The unborn dreams of a fertilization – 1942
A long journey – A long lived nightmare
The
journey begins without knowledge, just passion.
Life
emerges, fights against the prodding at childhood.
The
nightmare begins with a stabbing at their creation,
by
father, by mothers encouragement, to remove any traces
of
their knowledge less innocence, their youthful passion.
Weapons
of choice, – to destroy – ( depending ) a blue pill,
a
steal coat hanger searching out the embryo that lays
in
the semi darkness of its haunted , molested cave,
where
its subconscious essence, its protective shell
has
been tainted by experiencing constant intrusions
from
an unwanted, swollen cylinder, of flesh and blood.
This
life, red flowing through blue tubed has to negotiate
this
tunnel of darkness, shades of black, clouds that shroud,
in
hopes of sliding through this miracle mile, on its way
to
feel, to see, to touch, to know the light of day
after
a long, nine month troubled stay
in
this place of unwanted, unwelcomed occupancy - GO AWAY.
A
child’s nightmare, becomes the unwanted dreams of the man.
And
now that a new kind of light surrounds this old soul,
the
child begins to know another kind of nightmare – Fate.
As
the child’s mind walks among the haunted trees,
–
through the ghostly forests of life’s experiences -
nightmares,
dreams, thoughts, questions abound.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
a fall, from seven feet -at two years of age – into the light,
straight
down, head first, striking my head on the cement floor.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
my Grandfather, finds me drowning at the bottom of our well,
at
two years of age, he pulls the baby from where he fell.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
my Grandmother, blood poison did know,
observed
a red line from my belly down to my big toe.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge,
once
again, this life saved so that it could grow
even
as allergy to penicillin could not kill, and so,
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
death was averted, once again, by hospital staff and doctor,
the
journey goes on, the Grim Reaper cannot, yet, close the door.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge,
at
fourteen, brother uncle, “ boy you are hot ” he said
as
we lay side by side, under his fifty five Ford, head to head.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
he tells me to take my temperature – 106 – you are dead ?,
why
are you still hear, with us instead.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
I – in my nineteenth year – roll over, twice, my fifty three
Mercury
two door hard top that we left up against a tree.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
seven boys unhurt and me going out the door,
my
feet on the door, pushes me back in as it rolls once more.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and
who knows ?, which side one will end up on
as
we all survived, unscathed, my Poor Mercury, gone !
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and
it is nineteen sixty nine, twenty seven light years
have
slipped by in the blink of an eye, filled with tears.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and
wonder ?, what coloured the this life’s forces,
what
is behind the curtains ?, that direct my courses.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
a diesel engine comes out of the wilderness,
striking,
destroying in early morning’s darkness.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
my sixty seven Mercury Comet convertible was killed,
leaving
me to live on and my life, with adventures, to be filled
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
the 3rd month, the 13th day, of 1973 did show.
For
the powers that be, Fate ?, Karma ?, did not let me go.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
the fetus, the baby, the young man, now thirty one
finds
that his journey upon this plane is not yet done.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
the Nith River let him go, him, it could not hold
and
yet the rest of this story needs to be told.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as I escaped the clutches of the raging, Nith river
as I escaped the clutches of the raging, Nith river
but
not Rea, the Grand captured him, would not deliver.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
Until,
weeks later, the Grand subsided and gave up my friend.
I
had to identify and knew that, that was another end.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and
all the arm wrestling matches with the Grim Reaper,
this
poem, and my memories hoard could not be a keeper.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and
so we come to July 18th 1997 and the light go out
after
shining so brightly, for fifty five years, what that about ?
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and
the rupture of a mid-brain basilar aneurysm
puts
my consciousness into the blackness of a chasm.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and
cannot, will not keep this old fool down
as
he tries to come back to conscious ground.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
the procedure to save was cancelled, due
to
the burning out of a forty thousand tube.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
as
months later, I go back for the procedure
only
to have the neuro radiologist re rupture.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
of
life or death, a forgone conclusion, a journey for all,
but
I wonder why it is that I keep missing the call.
Fate
?, Karma ?, life seems to, always be on the edge
and
I wonder if the powers that be, not only want me
to
suffer on this plane ?, but to suffer for a long. long time.
Life
on the edge would certainly become a novel,
if
I included all the chapters of my life’s journey
and
the many dark places creating my nightmares.
Life
on the edge would certainly become a novel,
if
I included all the chapters of my life’s journey
and
the many bright, glowing spaces that filled my dreams.
Life
on the edge would certainly become a novel,
if
I included all the chapters of my life’s journey,
extracted
from the subconscious, inebriated mind.
Life
on the edge would certainly become a novel,
if
I included all the chapters of my life’s journey
from
that of an old soul, from pure consciousness
to
egg and sperm colliding, to embryo, to fetus,
to
that of a baby, a child, youth, a teenager,
a
young adult, a middle aged man, this old man
who
has walked the walk of the living and the dead
with
ghostly shadows floating in night time forests
blanketed
by sheets of blackness, permeated with flakes,
specks
of light from distant planets, long lost stars,
forgotten
lives, as the reflective moon, on high,
tries
to shed light upon the nightly shadows,
brighten
the edges of all the black clouds
that
fill all the empty spaces above the tree tops.
Life
on the edge – I have been tripping – have gotten up,
have
fallen from grace, yet stands up to face adversity,
have
been trapped, yet set myself free, been lost
yet
have found my way back to myself.
Life
on the edge – time reveals all, all the efforts,
all
the accomplishments, all the failures, the defeats,
and
all the losses become weightless in the light,
of
an old man who sits alone, on his own locked up
in
the cage of his own design, his own making
as
nightmares continue to haunt - to the end of his journey.
Life
on the edge – has been sharp, dull, keen without tears,
in
spite of all that life, fate, karma, choice have lain upon
the
experiences this old soul has suffered, endured, enjoyed
and
yet the dreams of this child – before and after he became –
still
linger on in the fading embers of his life’s journey
even
if they are but ashes blown by cold cruel winds
putting
out the raging fires that once lit up the skies
and
wormed the heaven and the hearts of a few mortal women.
Life
on the edge – of this plane, this dimension, this universe –
can
it really be as we see it ?, is it karma ?, is it fate ?, is it design ?
Does
history repeat itself ?, does it come back to haunt us ?,
in
another time, in another place, in a different space.
Life
on the edge – next time around – will be a prayer
to
never, ever have to live on the edge again,
to
know no more emotional pain, no poverty of heart, soul,
the
stupidity and thoughtlessness of those in control,
those
in the know, of the nature of this old man
who
has shown – specks, flakes of light, light that has
burned
so bright, has flickered, has long since taken flight.
B. J. “A” 2
March 10th 2004
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