Relief – A call

Supper has passed – not eaten – because of a call

my Daughter Melanie, made, that would end it all,

all that, the above rhyme, was created on.

It is now over – the pain – she made it, it’s all gone.

 

A happier man, now am I

I can now see a bluer sky !

Not lost, in a bluer I

B. J. “A” 2

June 3^rd 2004

Disappointment /// Disillusioned

 
If only it could be known ?, if it be told
why my youngest Child, becomes meanly bold.
If only the truth be seen, the tale would unfold.
Regardless – she in my heart – I will always hold
 
even if – to these devils – her soul, she has sold.
My little world has come tumbling down,
uncertainty, heartache, fear for all around.
My life, no longer planted firmly on the ground.
 
Insignificant ?, I feel !,  – not a ripple, not a wave
as I – carelessly thrown into the fray of a deep blue sea –
await my fate in the gloom and doom of impending eternity
as my youngest Daughter, prepares me for the grave.
 
This Beautiful Child, - goes ugly at times – Mel, Melanie,
seems determined - hell bent and hell bound to destroy me
by any means – one way or by any other
acting like – becoming so much like her mother,
 
following in the foot steps- wearing the boots of her sister,
Mandy, who can be a child without feelings, nothing to register
a sign, a belief in – there seems to be nothing to family ties.
It seems to be ?, all I feel from her, see with these old eyes
 
and have to wonder ?, has it died ?, all gone dry ?
Is my life ?, are my Friends, my Family – lost – reason to cry,
cry !!!, as all seems to have been going down the road, toward dust.
Do I accept ?, live without ?, I guess, move on I must,
 

as, upon this old metal – my life – things begin to rust,

become the poisons eating away
at what is left – taking me to that end day.
All that is left for me to do ?, it seems, is pray !!!
 
In my heart, in my mind, my memory, they will always stay
even if ?, in the physical, in the spiritual, my Girls are gone,
doing the things they must and continuing to move on
towards a world of bigger ( I pray ) and better things.
 
Things taking them beyond their mother / me, what life brings
to them, that has tortured, haunted and torn them apart,
allowing them a better future – then their past – and a new start
and hopes – from me – that all the negativity will depart.
 
Love
Dad
B. J. “A ” 2
June 3^rd 2004

 

Epitaph – Eulogy

BY

Linda Blair

This man, lying here in state – DEAD – lives.

His aged soul - but not his heart – he gives

to me – for me - this is such a shame,

so on him – everything – I will blame.

 

He has always – to a degree -  been there for me.

in my need – my desire – much more, I want to be,

and so, because these things I want, are not met

I have left him perplexed, to wonder, worry and fret.

 

Fret about the things I do, I do not want him to know,

and so, I play my little games, put on a great show.

Now that he / I have gone - to that great beyond

 I believe I now understand my act – him I wronged.

 

And so, I now leave this old man – alone

to take his life’s journey - on his own.

I wish I could find peace and glory

 in telling Bill, - for my act – I am sorry

 

I think he knew ?, that it is just not in me

to face up to, and accept my responsibility.

May god speed you on your way Bill,

I pray, one day. you may, again find life’s thrill.

 

B. J. “A” 2

May 29^th 2004

News Flash

 
  Found today in his Prairie Avenue, seniors apartment,
 Port Coquitlam B.C. dead of wounds inflicted, it has
been determined, on May 6^th 2004 by one Linda B. of
Dewdney Trunk Maple Ridge B. C. who has been alleged
to have stilettoed Atfield in the heart, many times, in the
parking lot of a gas station on Lougheed Hwy., and then
left him to bleed to death in the parking lot of Shaughnessy
Station, under the shadow of the catwalk that crosses over
Lougheed Hwy. It hovers over the 701 bus stop, the bus that
provided her with an escape route, Poof and Mrs., Linda B.
disappeared .
   There will be no formal charges laid against Mrs., Linda B.
for her crime of being a product of her nurturing and nature,
for her indifference. Mr., Atfield left an impression, he
understood the nature of the beast that laid within and in
parting – departed – forgave once again.
   An autopsy performed on Mr., Atfield, revealed that the
weapon used by Mrs., L. B. was similar to numerous others
that have perpetrated the soul of this old fool, tried to
destroy him copious times, on previous occasions.
The scar tissue found, that doth surround, covers much
of his beating, bleeding heart. This is Friendship ???,
this is Love ???

Article written by B. J. “A” 2
Published by The Now News Paper
 

OBITUARY

 
Found this gray, gloomy day, of a broken heart,
friendship past away, ended, no chance for a new start.
Laid to rest upon a heap, Wm. J. Atfield Jr. of
Port Coquitlam, British Columbia.
Mr. Atfield is survived by his three Daughters,
his Father, Brother, Brother / Uncles.
Mr, Atfield follows the demise, the destiny,
the fate of many – relatives, friends, acquaintances,
stranger, human kind who have put their faith,
their trust their lives in the hands of friendships .

May 29^th 2004

 

When winters sub-zero arrives !!!!

Attention Homeless !!!

For your survival !!!

 

For you, who have been forced – by the hand of fate,

by circumstances beyond your control or by your choice

to live in the arms of Mother Nature, the shelter of a derelict house

- no longer a home – or some abandoned building on the fringes.

Come winters coldest dance ( minus six degrees Celsius )

you will be able to find warmth, comfort, shelter and compassion

from the harsher elements of winters by attending

Our Lady of Fatima’s – Knights of Columbus Hall,

located at the corner of Shaughnessy and Fraser in PO CO .

A notice will be posted on the door of Share’s Food Bank,

Trinity United Church 2215 Prairie Avenue Port Coquitlam

when this shelter will be provided for your benefit.

Please pass the word along to those you know

whom we may not reach through our network.

 

Prepared for winter of 2004

by

 

B. J. “A” 2

May 24^th 2014

 

Last Will and Testament

 

I think ?, I have known all along

that one day, you would be gone,

as the days – for me – where few,

not much left – for me – from you.

 

Everything I have said - you have read.

there is not a word - you have not heard,

and so my dear, what is there left for me to say

to squelch the fear, in some compassionate way ?

 

Brighten up – for you and me – this sad, sad day.

The days we have known, now come to an end.

count upon you ?, will not know, can not call friend.

As you depart, step from my Probe, silver gray,

 

on your way into the light of a brand new day.

My soul sits silent – not a word – nothing more to say

for it all was – had been said – about the way

in which you left me, many times before, and that day.

 

Silence, it appears, is to be my fate,

darkened corridors, nothing you state

to enlighten – closure, none – no clean slate

as you move on, behind you, lock the gate.

 

   I leave to L. B. - silence – I bequeath, to her, freedom.

Freedom from me, my presence, my thoughts, my feelings.

Freedom from my words, my prose and poetry of enlightenment,

enlightenments twisted by the prisons, the prisms of her mind

that have prevented her from enjoying, - with a clear conscious.

This I understand, for I know the life she has chosen in the light of

her nurturing, her nature and how they have come together

to create the heart and soul of this troubled young lady.

   I bequeath to Linda, my acceptance, ( disappointing and heartbreaking

as this may be ), and my forgiveness ( for all ) for her termination

( in silent avoidance ) of our ?, friendship.

   I leave to L. B. my heartfelt, best wishes for her new freedom ?, to enjoy

the relationship she has been cultivating for some time and for the

adventures that may come her way, as I, in specks, in slivers, in flakes,

flakes of fading light that vanish from sight as the wind changes

and I become not but a distant, fading memory, lost,

behind the steel doors of those dark corridors in her memories hoard .

 

Signed this 29th day, in the of our lord, 2004

Wm. J. Atfield Jr.

B. J. “A” 2

Depression

 

There is no one reason, some remain depressed.

One could be, a fear to stand before – undressed,

looking at all their natural beauty – glory repressed.

Never to see, to feel, to know reality- their story suppressed.

 

A dear john letter ?

I have moved on to better !, ?

Winter winds tearing at our relationship.

The fires of those winter storms, burn deep,

scorching the fragile fabric of spring,

of summer, of the decaying hours of autumn.

 

This, leaving me feeling, as the deserted beaches,

hammered by relentless waves crashing down.

The essence, the face, lost after being touched

by the raging, thrashing waves of spring tides.

 

Lost, after being caressed, fondled by summer waves.

Lost, after being cleansed by autumns thrashing surf.

Lost, after being ripped to shreds by winters door closing,

on all that once could have been something better.

 

Moving on

A coarse, I believe, you have always been taking.

It has been a long time, in fact, years in the making.

The earth upon which you / we have walked is shaking.

There is no longer, any good reason for you to be faking

 

all – that I feel – have been the reasons for this braking.

I do not – for one second – blame you for moving on.

I understand why what you may have had is all gone.

For the light you so desperately sought, never shone

 

upon the dreams you had of me.

The dreams that I would never see.

For they were of someone I could never be,

in this world of mine, where being free

 

from all that tears at this fragile heart,

of which I no longer want any part

of, and for many good  reasons

of which, in my final seasons,

 

need not – ever again – want to become a part of my life.

For, at my age, and with all my experiences, strife

would only be the stiletto, a dagger, a keen knife

that cuts deep into the heart and brings nothing but rife

 

to this old man’s days and nights as he stands

at the threshold of new ways, in new lands

where there may be no foot prints in the sands

as life changes. moves on, is out of one’s hands

 

B. J. “A ” 2

May 19^th 2004