Summer Memories

Summer Realities

 This, the first day of summer, two thousand and two, finds me,

slipping back into what once was my desire, my need, my reality.

This step back into, and into times passed, has allowed me to touch,

to feel, to re-experience – for a moment, to a degree – my all time,

favorite sport – sunbathing. A sport I once played in all my glory

– my birthday suit – with such joy and total freedom,

beneath blue skies, high above the mighty meandering Grand

or alongside it’s river banks, silent winds, a breeze, rustling the leaves

of many shading trees, of many a cornstalk, a million blades of grass

beneath the heavens, beneath my feet, beneath my naked body,

golden brown laying in the noiseless sound of Mother Nature,

all Her, creatures, large and small, invisible, one and all,

except to the mind’s eye and ear, as the pleasures of hypnotizing music,

the sweet taste of mother natures grass, the glowing nectar of sparkling grape

that could take one on a journey, away from or into, dependent upon

the destination, the ticket you purchased would carry you.

For me, the journeys were upon the black leather of my red motor cycle,

upon the black leather of my black Bird of Thunder, her wings spread,

her top down, that great, platinum, glowing orb, hanging on high,

above this little  planet, wearing it’s great, bright blue shroud,

opened to expose the light shining down upon her nakedness,

showering down upon me, in mine, on our journeys through time,

through space, with his – Heloise’s – healing rays as I drive, as I ride

over, upon those black ribbons that wrap themselves around

Mother Earth and the back roads of southern Ontario, in the

Counties of Brant, of Wentworth, of Norfolk and others as well.

This is a sport I played – as I laid – from north to south,

from coast to coast, even, out into the ocean deep,

– on an island of coarse – on mountain tops, on sand dunes.

This sport I played, on the shores of all five Great Lakes,

on the beaches of Florida, of Mexico, of California,

of British Columbia, the last place, the last time I sported

my birthday suit in public before hanging it up

behind closed doors for more years than I care to remember.

Today, along with a few more that followed, during two weeks,

I took the opportunity, – covered of coarse, in my red and black loin cloth -

to lie beneath that burning orb in the deep blue sky and tried to recapture

the essence of those feelings, those desires of long ago and far away

- of what was and I still would like to be -, that will always remain

a part of my psyche, even though all the changes – no more noiseless sounds,

for they have been drowned out, polluted by screaming tires as they tear up

those black ribbons of death, as those combustion engines ( the driving force )

cry out in pain from friction as they pass by my horizontal frame looking for,

but hearing not, all that once was hearable, all that was beautiful in nature’s noise

–  that have left me longing for that time, left me as empty as a dried up lake.

A lone bird cry’s out it’s muffled song, a note or two where once was a chorus,

a full-fledged opera now reduced to a mumbling, meaningless sound,

a sound drowned out by the sounds of  traffic, traffic from our attempt

to escape our closed in, modern life style of constant motion.

 

Those sweet smells, clean and clear are lost by the cremation of decaying,

remains of once living organisms that inhabited this planet.

They are now – in death – permeating, with pollutants, the nostrils, the lungs,

the air Mother Earth and all upon her back, inhale.

 

The peace, once known, - in rivers flow, upon its banks, in Mother Natures flow,

on my motor cycle, in my black Bird – for this old man has almost evaporated.

The grass, the wine, the music, the camaraderie, the clean air, those silent sounds

have almost become extinct, fading into memories hoard, to be stored, forever more.

All that seems to be left - from the origins of these thoughts – is that silver orb,

still radiating down upon, but with more intensity and less glory and peace.

Only the music carries on as before, seems to remains the same,

at least to these ears, this heart, the old soul of this lone traveller.

Maybe the music has change ?, maybe for the better ?, maybe not ?

Could it be just perception ?, or has all lost its glory ?, its fire ?,

its passion ?, its glow ?, all I thought I did know in an earlier age.

Is it all in the mind of this old man ?, who still remembers that age,

the music, music still providing a refuge, companionship

and comfort during the hours, in the passing of time .

 

Thoughts about

 

The games in life, that one plays for his / her audience, are games perceived

- usually – by the recipient and sometimes by an observer, but to the player,

it is not a game at all, it is life’s essence needing to survive, to know.

I have no answer, nor am I the answer, I am just the lender of an ear,

to hear, a shoulder to lean on, to cry on - at least I think ?

all I have to offer is a helping hand, a willingness to listen.

Beyond that, you have the answers, you are the answer.

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Oh !!!, to once again touch some of the personalities

that walked into and out of,  leaving flacks, specks, stardust

upon my moments, became a part of my reality in days long ago.

Those life’s experiences that are not, but distant memories

drifting in and out of my memories hoard, past my minds eye

 

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Daydreams, revere and their dreams of, have become buried

beneath layers and layers of film, film that has been deposited

upon them as the years, once flowing freely, have become stagnant

pools, filled with life’s, death filled experiences, - doubts, self-doubts,

insecurities, fears – experiences that once allowed the poisonous

debris to harmlessly drift by - during those days of one’s past -,

not to get caught up in, become a part of the all that settles upon,

weighs down, dampens and distorts the light into and out from

so that these stagnant pools only reflect – like smoked mirrors –

ghostly apparitions that are but black and lifeless.

 

B. J. “A” 2

June 22^nd 2002