The Empty Bench

 

Sayings for a friends – Kimberly - photo cards.

 

(1) A lone sentry watches in silence, the silence.

Waiting to comfort, for company, for companionship,

for conversation, for the silence to be permeated

by some life, any life, as life eventually does, and often.

 

(2) Alone sentinel stands, watching - waiting in silence

to be of comfort for the weary – to be companion for the lonely,

to be the ear for conversation – to be the voice that permeates

the silences in ones life that surly come to one and all.

 

(3) A bench sitting in Mother Nature’s quiet hours,

enjoying the silence, those peaceful moments

that surrounds the essence of an entity

and that come out from deep within.

 

To fill the empty space Linda,

a bonus for your pleasure – if  it be ?

A barren, silver orb floating on high – a rocky place

drifting around, along in the cold recesses of space.

Upon its tattered surface, a pock- marked face

taken on its round and round – endless race.

 

To what ?, to where ?, and what the hell for ?

 

Life’s destructive debris  striking it more and more.

Leaving craters, large, small, hollow and deep

as they press ever onward, into the heart -

of the matter - killing any possible start

 

for new life, the soul, spirit, heart – away will seep

into that black hole abyss – life’s fires never to keep

alight – no more reasons to keep up the fight.

Left with nothing more - only a desire to take flight.

 

Written words are the only emotions.

Life no longer in fluid motions,

with meaning for one or for all

as life takes that spiral fall.

B. J. “A” 2
August 9^th 2004

Linda !!!

Never do I see changes !!!

 

What I see – you may never envision ?

What I feel – you may never touch ?

What I desire – you can never live !

What I need – you can never give !

 

What you want from me – I have not got !

What you expect of me – I am not !

What you say to me, sometimes – fire it spurts!

What you deny ( to yourself, to me ) – hurts !

 

Nothing I have left you, it seems, gets through !

No thought, no respect, no concern come from you !

Nothing but self comes through – it burns !

No idea, leaving me to wonder ?, - what turns

 

your crank ?, what makes you tick ?,

what will work ?, what is the trick ?

My door – for you – is always open.

Words, feeling, flow from my pen.

 

Yet, me, my place, lately, seldom chosen

leaving me to wonder why ?, your soul frozen,

comes to me at all – your spirit closed,

all coming from you seems to be fro zed.

 

The years left to me are but few.

With you, nothing comes anew.

Days, week, months will pass by.

Not a word, an explanation, not even a hi.

 

In my room I wait, no apology, I listen, I lie,

contemplate, look for reason and reasons why ?

Then I come to a conclusion, say to myself, no more,

enough, no more time to waste – you are at my door.

 

It all begins again, and again I am knocked to the floor.

 

B. J. “A ” 2

August 8^th 2004

Where we go

 

What we once were – cosmic consciousness,

becomes, not but, a misty veil,

lost in that bright light of birth.

hat we will experience, along with,

 

become who we will be – are –

is in part, nature and nurturing.

What we have lived is who we – we’re

before it all comes to an end – changes.

 

What we then become are but memories

others have of what they understood us to be.

Our time passed – passing into memories hoard –

will be like tear drops shed, falling with and absorbed

 

into droplets of rain washed away – swept into the sea –

evaporating with the passing of time, the passing of life

that comes with the death of the living

as well as the death of the dying.

 

B. J. “A ” 2

July 15^th 2004

Heather

 

Thoughts for you to see – never to be sent –

about the relationship between parents and son.

 

Joyce and Bud Lissimore

 

Tender miracles should await

compassionate forgiveness, – your fate –

your son’s need and need to state,

if he is to take wing, be set free

 

of all that binds his spirit, his soul

to that forest - he cannot see the tree.

To see all that hides, you do not know

of all that is meant, that does not show.

Left in the darkness with nowhere to go.

Lost experiences, experiences never to come.

Lives apart, moments without sum

add up to life without your grandson.

 

Pride dominates, and a world of grays

will fill your days without the feel of son

without the experience of a warm sun

as you end up living nothing but gray days.

 

B. J. “A ” 2

July 3^rd 2004

Wonder ???

 

I wonder why it has been you ?

I know there is nothing I am able to do !

 

Has all been an attempt to pursue ?,

that which I may not be able to obtain.

 

Nothing to lose, maybe something to gain.

The status quo will probably remain.

 

And so, you will be able to keep face,

as I refrain and remain in my place.

 

I can, I will let it all out,

feelings to express, I will shout

 

into the wind, into the face of the world.

For you to see as I have them unfurled

 

before your beautiful eyes.

Sending them off into the skies,

 

to fly as free as the birds,

hoping you will see my words.

 

I gave them birth, now watch them die.

Hope, upon a feathered bed, they will lie

 

knowing, no matter where they land

there is one who can hurt this man

and I wonder why it has been you ?,

that my thoughts of, feelings for - pursue.

 

I know that you belong to the hand of another.

I know, Heather, that I will never be your lover.

 

B. J. “A ” 2

June 28^th 2004

Fathers Day

 

A melancholia has crept into this day,.

and into the dreams of the days that follow.

To bed I went, knocked out by the final blow

to this friendship, a friend I just do not know.

A friend who just cannot seem to find mellow.

I awoke to little hope, explanations ?, no way

was I to feel the presence of my little Girls

as thoughts of them , through my brain swirls.

 

For a brief moment, the phone rings, few words,

from my youngest, it was Melanie, that I heard

offer an acknowledgement of my fatherly position.

Silence comes to my ear, I wonder, I have suspicion

that maybe I just do not deserve this to be my day.

A father – they may feel and rightly so – no way !

Lift that bale, tote that barge, drive that van

and so, for Joyce, for Share, I do the best I can.

 

Supper I make and eat on my own.

From family, I am left alone

and so, along the river I walk.

A few humans – homeless – I talk

with for a minute or two, leave the Pitt,

on my way, say goodbye to Spirit

and all her cronies

as thoughts of the phonies

 

I have come to know

as onward, towards home I go

to a night of movies on television,

thoughts of my Children, - in my vision,

my dreams – and all I did not give

to my, Beautiful Girls, of myself.

A little man, a thoughtless elf

is all that I seem to be, to live.

 

Fathers Day, a day for real fathers,

not a day for a name, for men like me

and this is what today has me see

as to why it is empty of my Daughters

 

B. J. “A” 2

June 21^st 2004

A Reprieve

 

Alone the banks of the river Pitt.

Such a beautiful day in which to sit.

Mother Nature, before me, at her beat.

I, in mind, in soul and in thought, do rest

 

my spirit within the bright blue sky.

Do gaze into the past, fill my inner eye.

No haze to vail the many shades of green

that lay in the foreground of this serene scene.

 

In the background stands – in all her spender,

Baker, a mighty pyramid in crystals of pure white

that bring a coolness, a calmness to my sight

and I realize, there  are so many who defend her.

 

All the while – at my feet – in the shallows, dance

a Great Blue, who, on stilts, takes her stance.

In her cobra like coiling she strikes out

into the shallows, then saunters  about

 

searching for a late dinner or early supper.

A shadow appears above,- in stealth – her.

Suddenly, to wing she chases away

the threat to her territory, her pray.

 

B. J. “A” 2 ( Bill . )

June 18^th 2004