does not want to be shut out, shut down.
The feeling though – is – it all dies on a vine !
The feeling is, in that inner space, it all - remains ?,
the burial ground for change, for the future,
the end of hope and dreams never seen.

The essence of change, sometimes is a force so mean !

B. J. “A” 2

March 18^th 2008

These poems Joyce, and I am sure, more then a few, are telling the story, the obvious, and the obvious I have always known, just did not want to quit, to give up on what may be my last hope for a dream to become more then just a vision in the night or one upon the back of my eye lids, although I have now given in – she wins - and I will now slip quietly into the history book she has been trying to relegate me to, the one she keeps writing me into, yet keeps me on the periphery of her life’s story, on the edges of each page, where I am neither fully committed to her history nor touching the heart of her soul, her spirit .
It is not about my needing to be used Joyce, for that is not what I need, and if she thinks she is using me ?, she is sadly mistaken for you can not be using or taking, by will or by design, that which is gifted to you and I am a gift for her, because that is my desire, my nature and I want more then what my life is offering me and it is my belief that better to have a little of something ( for she does give a little ) then a whole lot of nothing and I – really in spite of some heart ache which is usually of my own making because of how I feel about the woman – do enjoy ( for the most part ) the social intercourse I have with her, even if the real thing eludes me, which is better then no social activities at all .

If ?, as you say “ obsession, because it is a form of mental illness ” is true Joyce, then in my insanity ( obsession ), I am glade that it is for the desire of a beautiful woman, her love, her affections, her companionship, her body and mind rather then the obsession for power, for possessions, for fame and fortune, for control .

I am always positive Joyce, even if it is within the sphere, the realms of negativity and rejection .

Love

Bill

Melanie .

Chapter 137

A poem,- 1 Page

October 2^nd 2008

The final Act ?

The curtain must fall, my love must take flight,

slip onto the wings of history and be carried aloft,

onto the pages of a book that can never be written,

therefore, never to be read – history, realizations buried,

that love, in histories eyes, was never a reality,

just a dream, the imagination that fades not from view.

The view of life’s journey, the view of the mind’s eye,

the view of this heart , the view from these old eyes.

Memory, the eyes from which history speaks.

History, the voice – a reality !, - not the dream.

Dreams, the imagination that gives life

to slowly dyeing feelings, emotions

that will not ignite your heart, nor the embers of love.

Your love, but ashes blown by the winds

of discontentment, disillusionment, of none fulfillment.

B. J. “A” 2

October 2nd 2008

Chapter 138

In a letter from Joyce,- 2 Pages

October 3^rd 2008

Anyway, I your letter yesterday and news, you have given up and Moneca, has won, whatever she was trying to do about you being a good guy and not a jerk. Apparently she likes ones that can’t stand her. Not the other way around .

Heartily

With love - Joyce

Chapter 139

In a letter to Gail,- 2 Pages

October 5^thd 2008

I think you will know where things are at / are not at with Moneca, and me as you read the included poems ?

Love

Dad .

Chapter 140

In a letter to Joyce,- 11 Pages

October 13^th 2008

I guess the above comes to life, my Dear, because of a conversation with the Princess, yesterday.

The Princess’ excuses – she claims are reasons – for not giving to me all that she gives freely to others, cut very deeply into my heart and soul, and when I refuted her excuses and allegations with the facts, facts created during the two, plus years of her experiences with me plus, considering that we have – even if only for brief moments a couple of times – been as intimate as a man and a woman could be, all her justifications, all her excuses have been proven unfounded, unjustifiable, and so, rather then acknowledge her wrong thinking she just changes the subject, reality by reverting back to the fantasies that she projects, the excuses she gives, her reasons for what she does freely with - and accepts freely from others yet refuses to indulge in or participate with, with me. When I tell her, that what I feel, what I understand, based on her comments, remarks, her actions, her facial expressions, her reactions to any of my attempts to be her friend, to be friendly clearly and simply say / indicate – to me at least – that as a human being, as a person, as a man, as her ( as she has stated more then once ) only, and best friend, I mean absolutely / positively nothing more to her than a convenient – being a neighbor, a hundred feet away – companion to fill her empty and alone hours. Anyway Joyce. So much for Moneca’s influence on the matter of my emotion turmoil.

And now, here I sit, filled with guilt, feeling that I have cheated on Moneca, and feeling that I have used Linda, - none of us ever seems to get what we want, but I do believe that – at least Linda, and I get from and give to each other what we need, and it was good. To use my mechanic vernacular, I give her a lube job and she gives me an oil change. God, can you imagine ?, what it would have been like for me, had it been the Princes beneath me, surrounding me and my man hood. What a hopeless, helpless, romantic dreamer and fool am I .

Yes Joyce, I have given in, Moneca, wins, for I no longer want to be the excuse for her being upset, her anger, her hostilities, her disappointments, her frustrations, nor do I want to put up with that shit any more, nor do I want to feel that I am the reason that brings out the worst in the woman. I no longer want to hear all the negative, bullshit, comments, her perceptions of who and what she thinks I am and am not

or all her negative comments about what I do or don’t do or about what my life has been, is, or is not. I no longer want to be faced with all her excuses, her justifications as to why she treats me with much less respect, consideration, understanding, affection, and friendly expressions then she does with a stranger, as I have watched her do with men that she has just met, yet says she has no feelings for ? Equality is all I ask for, is what I expect, is what I need in order to feel and believe that I am more then just a substitute, a filler for her empty hours, an ear for her to express all her discord into. It is very strange Joyce, that one of her excuses she gives she to justify the walls, the barriers that she places between us all the time, is, she does not want to hurt me and yet she knows only to well that every act of rejection, every act of avoidances, every unkind word, every negative remark, her judgmental criticisms and every story she tells, every picture she shows me of the men she has been seeing, dating, involved with does the very thing she has said she does not want to do “ I do not want to hurt you ”. And so Joyce, I will no longer be the excuse for her negativity nor place myself in a position that will give her power to hurt me. So my Dear, she is free - I give in, she wins – from having to be with this negative person ( she says that I am ) she is, with me and free from having to feel guilty ( if that is possible for her ) about hurting me .

You must be getting dizzy and want to get off this marry-go-round ride of repetitious insanity as much as I do, yet every new day with the Princess, comes back to the same old stories, that haunt even the great days, and we have had a few, those thirty or so in eastern Canada and U. S. and a few here at home.

It seems that I can not get away from some kind of involvement with her. Yesterday I spent about three hours helping out my neighbour Arlene, who informed me that we – Moneca, and me - were the subject of gossip around this complex. I later – after searching out the perpetrators of this gossip – found out that this time the gossip was just that Moneca, and I where just seeing each other and this time without any assumptions as to ?, or any allegations of ?

                                                                              Love
                                   Bill
                                                                               &
                                                                         Melanie .

Chapter 141

In a letter from Joyce,- 2 Pages

October 25^th 2008

Anyway, won't mention Princess, who is a sick soul, in my books .

Love - Joyce -

Chapter 141

Poem for Moneca,- 2 Pages

November 9^th 2008

On the razors edge

Walks a natural man, a social man

yearning to be one, being the other beast he can.

He has passion for, a dream of, a burning desire.

The lady sets his soul, his aching heart on fire.

Her only desire !, to lay them on a funeral pyre,

place them into the yoke of a guillotine,

releasing the blade, she cuts them clean

- his desire, his passion, his love - his dream,

she has – with quick dispatch – severed it’s head

with the sharpness of her tongue / mind, they are dead ?,

these, the man’s love, passion, desire and dreams.

Nothing he has done, does, could do, it seems,

is able to open her eyes, her mind or her heart !

This leaves this foolish old man no where to start

or get past, just being her friend,

realizing that all else will quickly come to an end !

This man carries his love, his passion and dreams,

in quiet desperation, in stilled, stagnate streams

flowing, going no where, by any effort, by any means.

What, from this man does the lady want ?, something !,

for she keeps him dangling, precariously on a string

( this Saturday fish, no peace of mind does it bring )
slings and arrows at this man, in his heart does it sting !

( this Saturday fish, no peace of mind does it bring )

and arrows at this man, in his heart does it sting !

This old fool still hangs in, - anticipating – hanging on

until there will be no more, until all is gone,

set adrift, blown by the cold, solar winds of times passing

- passing away – all that might of, could have been.

The realization of passion, desire, love, the dream.

Someday, all will die on a vine, life continues progressing.

B. J. “A” 2

November 9th 2008

Chapter 142

Poems for Moneca,- 2 Pages

November 10^th 2008

The vision you see in my eyes

You are the name of my sorrow, my sadness !

The sadness you say you see in my eyes.

Sanity dictates “ where ? ”,

You “ are ” rays of light – brightens up my darkness ?,

the sun that radiates – lightens up my world, my skies.
You “ are ” the sustenance – nourishment that feeds my soul,
the spirit that lifts – my spirit wants to know.
You “ have been ”, from the beginning – “ are ” my obsession.
The truth of this, lies in the heart of my confession.
You “ are ” the reason – once again I was able to love,
the basis upon which to rise up – to reach out, to climb above.
You “ are” the sweet breath - a breath of fresh air,
the source, the reason – the impetus, for why I care.
You “ are” the soldiers – the essence of my immune system.
The warriors that stand guard – that fight for my life.
You “ are” the blood – the life’s force in my veins,
the thoughts that carry – that fill my brain.
You “ are” the clouds – the cause for all the rain,
the tear drops that inundate – they obfuscate my vision.
You “ are” the source – the verbiage of my derision,
the negative force – words looking to fight
You “ are” the bird – the wings, giving my love flight,
a reason to soar – to look for a brighter light.
You “ are” the light that carries – makes a man want to love,
never giving reason, cause, hope, yet he still wants to climb above
all that once was, bringing you along, on those journeys
that forget history and it’s failures – creating new memories.

Insanity prevails

And this man’s love – blind, frail – knows not how to fail !!!
Never giving up !!, only giving in ?? - Princess !!, you win !!

B. J. “A” 2

November 10th 2008

Chapter 143

Poems for Moneca,- 2 Pages

November 11^th 2008

The Beauty in a Kiss

A Kiss can be as beautiful, as grand a course

for making passionate love – and more – then that of intercourse.
A Kiss can stimulate the spiritual !
A Kiss can stimulate the biological !
A Kiss can stimulate the psychological !
A Kiss can stimulate the physical !
And your words “ life is far to short ”,
has me wondering ?, what sort
of thoughts - designed to kill !,
moments are denied, let slipped by unfulfilled’

Your beautiful lips come before - these eyes caress
your lips, never to know the passion, you suppress,
except for twice ( so nice ! ) – Montreal and New York State

where the only places, my life with you, came to know fate.

Are your lips, the dust of fragile, butterfly wings ?,
kiss them and they loose the ability, no longer sings
of the beauty of flight, no longer able to fly,
just sit upon a flower and cry
as you both – grounded, locked in – wait to die .
Is this the excuse for ?, (or is it hypocrisy ?,
that drives “ life is to short ”) yet moments empty, unfulfilled.

Can it be the fear of being grounded ?,

or are these thoughts - unfounded ?
Is this soul, these lips of mine, reaching out to hers,
a poison that robs those butterfly dusted lips of hers ?
Can she not see the pixie dust that lay upon mine ?,
want nothing more then to help her sour, know sublime,
to intoxicate the energies of her life’s force
and to as one with her, as a matter of our life’s coarse !

B. J. “A” 2

November 11th 2008

Prose for Moneca,- 1 Pages

There is – once again – this surge of beautiful passion for, uncontrollable in it’s need for expression – physical, emotional, verbal – for this illusion, this delusion I carry for a love I can only give ( locked within ) but never receive, for the object of my love cares not for what I have to offer and offers nothing in return. It seems that I will never be able to give, to live – out my dream- , to share, to ride upon love’s wings - for she clipped them in their infancy, while still pin feathers – as it flies into the universe of futility and into the realms of inexpressibility, imprisoned against the outside of walls of stone cold indifference ( a façade ? ) behind which, the beauty – I believe exists - I so want to experience, is herself imprisoned by parental tutelage ( father ), Polish, social pedagogy and all of the teachings from life’s experiences – to high expectations, to many prejudices’, to ingrained a belief in all the artificial, in the superficialities of life, to locked into being judgmental – judgmental, giving birth to far to much cynicism, far to much criticism ( that gives credence to all the false beliefs, clung to with such conviction ) that have made it impossible – for a man of my ( social, educational, intellectual and physical ) – to walk alongside of, down life’s highways, back roads, paths. A journey she may have chosen ?, to take alone, leaving me to take mine, on my own, all alone .

B. J. “A” 2

November 11th 2008

Moneca Rayner oil painting on canvas

Happy Birthday Bill
I wish you the best
Love Moneca
November 12th 2008

Chapter 144

Prose for Moneca,- 4 Pages

November 16^th 2008

Imprisoned

Am I, by the voracious appetite, the relentless grasp of love.

Goaled, caged – a prisoner of love’s illusions of, it’s reality for.

I am unable to extricate myself from the shackles that bind me to.

The fetters of my love for, hold me, ever so firmly, in their grip.

I realize that I have the key – it is in my head – to set myself free. It has, it does come to me, oh so often !, ringing in my ears, in my brain, in my heart, hanging so harshly before my eyes “ you will never be my boyfriend, never my lover ” – “ you are not of my class ” ( social rung of the societal ladder ), - “ you are not on my level ” ( level of education ), - “ you are not a man I desire ” ( have any feelings for ), - “ you are stupid – unintelligent ”, “ you have no brain, don’t use your brain ”, “ you don’t listen to me, you don’t understand anything, know anything ”, “ you are to old, can’t change ” ( to become my creation ? ), “ I do not believe you ! ” ( am I a liar ?, a con man ?, a bullshitter ?, a manipulator ?, am I like all the other men you have been involved with ?, etc., etc. ), “ you are lazy, insane, crazy ”, “ you are sloppy, you hair style, your shoes, your cloths, your thoughts, your belief, your understandings, your knowledge – all – are twenty, thirty, forty years old – are in the past ”, “ you don’t learn anything new, you are a phony, a fake, insincere, artificial in your spontaneity ”, “ you don’t know what you are talking about, you don’t go to dozens of different sources for information ”, “ you are not logical, you twist everything around, you melt everything together, you create fantasies ”, “ you are not manly, got no balls, you are like a woman, to feminine, not a man ”, “ your speech – pronunciations – are not clear, understandable, you pantomime when speaking to others ”, “ you don’t know when to be funny, to joke, you are not humorous ”, “ you have no initiative, no balls ”, “ you are sad, deeply sad, childhood sad, there is great sadness in your eyes ” etc., etc., etc., and the negativity just keeps steam rollering on and on, it just keeps on coming and coming, like giant waves crashing upon a serine beach, tearing it apart and depositing it’s garbage, littering what is beautiful with an ugliness that is unbefitting, yet the wellspring of understanding, desire, hope seems to be endless in it’s patience as each new day brings with it, the same old, same old as new cracks in my persona – she perceives, judges, creates and makes my reality – are put down, belittled, criticized as she, in her audacity, believes, perceives

that her creations are my realities .

These are the materials from which I should fashion the keys – if so chosen – into a solid mass, keys that would open ?, should open the prison, the cage doors in order to set my soul, my spirit, my life free. Why do I let the essence of these potential keys come at me with such force, slapping me in the face all the time, punching me in the heart with such force it breaks in two, kicking me in the ass ?

Can my love for be so strong ?, that it weakens one’s resolve to have a healthy soul, a strong spirit, weakens one’s instinct for survival. Why is it ?, that I seem unable to mold a key / keys from all the material provided, in order to unlock the doors of love’s cage, of love’s prison that have encased my heart for so long. Locked in this cage !, my heart continues to beat strong , drumming out tunes so positive, so pure, trying to drown out all the negative sounds that pound down, that surround this tired old soul, who truly wants to let go .

Can the back beat ?, all this ladies negativity towards me, be a true sound ?, or is it waves of camouflage ?, a veil of beams behind which – consciously or subconsciously – she can hide, feel safe, behind which she can avoid any involvement, any commitment, where she can keep me at arms length yet keep me close enough to comfort until another, more suitable man – a paramour – comes along ?

The creation of this man I’ve become – in her eyes – this overly flawed, overly sad, overly sensitive negative man, can it be ?, another projection ( negative image ) like the one she projected ( a positive image ) onto Mr. psycho, priest, counselor, poet, film maker, the image of flawlessness, of perfection, talent, intelligence, understanding, knowledge, etc., etc., etc. I have to wonder if we are but mirrored images of each other, like Alice, in wonderland and the other side of the looking glass – me portrayed as him and he as me – just twisted in the Ladies desire for and her desire for not. Could it be ?, that what she says she sees in me is really what she has seen in he and what I am she believes he to be .

With all my analyzing, all my hypothesizing, no enlightened answers will be forth coming, out from the darkness of her subconscious and into the light of truths, of a truth that may be laid before our eyes .

Both love and hate, desire and indifference become blinded, blinded by their very nature, for they only see, only project onto the screens of life, experiences from which their essence is distilled or enhanced by one’s psyche and their very nature / nurture, love sees through the heart’s prism, hate looks at the world through the soot and ashes of pain, desire, inspired by the glow of passion and indifference is the shadows of shallow, cold avoidance to life of and for .

How do one escape from the grips of love’s talons ?

How do one live with the knowledge there is no love for you ?

How do one stop one’s self from hanging on to the middle ground ?, -

always reaching up to meet – when the obvious is !. that there is little to no compromising and the Lady, will never reach down and touch the middle ground, for this man is beneath her evaluation, her expectation, her social station, economically and educationally .

The bottom line is – Beauty will always live on in my heart in my dreams – regardless !

B. J. “A” 2

November 16h 2008

Chapter 145

In a letter to Gail,- 8 Pages

November 19^th 2008

Because today is a great day, sun shinning and shinning company into Vancouver ( southwest first and then to English Bay ) for a lovely walk and talk and talk with a local artist, then to round out such a beautiful day, The Princess, and I went to the movies and watch Body of Lies, and then to bring the curtain down, who’s - certainly not me – to say, what ( if anything ) an encore – if there be one - may bring ?

After I read that Bill, escaped his cage, I had to wonder ?, is it possible for me to do the same ! I had to tell Moneca, about the budges’ escape, stating “ I guess Bill, had all he could take of the indifference, the rejections, the constant picking at, for Gail told me that he flew the coop ” to which she did not understand - the story or my statement – for she had forgotten that I had told her the story of your purchase of two budgies and naming them after us because their personalities, actions and reaction where so much like what she had observed of ours. Anyway Gail, Moneca, finally remembered . but that is life my Dear, and so, my birthday supper ( beef tenderloin, home fries, broccoli and cheese sauce ) was cooked by me, ate by me alone with myself for company and companionship. Later that evening, Moneca, came by with a gift ( her old digital camera ) and a home made post card - of one of her oil paintings – and staid for an hour or so of pleasant, social intercourse .

Love

Dad .

Chapter 146

In a letter to Dad,- 2 Pages

November 19^th 2008

As for the rest of my life Dad, - I see the Polish Princess, from time to time and often wonder why ?

                      Love
                                     Bill,
                                       &
                                        Melanie .

Chapter 147

In a letter to Dave,- 2 Pages

December 5^th 2008

I think Dave, - as you read through the material I have included – you will find that you are not alone, with your soul and spirit in turmoil, with your days in discord, and the disharmony of your nights haunting your dreams along with the dissatisfaction with the state of your being and life because of the choices made and those fate has laid upon our shoulders and those that karma permeates every pore of our physical, psychic and ethereal bodies with .

I will no longer, Bro., let The Polish Princess, Moneca, or this tired old body nor all of life’s negative influences, drag me into the black hole of pain and suffering, nor the abyss of depression, that an unsatisfying existence upon this plane lays at our feet. Life is difficult enough Dave, without letting these demons rule with impunity and vicious indifference to our needs, our desires, our dreams They may claw away at our souls and spirits, they may tear at our skin, they may leave scares on our psyche, scares that will remind us of ?, - but they ( for me and hopefully you as well ) – will never devour ( because of our inner strengths ) the meat, the heart of our being !!!

I am sure Dave, as you read through the shit I have written, you will see that there is a forging of a steel shield – even though, scared by many a battle – that will protect, yet still allows freedom of movement, of choice. If I choose to accept the unacceptable because I would rather have a little bit of something I want with The Princess, and maybe need ?, then so be it !, the price Bro., is worth it, for it is better then having a whole lot of nothing, especially when one realizes – from life’s beginning – that life is just to damn short and gets even more so with the passing of each waning day .

I do not know what else to say Dave, Dear, friend, brother, uncle, except, stand up for what you are able, accept what you are unable to fight for and fuck the rest .

We all have our cross’ to bear !!

You do take good care .

Love

Bill,

Melanie .

Chapter 148

In a letter to Moneca,- 2 Pages

December 19^th20^th21^sth 2008

My Dearest Moneca :

I am truly sorry that you have – once again – become angry with me because of ?, your perception of who you believe me to be as a human being, as a person, as a man, as your friend, or is it because of who I am as one of these entities or a combination of all of them ?

I have to tell you Moneca, that it is very, very hard on me to realize that nothing I am and nothing I do seems to please you or makes you happy. It troubles me deeply Moneca, to see, to hear ( from your hostile, thoughtless mouth ) that all I do and all that I am ( in your mind ), upsets you so, makes you very angry, disappoints you so, brings out the worst in you, - or is that the best of you ? – your hostility bringing to the surface, a rhetoric, diatribes’, triads, speeches that spew out nothing but ridicule, put downs, belittlements, criticisms of all men’s ( including me ) short comings, – as you perceive them – flaws, defects, warts, - negative traits that exists in all man / woman kind .

I do not know Moneca, but if you truly believe, deeply, unquestioningly, in the essence, the heart–lessness of your statements ?, all those you have laid down at my feet, pounded into my brain, of all that you think I am as a human being, as a person, as a man, as your friend, I do then have to wonder ?, -based on all that you have stated, said and say, that seems to upset you, bothers you, makes you angry, makes you unhappy, makes life for you ( in my presence ) uncomfortable – why you would bother, waste one moment on ( what you perceive to be ) the likes of me. If all that you have said, say / claim my presence does to you, makes you feel, I can understand why you feel that I do not deserve you, do not deserve to have you share one millisecond of your time with the likes of me, not a spec of your life, not a flake of your mind, not an atom, not an epithelia of your body, not a wave of you affections, not a thought of your respect, not an emotion of consideration – as I have seen and heard you give to all the other men you have been involved with, seen or are seeing. Considering, Moneca, and with all spoken / written above, I think – as much as it pains me so – that you are right in letting me go, for, it seems to me, I have brought little, to no joy into your life, little, to no happiness to your spirit and little, to no peace to your mind, so my Dear, it is time for me to let go of you too .

I know !, I realize Moneca, that I am not the brightest bulb in the pack, nor am I the sharpest knife in the drawer. I also know that I come from the wrong side of the tracks ( as far as you are concerned ), and that I do not fit in with your bourgeois attitude, your elitist mentality, your social class, your level of self worth or education. These things I know Moneca, for you have, so many times, told me so, and so I am very sorry - for I love you so, even though there is certainly no reason ( you have given me ) for me to love you – Moneca, for your words, actions and reactions - mean to me – that there is positively no place in your heart for me, no possibility for me to ever, dance with your spirit, sour with your soul, passionately lay with your being .

You deserve to enjoy all that you do Moneca, without thoughts of me – when and if ? – dragging you down into the pits of negativity, expressing to another, as you have done with me, all that troubles you about those you have been involved with. I do not want to be your pain, be a burden Moneca, and I do not want you to be my nemesis. All I ever wanted for you Moneca, and still want for you, is for you to be happy, to find joyous times, to be at peace and free form all your demons, the ghosts that keep you bound up tighter then a bongo drum. And if what it takes – as much as it saddens me – is to become invisible and this state of existence is what it takes for you to achieve my listed desires for you, to accomplish this, ( reluctantly, with a heavy heart and sad soul ) I will become the invisible man, St Elmo’s fire, Will-o'-the-wisp, a ghost in the machine, cosmic dust in the arms of solar winds, history, a flake of an experience, lost deep in the recesses of your memories hoard. All these things I will be if that is what it takes .

It is becoming more and more difficult to tolerate, - and I do tolerate ! – to endure all the feelings associated with how and what you feel, because of me Moneca, I am speaking of all the negativity that comes out of you ( verbally and physically ) because of me – so you say – rightly or wrongly and if you truly believe ( as you have stated many, many times ) that I am the problem and that letting go of me, saying goodbye is a choice that you have, then – no matter how much it will / already has hurt me, maybe even you ?, - make that choice Moneca, and do not feel bad for you will be doing me a favour – I can finally attempt to let go of all the grieving, all the pain, all the heart ache all he poems that have been an iatrical part of our relationship for these two plus years .

May all good things come to you my Dear !, all through the New Year ( 2009 ) and all those to come .

Love

Bill .

Dearest Moneca : December 20^th

I am also sorry Moneca, for, once again, putting into writing all my thoughts, all my feelings, my understandings, even though I know, that all, you will disagree with, deny or not even read and that my Dear, has become aright with me Moneca, for I have finally stopped believing in the impossible being possible, stopped hoping against all a odds, weaning myself from this impossible dream. I realize and acknowledge that you have said that you do not want any more of my writings / poems. I have come to a realization, an understanding and knowledge as to why you do not want, in writing, what I have to say about my beliefs, my experiences, my understandings. I believe Moneca, it is because – and if you are truly the all wise, all knowing, comprehending, logical, open minded intellect you claim to be, and I believe you to be – you are afraid to see and acknowledge what I see, you are afraid to know, as well as I .

Hope, Moneca, was all I had, a beautiful dream to realize, is what I carried around with me, got me through many a day for these past two and a half years only to realize now ( maybe throughout it all ) that hope was nothing more then unfulfillable dreams, dreams that have metamorphosesed into nightmares that I am unable to escape from, nightmares that will not let go of me nor let me go .

I have always known Moneca, that, – I have been just part of a game – a pawn am I, in the game that fills, that is a distraction, that provide some protection from, that clears the way, and in the end, is sacrificed, at any cost, for any reason and at any time, for the benefit of the goddess, queen and her desires for .

I realize Moneca, that I may be a one dimensional man in your eyes, from your point of view and I also believe that you want a man of many dimensions, a man you are unlikely to find in your constant search, yet you continue to search and continue to over look what is before you, in your search – the grass is greener on the other side of the fence syndrome – for that elusive illusion you have deluded yourself into believing exists out there, just waiting for you while you let reality slip through your fingers the real become dust in the wind. I do wish you lots of luck my Dear, but in listing to all your stories, for these past two plus years, it is obvious to me that you will not find what you are looking for, yet you will continue to touch the fringes of that which is not what you want. I also know Moneca, that you will not accept a man of my status – me – yet hope and the dreams have kept life flowing through these old veins of mine and has kept me on this side of life ‘

I have lived within the confines of your reality Moneca, and I have lived within the ruins of my life, for far to many a year my Dear, and so, this I say to you now, that it is not necessary for you to continue to slap me in the face with it all, almost every day that we are in contact with each other, every time you see me or every time we talk with each other .

Moneca, my Dear, there is nothing I would love better, then to say, to write, to experience much happier times with you, once again, just like those we have – from time to time – known and shared. I would also love to know a that a happy ending exists for you and for me and for the us that will never be. All I can see Moneca, is just you and just me – never the twain shall meet - there is no us !, painted into the bigger picture by you or by the hand of fate – as I see it .

These are the random thoughts my Dear, that have brought to life and to light all that lies before your eyes, upon these pages before you. The above are the ramblings of a man who has pursued the impossible for two plus years – you – but reality just kept on coming, slapping me in the face, at every turn, reality is the theme that has permeated every line in the above, the reality with you, that I have experienced !!!

Love

Bill

I have not !, nor can I be a figment of your past.

I am the here and now !, I want us to last,
to be a part of the future !, to take you to a dream,
create memories !, beautiful, lasting and serene.
All we are, all we have been, all we will be
is but a guide, a coarse, desire to be free
to ride upon the scenes, in our memories
hoard, to experience life’s serenities.
I realize, that all may come to an end and,
- one day -, I will no longer, even, be your friend.

B. J. “A” 2
December 21st 2008

Dear Moneca : December 21st 2008

I am truly sorry Moneca, that you have found cause for your decision to – once again –avoid me, ignore me, evade any contact with me, and in your mind, maybe rightly so .

I do hope that before I deliver this letter to you, you will have found it in your heart to forgive me, - your perceived -, for my transgressions. If this is not possible for you to do, I will take this opportunity to wish you a great Christmas and a fantastic New Year .

I am sorry Moneca, that I am who I am and not who you would prefer me to be, ( that is, if you prefer me to be anything for you ??? ) if I might be so bold, so presumptive .

You do take good care my Dear .

Love
Bill ,

My Dear :

If only wishing, dreams, prayers, hopes could become the essence of a desired life ?, I would want for you to transcend what you believe – and to a small degree, is – our differences, your indifference and ascend into the heights, – far above – and embrace all that we have in common – our similarities in tastes and interests and all else that could prevail, in order to bring us together – be as one in our separateness .

Intractable Dreamer

The least travelled road

I have travelled many a lone and winding road,

upon which I have carried many a burdensome load.
You have made conscious of – the life I did live
and made me realize, the strife in me, you give
life to, and I suffer through, when I become conscious,
that much, I have missed - there is you, there is me, but no us.
There seems to be no way for me to recover,
to find a way, to get up, to get out and discover
if there could be more to this life ?, for a man like me
and if there is ?, - what chance is there for me to see ?

B. J. “A” 2
December 21st 2008

The Song

Love, the theme, it’s greatness, the equalizer that brings

unsung rhymes, silent voices to the world and sings

of all that we have composed in the dark, recesses of mind

wanting a world, in turmoil, to be in a state of being kind

to all, bringing differences, indifference to understanding,

together, bringing all societies as one voice, to sing society’s song,

which has been dreamed of by all the good

men throughout history, thoughts we all should

strive to bring to life, make a part of life – if but we would

could be good men on this planet of, many hearts of wood

B. J. “A” 2

December 21st 2008

Chapter 149

A poem for Moneca,- 1 Page

December30^th 2008

Expectations ?, - Nil !

Yet, I would still love your heart to beat out a tune !,

on a soft bed of multi coloured rose petals.
I would love to feel your heart beat, midnight till noon,
so softly, sweetly, fragrantly - a bed made of precious metals
to lay upon, to play upon, to make love on, under a full moon.
I would love for your thoughts, your feeling for me to be
a hive, honey combed, filled with sweet nectar from the bee.
I would love that your feelings for me be a positive flowering,
not the negative force, souring the moment, over powering
all the good that could come, that could be the you
I would love to experience, the you I thought I knew
- believed lived beneath that mountain of stone cold
indifference to me, those walls you’ve built, standing so bold
upon the shoulders so straight, so beautiful, so strong.
For you, you are always right and I am always wrong !
That seems to be the guard, essence, the tune of your song.

B. J. “A” 2

December 30th 2008

A letter for Moneca,- 1 Page

Dearest Moneca : December 31^st 2008

Happy New Year Moneca, !, and to you too Mat. The witching hour will soon be upon us, the end of two thousand and eighties is near, two thousand and nine will bring nothing new – I fear - as I watch history being born and the rest, becoming nothing more then a memory stored .

May the New Year bring with it the power to bring your dreams to fruition, to see them fulfilled, meet all of your expectations and if nothing else, give to you what you need, if not what you want .

Thank you my Dear, Moneca, for bringing over a Christmas supper – it was good, even thought empty of, and even if alone, on my own it was consumed and savored, it was done so with delight and the thought of .

What ever you have in store for New Years ?, you and Mat, enjoy this Christmas, bubbly libation, that never got to see the light and to be used to toast the season, and each other, because your other plans got in the way as they did again for this New Years Eve., even though you knew, long ago, what I had in mind for us this season. Preferences are in the heart of the choices you make and your choices for this season clearly indicate were your heart is at, with whom and whom not Che sara sara .

Happy New Year !!!

Love

Bill,

Chapter 150

A poem for Moneca,- 1 Page

January 4th 2009

Where is your heart ?

Do you know ?, - my love – wants to reach in

to caress the soft side of your heart.

I do know – from you – the men, the sin,

what you feel, where it had it’s start.

From time to time you have stated – “ life is to short ”

yet – with me – you let it slip by, I am nothing, but sport ?,

a game you play for your amusement, for your satisfaction ?

Love is a force derived from sincerity – positive action.

Friendship is the expression of that sincerity

and lives on in a world of crystal clarity !

Oh !, how I have wished that the surfaces we have shared

could have been crystal clear, deep as outer space.

Oh !, how I have wished that you would have truly cared

much, much more and wanted me to fill a special place

- in the hollow spaces of that hardened heart of yours –

behind all of your locked, steel doors.

B. J. “A” 2

January 4th 2009

Chapter 151

In a letter to Joyce,- 2 Pages

January 6th 2009

I wish I could write that my love life, my emotional life was unscathed by the hands that have ruled, but I can not Joyce, for I do believe that her writings, that are scrawled all over my walls, tell the story of finality, of endings .

The Polish Princess - Moneca – has, once again, settled into her state of avoidance, of ignoring me, being very curt with me on the phone during my last two occasion I called, along with a half hearted wave - in response to my waving at her as we where passing each other – without looking at me as she drove right on by my stopped car, window down to facilitate communication, in our underground parking lot. There is a message of some sort ?, in her actions, Joyce. Anyway my Dear, regardless of where she is at or what she is up to – based on all that I have experienced and endured with her, from her, especially lately, I have come to the decision – as I am sure you have seen and read in my rhymes, and letters to you – to give in to her agenda, her precepts and accept the fate she has laid before my feet – that indicates I have accepted, what for me ( for the past two years, six months ), has been unacceptable, intolerable in belief, but, obviously not in practice. I realize, I am sure I have always known, that I am not a person, a man that could ever capture her heart, could ever win her over and so my Dear, I am trying so heard to let go of the dream Joyce, and am resigning myself to living my life on my own and all alone. Of coarse, there may be a time or two, from time to time, when there may come a brief interlude where social and physical intercourse might permeate fleeting moments of my journeys remaining days.

So much for the soap opera that is my life Joyce, maybe the days of this New Year will allow for some peace of mind .

Love

                                     Bill,
                                  &
                                        Melanie .

Chapter 152

Poems to Moneca,- 2 Pages

January 10th 2009

Endings ? – I do believe .

There is this great, growing, emptiness, filling my soul, –

permeating every fiber, every beat

( pounding away at my heart ) –

it’s oppressive weight, bearing down, collapsing my spirit.

There is this gigantic hole, where my life used to be –

an abyss, a black hole from which there is no escaping

the obvious – I no longer ( if ever ) hold a place of any

importance, of any relevance of any meaning.

= My spirit knows the tunes, hears the music.

My soul wants, so much, to dance, to romance. =

A will-o-wisp am I, among the shadows,

cast upon this plane you and I have traversed.

My days, my nights, my hours, my minutes

but hollow places.

Thoughts, feelings, visions, memories,

all echo throughout these empty spaces.

Once again, you have slipped into your silent mode –

me you try and avoid, once more , to me become cold.

I keep my distance, so as not to anger, to upset you

and will, until you have a change of heart – this I do,

because my love for you will keep me at bay

until what troubles you ?, takes wing and flies away.

Until then – I patiently await the coming of that day.

Until then – I will reluctantly stay out of your way.

Until then – I will look to the heavens and pray

that my thoughts, my feelings, my beliefs will stay

within the realms of possibility and of love

upon white wings of peace – you know ?, the dove

who carries - hope for all the wars – far above

all that seems to be burning down the house of LOVE.

These, my words, my Dear, I fear, you may never hear !

This poor attempt at rhyme – may be a waste of my time !

This spirit no longer flying, believe me !, I am not lying !

These lines, you’d say are “ silly, isn’t that like you Billy ”

ring in my head, the latest adjective telling me I am dead !

Another negative put down, of this foolish old clown,

and his attempts at expressing, -

the physical, mental, intellectual – his rambling.

B. J. “A” 2

January 10th 2009

Chapter 153

Poems to Moneca,- 2 Pages

January 11th 2009

The disappearing Shadow

This Shadow, walked into the twilight of the Son’s days
accompanying her into the dawning – enlightening ways.
This year, the Shadow, became smaller and smaller
as the Son, in strength, grew, her stature, taller.
At the noon hour of her strength, confidence and power,
the Shadow, disappeared beneath her feet that hour.
( Soon it will be high noon, and Son, will reach her zenith,
then the Shadow, fades, disappears, vanishes beneath ? )
Bright and beautiful light from this Son, will shine,
the Shadow, realizing, never on him, nor will it be mine.
Clouds – from time to time –have blanketed the Shadow,
and have made of him, one confused and unhappy fellow.
Can the Shadow - , like a phoenix rising, climb above
what put him down, made him a clown, - touch Love.
The one that has – for two and a half years – said no
to the love, Shadow, offered, gave and has shown so,
with actions, with words, with reactions – where’d she go
and with whom, what more does Shadow, need to know ?

B. J. “A” 2
January 11th 2009

Chapter 154

A letter / poems to Moneca,- 8 Pages

January 18th 2009

Dearest Moneca :

I know Moneca, and so I promise you that these will be the last words I will write – of my thoughts and feelings – that will come before your eyes. I promise !

I do not know Moneca, nor do I understand why you are – once again – shutting me out, avoiding me but I am sure that – in your mind – you have your reasons, your excuses .

I know Moneca, that when you took a part of your history and transferred ruminants, flakes of your past, from VCR tape to DVD disk, it brought back a lot of memories and feelings, disappointments and emotions that, as you edited these tapes – re-experiencing times and places that you can no longer reach out to nor touch, except in memory and on these tapes / disk – it brought a sadness ( thoughts of a life now lost ) into your present and future .

I know that with the loss of a great deal of your money - your future security - it brought with it doubts, insecurities and stress that created sadness and a feeling of hopelessness that has left a big hole in your future .

I know Moneca, that the memories of a time – Christmases long ago and far away – and a place – Poland ( home family and friends ) and your childhood, mother, youth and young adulthood – that is but a ghostly image of it’s former self - and the past that can never reach out, comfort - in it’s moments of good times – and become parts of your present, nor fragments of your future. All that once brought you happiness seems not to touch you here on the shores of this world you now inhabit – Canada, British Columbia and it’s people – and seems to give little satisfaction, little pleasure, little to look forward to as you have walked and walk this plane with many by your side, at your side, but only a select few – one or two – on your arm or you on theirs for a moment but they never seem to make the grade or last very long. And so Moneca, I do believe that all the above has contributed to bringing you down and like so many of us on this planet, I believe that you too find Christmas time one that brings with it, more unhappiness then it does happiness and the proof is in the pudding when there are more suicides at this time of year then any other.

As I said Moneca, in paragraph two of page one “ I do not know Moneca, nor do I understand why you are – once again – shutting me out, avoiding me ” I have to wonder if, besides me, some of or all of the above has been a contributing factor as to why I have been locked out, shut out – am on the outside of your door, still knocking, still looking to be invited in .

Look Moneca, as much as I would have loved to have been by your side, to have comforted and consoled you during your troubled times in Poland, when your dad did all that he did to you, how he made you feel, – just like in days of old and your childhood / young adulthood as well as throughout your life – to hold you in my arms, to defend you against his negativity and verbal attracts / abuse, to support you in your times of need but most of all to have enjoyed the adventure as I did on our cross Canada adventure, a life time ago ! I am sorry that I could not do and could not be for I was not there Moneca, and if I have not been there for you - here for you – during anyone of the afore mentioned moments or any other for that matter, please fore give me for my ineptitudes, for not being there for you, for not being as perceptive as I should have been, as the man who loves you still – in spite of - and as the man who has been, is, and always will be your friend no matter what you feel or think or do .

I can not say for sure Moneca, because I just do not know if you ever cared or cared enough about me, but I – without seeming to sound egotistical – believe that your disappointments are with me and I may have contributed to the current state of mind you are in – at least with me, for that is all that I see – that I believe has come on the heels of much disillusionment, disappointment, much frustration that you have experienced throughout much of your short lived life. I must say Moneca, that, if I am in anyway, a contributing factor or am totally responsible for the essence of this, my hypotheses, my speculation, this hypothetical equation that shows the state of mind that I believe you to be in, then please forgive me Moneca, for I know not what I had done – this time – that has, for the third time in as many months, given you reason or excuse to shut me out, to avoid me, to want not to talk to me or be with me .

Before I carry on Moneca, for I surely will, now that I am on a roll, please find enclosed the thirty five dollars I paid for the little statuette of the upper half of a man – representing his heart and mind – who is supporting, lifting towards the heavens the lady of his desire, his dreams so that she may spread her wings and fly high above all the concerns she has for what the lower half of that man might bring to the relationship. I believe Moneca, that you do not like this Christmas gift nor appreciate it as you did not, the one I got you last Christmas and so you may return it to me any time and by any means that suits you and with the money, buy yourself something more to your tastes and liking .

MERRY CHRISTMAS !

All that I have ever wanted Moneca, so much !, was for my love, my desire for you, to bring much happiness into your life, to bring an ecstasy to you, the likes of which you have never experienced or known before, not to bring into your life all the anger, all the hostility, the upsetness, the disappointments I have been made to feel are attributed to me and are of my making. All this has lead to all the sadness, all the emptiness, all the unhappiness, all the letters, all the poems that have come from all I feel I have done and have not done that seems to have created these experiences .

Love

Bill

What I wanted !- What I got !

I wanted so much from you Moneca, my Dear,

your heart, passion, soul, your love without fear.

I always knew- for me – it wasn’t in you to give,

to accept me, consider me - with this I have to live.

I also knew, that for you, I am just above nothing,

nothing in the way of a man you’d be desiring

and in your heart, your soul – for me there is no fire

no flames to ignite – except for my funeral pyre.

I know, that somehow, I will have to let you go.

How to do so ?, I have to tell you, I do not know

for you are burned so deeply into this old heart.

To set free, get you out of me, I know not were to start.

You set fires, and lights flashing under me.

You opened my eyes once more, to let me see

and grow – now it feels, you have set me free

and with me, no longer want to be.

I remember the very first time I took you to dance,

A spontaneous act I thought might lead to romance.

That moment, experience clearly stated “ not a chance ”.

From the first, many moments that could have been, lost

for me, it has been of heartbreaking, horrendous cost.

For it has all come to not, nothing has come to fruition

as my beliefs, my desires – all lived without intuition.

I though I knew and had an understanding of you.

I wanted so much for my love to be, so you too

could get passed all that life, fate, karma never gave

and to know Moneca, that with me to the grave,

you will be special, all ways and always in my mind.

A lady like you – I am not likely to ever again find.

I live with all my failures and with your indifference.

I live with the regret that I was unable to fill all

the empty spaces in your life with what you needed.

I am sorry that I had no frame or reference,

no mentor, no higher power upon which to call.

I am sorry that I had not seen, had not heeded

your messages, lived up to be the man you looked for

and truly sorry, I am now on the outside of your door.

I truly wish Moneca, that I had made you feel special,

that I would have been able to have brought you through

and past all that has been the forces that closed you up.

I am truly sorry that you never would see in me

the capacity for being the man you wanted me to be.

I can not extricate you from my thoughts, my mind.

It seems you have been in my heart for all of time,

having permeated my life today and all my lives gone,

by the way, seems to be the lyrics of my melancholy song.

I was totally locked into you from the first time we met,

the day your beauty’s graced these eyes and yet

five years slipped by, with but a few words, and now

I feel, my time has run out, my life’s clock has stopped

ticking, you have let it run down and I do not know how

to rejuvenate, rewind, bring back time that was dropped.

I am sorry that I did not give to you, all that I wanted

to share with you, all that this life of mine could offer.

I know Moneca, as long as I hang on to the memories,

the experiences I have enjoyed with you, my soul will die,

a little with the passing of each and every day,

until there is nothing left, as you and I fade away,

being nothing more then names in my books of history,

and the waning light, in the emptiness of that great night

that becomes loss, the eraser of this life and consciousness

You know Moneca, I will love you until end days,

be your friend, carry you within my heart always,

toughing my soul until we step from this plane

and onto others, and as pure light, us twain

shall travel as great waves, as sonic vibrations

through, to all unknown dimensions

that surround us, you being a part of me.

This I tell you Monica, for it will be - for all eternity !

These scraps, these specks, these flakes of my thought,

my feelings Moneca, are at an end, this is all I’ve got !

I apologize for anything written that may not

represent all the facts or some truth.

I realize that you may perceive me as uncouth.

Know my Dear, that I will no longer bore or trouble you.

Love

Bill,

B. J. “A” 2

January 18th 2009

Chapter 155

A Poem to Moneca,- 1 Page

January 18th 2009

Cathartic

The pernicious nature of you psyche,

a keen weapon, you so often used on me

How will I ever get past all that I feel ?

How to make my heart into cold, gray steel ?

Loving you offered not – but a dead, end road.

Loving you has become a heartbreaking, heavy load.

No adventures to take - a journey out of one’s self,

travelling into the heart and soul of another’s Elf,

self – this you have made so clear and I always knew,

yet I fell so hard, I fell so longingly, in love with you.

You took my spirit, my breath away !

I did, willingly, walk upon danger’s highway,

now, nothing more then a forgotten byway

am I, a flake, floating in space - I do believe,

behind, you now and forever leave

me in this bleak and cathartic state,

leaving me to accept my fate.

B. J. “A” 2

Janurary 18^th 2009

Chapter 156

A letter / poem to Moneca,-2 Pages

January 25th 2009

To Forget

I hope that you know Moneca, in a New York heartbeat, I would forget every negative word, ever negative act, ever negative reaction, every rejective gesture, ever pain filled moment that has built the foundations upon which you and I – for far to much of us – have existed and are the bases for all my speculations, all my assumptions, for all the hypotheses I have stated in poems, in prose and in much of my conversations. Know Moneca, that none of it carries any weight, except in the ink that has been laid upon all those pages of cathartic expression, that have come before you. I also want you to know my Dear, that I would not hesitate to, I would love to walk across the threads of, the fabric of time, walk among the lights of history, swim upon the waves and energies of love’s oceans – all these, I would love to do, with you, as my positive flows with your negative, my light dances with the shadows in your darkness, my warmth, blankets all the coldness in your world, to have your water quench all my thirsts, for you be the strength to all my nakedness, to be the love that takes the hand of my love and fly high above all that you have placed in the way of an us .

I think you know Moneca, that one has to accept the fact that they have daemons before they can face them, in order to battle them, set them free, which in turn, sets themselves free and, as for me Moneca, all that I have written, all I write, all my words are but my cathartic annalists, my shaman healers, my exorcists. They all have helped me, made it possible to accept the reality you have written and continue to write.

They help me make it though the day, make it through the night .

Never intended

I never intended to be the source of what made you feel bad.

I never, ever wanted to be the one who made you sad.

I only, ever, wanted to be all of, what you never had,

the man who loved you, Dear,

the man you never had to fear.

I have looked all around, into the reflections of life.

Into the mirrors, I see – your words cut like a knife.

I followed along, as you created the rule

by which we would play, the relation game.

I think ?, by doing so, I was a big fool,

a fool by look, a fool by any other name.

With you, I wanted so much, much more !,

but cleaver, conniving, shrewd, you, closed the door.

Upon the wings, upon the strengths of my love,

it was not only conceivable, it was possible to rise above

this roller coaster ride, this merry-go-round

that, on many occasion, kept me low, kept me down.

I would have put my life on the line.

Anywhere, and at any time,

looking for that rhyme,

that reason to see life so sublime.

Now, you are yours, and me, mine.

Together, never a mountain to climb !

B. J. “A” 2

January 26th 2009

Chapter 157

In a letter to Joyce,-! Page

January 27th 2009

First, find enclosed four sheets of lasered copies photos – the first page is of my birthday and the events that took place with the Princess, the second page is of the time we spent a number of quality hours together and the third page is of Christmas eve, afternoon when Moneca, dropped off my Christmas present – her son’s old laptop computer – and a Christmas supper that I ate alone .

Love

Bill,

Melanie .

Chapter 158

A poem for Moneca,-1 Page

January 27th 2009

In passing on

I fear not – the shadows, the blackness of death
nor the scythe, in the hands of the Grim Reaper.
What I do fear is the loss of Life’s, breath
as days linger on, dragging me, reluctantly, ever deeper
into the depths of emptiness, as Life, retreats.
She, leaves me on my own, all alone, seldom meets
with me, on the solid ground of equality,
leaving me to feel that my life is but frivolity.

Many times, I have come before St Peter’s gate.
Arm wrestling with the Grim Reaper, seems, my fate.
Death may be kinder, then what you, sometimes, state.
I realize that among men, - poorly – me you do rate
and all I am, who I am – against you do grate.
I do wonder ?, if I am truly – for you an aggravation
or is all I have experienced, figments of my imagination ?
Is it possible you could rise above ?
With me, find true love ?

DREAM ON FOOLISH BOY !

B. J. “A” 2

January 30^th 2009

Chapter 159

A poem for Moneca,-! Page

February 1^st 2009

Valentines

Soon - upon us, a day for Valentine.

Realization – it, you will never be mine.

Knowing – you want me, not to be yours.

Conclusion – you have closed all your doors

on the love I have for you, gave to you.

It seems to matter not, for nothing I do,

it seems to me – had the force to get through,

slip past the guards, over the stone walls, that gate.

To be your Valentines – I believe – not to be my fate.

I do not know – at this moment – whether or not, it is hate

that drives you so – is it hate that keeps you from me ?,

or is it some other emotion ?, I am unable to see.

It seems to me, no matter what, for you, I will not be

your Valentine, nor, with you, will I be any time

soon, and so, at this noon hour, I will end this rhyme,

wanting – still ! – for you to be my Valentine.

B. J. “A” 2

February 1st 2009

Chapter 160

A poem for Moneca,-3 Pages

February 2^nd 2009

A perilous flight

I do so want to take wing and fly so high with you.

At every attempt, you took the opportunity, clipped my wings
until not a feather – nothing but flesh on pinions that do
not give flight to dreams, – no feathers – on air, sings
not the pulchritudinous songs of eternal, blissful love
nor are able to carry the hopeless romantic above
the grounding that your world of indifference makes
nor give life to the heart, spirit, soul that it takes.

Your reality – my Dear, - has been a very harsh sight
for this one – loving you as I do, has been quite a fight
in order to maintain some semblance of dignity,
knowing that nothing would bring you closer to me,
in any meaningful, deep, relevant, passionate, loving way
and so here I stand – irrelevant – on the outside, every day,
watching, feeling you step backwards, ever further away
from where I wanted to take you – to always be
your other half, everything in my dreams – I’d see
visions dancing across inner screens, - lids of my eyes, -
visions of your naked beauty, floating in heaven’s skies
far above the mask, the veneer, the façade, the lies
I know are but the truths of who you are, of your soul
that believes that every thing I will ever know
comes at me from the heart of belief in a truth
that at this man, believed to be so uncouth,
who has lost out !, because decades ago – lost his youth.

I have walked within your shadow for so long –
becoming an intricate part of it – it’s become my song
“ it is you, it is me, it is what could have made a we ”,
in your heart, in your world, would never be !
I have also walked in the light, casting my own shadow,
but none of this, do you ever care to know.
I know !, we share much in the way of thought,
much in the way of tastes, beliefs, experiences - you not !,
for you believe, with me, nothing in common doth show

nothing with me do you want to touch, or places to go.

For me, with you, nothing much,
I do believe – these my thoughts, as such !

Walking beneath your shadow – sometime – was a trying

experience, sometimes it left me in tears – crying !

Walking with your shadow, at times, was a beautiful

experience, I will cherish for all eternity, my life was full.

Walking in the light of the sun – together- side

by side, shadows entwined, dancing, sharing – nothing to hide

would be most illuminating, a most satisfying a ride.

These days, the light hides, as do we and our shadows.

Time seems to have unraveled the dance of our shadows,

as for me, there seems to be – only empty spaces,

not an image greets these eyes – of your many faces

and it seems to me, we will not be going places,

any place together that is – journeys, adventures, walks
and now – I do believe – there will be no more talks.

What ever it was that has brought us to this place,
me Dear, remember this, I will never forget your face !

B. J. “A” 2
February 2nd 2009

Chapter 161

A poem for Moneca,-1 Page

February 4^th 2009

Offal

As a member, a tiny speck, in and of this species,

a mountainous pile - I do feel ( of human feces ) –
is - so many, many times – how I am made to feel.
Are the words, the thoughts, the feelings really real
and are what is thought of, as the essence of this one,
or could this be a way, a game you play for fun ?
I wonder ?, if I am thought of as an old fool !,
or considered nothing more than a large stool !

Upon your social ladder – for me – not a rung
by which I might stand equal or above.
Upon a heap – I seem to stand – of human dung
that keeps me at arms length – from finding love.

With me, you seem to freeze,

sending a cold and cruel breeze
that I am conscious of – you believe I am slow
because of what I do not say – believing I do not know.

B. J. “A” 2
February 4th 2009

B.J."A" 2 - An Old Soul

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