Friday, February 27, 2015


Shirley, BEEEEE You !!!

This days light, has come to a glorious end,
with it, it brought some memories of a friend.
Lady Snow, was belting out – whispering  in my ears
of days winging by – memories , experiences of bygone years.
 
 
I have reached in deep – knowing – I created your tears
as your world of doubts, of insecurities, of fears
hung onto a desire for me – for my passions fires
fires that have lead me to beds and to funeral pyres
 
 
upon which I have burned and burned, yet never learned
to be compassionate, empathetic for the passions earned.
Only for the touch, the feel, a fleshy meal I yearned
for, a talking in tongues to that deliciously sweet pink
 
 
- Mother earth laying beneath a furry, forest floor – and think
of all who gave, all who needed, and realize !, to my grave, a fink.
I, sometimes wonder ?, about all those who gave much to me’
I wonder what they feel ?, – think – if at all and what they see
 
 
in what once was- that made up the moments of what would be,
now nothing more than experiences committed to memories hoard
where they are all stored - in remembering, would they be boars ?
Some will remember, some will forget, some will deeply bury.
 
 
I am left, can only wonder ?, - in the end - will they carry
fragments, flakes of my soul, my spirit, me, with them to their end.
Will they ever wonder ?, will they ever know ?, I was just a friend
or will they see me as empty to them now as I was empty to them
 
 
so long ago, a time of once shared intimacies and fun, when
we were so care free, before we moved on to things different,
and new for me and you and what we once had, was sent
into the caves of history for which there would be no rent.


I do wonder what was in your mind, what you were able to find ?,
as you thought of me, did you find that I was very seldom kind?
For all these many years – tears for what was left behind
- all of life’s pleasures, with – all, from time to time, fill my mind !
 
B. J. “A ” 2
February 18th 2006

Miss Poetry
E. P. J.

E. P. J. – a cousin – forth removed, of mine,
who lived in long-ago days – a different time –
who created a world for herself, beginning with rhyme
that took her from the obscure and into places sublime.
 
E. P. J., was a woman – before her time – with many a hue.
E. P. J., was once, a woman many, many thousands knew.
E. P. J., today, is known by very, very few.
E. P. Js., spirit – in March of 1913 – took wing and flew
to a world / plane beyond the lonely hours, the excruciating pain.
To a world beyond – to the Happy Hunting Ground – to gain
greater insight and freedom from a life filled with the strain
of adventures lost, enlightenment for many, a heart filled with rain
as she cries – within – for all the losses, only memories remain
to tell us of a woman who was far ahead of her time.
 
Now told to us in prose, in biographies, in rhyme.
 
B. J. “A ” 2
February 13th 2006

The Dues I Pay
 
There are so many hues in the colour gray.
That colour fills – are dues I must pay
for how I have lived – my used up day
upon this plane – a misty cover to stay
mist filled eyes projecting a desire to say,
“ I am sorry ” to all, for ? and want to pray
that all I have done wrong will not fray
the edges of this scene, in which I play
- for three score and ten – my part - my way
guided by the Stars ?, Mars ?, Musical bars.
By those who influenced ?, my business in cars ?
Now all my days - in grays – direct me – lost
to all that once had meaning, feeling – at what cost ?
A soulless spirit that roams the passages of time, frost
on his shoulders, ice in his veins.
that is all, of this soul, that remains
 
B. J. “A ” 2
February 13th 2006

Thursday, February 26, 2015


An old man’s Dream

I have this dream – no !, a burning desire
to be with a woman willing to light my fire.
- Not as in the past – placed on a funeral pyre,
there to be left on my own, left alone to expire.
 
A woman I can touch, feel, I can reach in,
deep, into her heart, into her soul, know exquisite sin.
To experience, to express, to know where she has bin ?
Not superficiality, not what’s behind of a veil so thin.
 
Ah, but to know the depths, to know the heights
she has reached – to know that the lights
burn bright and there is nothing in sight,
that, in the end, one would be forced to fight.
 
But most of all, to find that, that woman
has not been crushed, been shriveled, and can
leave behind all that scorched her heart and soul,
becoming the cage, within which all she came to know,
 
prevented her from being all she could, but cannot be,
- because of all who steeled her heart and soul – and see,
but she cannot – from within her sarcophagus – for she is lost to ?,
humanity, to man, it has been thousands of years for me and for you.
 
I have a dream !, a desire !, a wish !, and a need too.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Life Happens
Unfortunately I do not know – about myself – having been sacrificed
- many times – upon the alter of love and passion and their funeral pyre.
Having been burned by the heat of my own passions fire
I’ve known not – for very long – what my heart desired or what my soul required.
 
Unfortunately, that is life and life happens – before you know it,
it has slipped between your fingers and past your dreams and desires.
Then you become a statistic, crushed, burned, shriveled as any woman
locked up in her cages, laid to rest in her sarcophaguses .
B. J. “A” 2
February 4th 2006

Wednesday, February 25, 2015


Vera

A woman of complexities – unfathomable – has gone
to a place some believe – for others far beyond.
This woman I have known for many years
who has brought to me - many, many tears,
 
has now left behind the man I call Dad,
leaving him – in her wake – very, very sad.
The thought of this makes me feel very bad,
for this is not how I’d like to see my Dad.
 
Vera, has been his partner, his companion, his life,
his nemesis, his mother, his boss and his wife.
Vera, tried in her own inimitable way to be accepted
but for most, it was difficult, she was often rejected.
 
B. J. “A ” 2
January 11th 2006

Saskatchewan’s Breath !!!

Comes on days that are long, steely and very cold.
It comes on winds that are strong, steady and bold.
Majestic little ladies try standing erect, against Saskatchewan’s breath
in their fragile, Autumn colours of golds, browns, yellows and reds.
 
He rings those bells - telling of winters cold hand of death –.
With great and greater force, Saskatchewan’s breath blows their heads,
bends their limbs without the passion and grace of a strippers dance.
Saskatchewan’s, cold, cruel breath – like a mad man rapist –
 
tears at, and strips them of their colourful gowns with little chance
to hide their nakedness for a moment longer – no fig leaf in his tempest
left for them - to greet winters white blanket – with or to enhance
the bleakness that old man winter brings – laying all else to rest
 
in frozen slumber – cryogenic freeze – in ice age arms of Morpheus,
until spring bounces back – rejuvenates life into rebirth –
bringing renewal, bringing hope for one and all of us
and smiles upon us weary old souls waiting for a green earth
 
to come to life under our tired old feet – lift our spirits to the skies
bringing joy, pleasures and wonder to our tired old eyes
as we look forward to seeing our – world – babies grow
into the wanders that are soon gone, as we surly know
 
- deep within – how this universe ( our little world ) turns.
Deep within our souls, there are places that yearns
to see a light through the darkest night – a spirit burns
with passion, with delight, yet knows and has concerns
 
about what lies in the darkness, behind passions eminent glow.
Sight, knowledge and wisdom, to many, come wings so slow
and in such small pieces, – in fragmented minute flakes –
tiny specks of light from the subconscious for consciousness sake.
 
So, until the end, nothing but questions – memories we will take
into that elusive light, where knowledge and wisdom it will make
us come to see, see the essence, true life in this universe
as the life of this rhyme comes to an end in verse.

B. J. “A” 2
October 6th 2005

Regina
 
From inside – what has been my home – I watch the red, gold, brown leaves
 striped bear – by the cold cruel winds – from their life’s force, the trees.
They come fluttering down – like snowflakes – to lay on the ground,
become – as they decay – food for when spring comes around.
 
To these eyes – tears – to these thoughts, these feelings bring
as changes come and winters melancholy song will sing
of the losses – summer disappeared in a place the sun hardly shone
throughout my lengthy stay, soon it will be time, to be gone,
 
back to the lush green, warmth, and the place I call home.
A journey, an adventure over – this soul no longer too roam
the highways, the byways -  others’ lives and life’s story.
At the end – moments and memories – some small glory.
 
Tomorrow ? – beyond fear and uncertainty – a new adventure !
 
B. J. “A” 2
September 28th 2005

Tuesday, February 24, 2015


Dear Cheryl
 
My time here – in here – is rapidly unraveling.
It will be soon – when I begin travelling
back to the place and space I call home.
From this adventure- possibly never more to roam.
 
B. J. “A” 2
September 23rd 2005

Sunday, February 22, 2015


The Journey

Age is a motion that moves ever more
quickly towards that ever widening sea
that, for the rest of time and memory
will bring us - keep us in the arms of eternity.
 
There we will meet, once again, this time
as one, in peace, with knowledge, in harmony
without all the strings - puppet masters manipulate -
attached, causing us to dance to tunes, from a symphony
 
who’s music has had so little relevance
to the meaning of life’s true dance
as we cross the stages, in a prance,
to tunes we know not, will ever advance.
 
B. J. “A ” 2
July 16th 2005

More about Dreams

Upon the glowing, silvery dust of moon beams,
ride the gleaming slivers of passionate dreams.
From the depths, they arise – come to our inner sight
on the churning tides of R. E. M. s – throughout the night.
 
In other dreams – out of the shadows they come
to haunt the midnight hours – scaring life from some.
To others, a carnival of fun, laughter and joy,
and for most, dreams are not but a ploy
 
that to bring to light, that which they cannot see,
nor understand that which lies beneath – to be
the truth behind the veil, creations, of imagination
from the subconscious, as it releases the forces of frustration.
 
B. J. “A ” 2
July 15th 2005

Saturday, February 21, 2015


Ripples in time .

Echoes ride the pinnacles of undulating ripples
- across that something, that once was so clear –
across the reflective, mirrored surface of time.

As they travel towards the abstruse shores of reality,
they begin to disintegrate, fade into the mysterious depths
of what will surly become, what creates the here and now.
 
B. J. “A” 2
February 21st 2015

Tuesday, February 17, 2015


Imagination Nil !!!-
Daydreams Still !!!
 
Inspiration - no long born of, imagination lying in deaths arms.
Creation - no longer lives in, daydreams in decay alarms.
Imagination and daydreams have little force and no charms.
 
Function for this brain seemed best served at realities door.
Compunction, for inspiration and creation – for me – where little more
than some insignificant attainments resurrected from my memories store.
 
All is gone, slips into the a void, an abyss of the forgotten,
where all decays, lays there in the dark and goes rotten.
 
Thank heavens for imagination, daydreams from some,
for inspiration and creation brings forth what’s to come
 
that can, that will bring the good, or the bad, from
the minds with imagination and daydreams – it’s done.
 
B. J. “A” 2
July 10th 2005