My Daughter

My beautiful Daughter, walks life’s paths alone,

She does so, by design – not of hers – on her own.

She travels heavily !, from place to empty space,

from space to vacant place – in what kind of race?

A race towards where ?, towards what I do not know,

for, to me – an  age and place beyond – she does not show

where it is, - where she wants her future  to go

if ?, going anywhere – accomplishing - is a guiding

force in her life, seeking out, chasing after lightening.

There are times, when I hear, in my words

the sounds of need, – empty in their experience –

looking for some of what has been offered.

What has been offered, I see, it is not meant for me.

 

The Need

I keep being dragged back into this nightmare,

a nightmare ?, so I am lead to believe, could it be ?

Within the stories, the tone, I hear, I perceive it to be

but have to wonder ?, is it ?, really but a dream

that can find no reality on this plane , never comes true,

therefore it truly is !, becomes the nightmare.

In the words that tell, I see, I hear, I feel

the sword that plunges deep, with which to defend,

to destroy the foe – the lover – a man not to know

yet not forgotten, not left alone, not let go of.

He - the nightmare – is always there, he doesn’t care,

he is a rotting residue in, a part of life’s moments.

He is your nightmare, in your dreams, in every waking hour!

These sad eyes see, these sensitive ears, in pain, hear the pain,

this old heart feels, but this useless blade, – a knife that hides

within my, closed mouth – seems not able to cut away at the ties

that bind you to life’s strife – to the nightmare.

Could it be unfulfilled desires ?, unrealized dreams ?

 

What has taken forty nine life times to create,

might be attributed to nature, nurturing or fate,

but may not be digested, accepted, understood or dissipated.

Regardless of the words, the meaning, what else can be stated ?

I know that in forty nine hour days, my thoughts my feeling

will never find a way to reach out and touch a solid ceiling

and so, in my many words, in my actions, I pray

that it all can be set aside, and all can be put away.

 

A walk from the dark side, into the darkness.

Little, to nothing could this impotent old man / dad offer

his Child, his oldest Daughter, in so much need.

Nothing could he bestow upon his Child, or his lover,

with her insecurities, doubts, his insatiable greed,

and so, escape not, she walks along with his need

as it has been something he has decreed.

Oh !, how remiss to leave them on their own, to agree

to their coarse, a course that could take them on

to complete the journey they started, then gone.

 

Time, enough !, distance is past

Time to stop !, turn around at last

and face what the outcome will be.

Open eyes, a new beginning to see.

May I leave sun set’s path, face the sun rise

coming through that black velvet screen before me

with it’s spattered, day-glow dots, all aglow

opening inner sanctum doors, allowing me to know.

 

Thoughts for me, alternative for them flash before my mind.

What will they do ?, am I being so unkind ?

Will one, the other or both be bussed back to Ontario ?

As I walk back to the room, I ponder the scenario ?

Will we ( all three ) carry on with our little adventure

into the canyons and gorges, the city of all nights lights

 – the city where angels never sleeps – I cannot be sure ?,

sure if they will end their – for my attention – fights.

Will we see the city ?, where one man built his fantasy,

walk among dreams brought to life, a fun reality

of cartoon characters, animated for the child in us

or in the end, to Ontario on a Greyhound bus ?

Will we see stars ?, stars on a walk, in the city of angels

At this juncture, what will be the story one tells ?

Will the Golden Gate carry us ?, will we ride the hills ?,

on their steel rails, tell tales of all our thrills ?

Will we end these moments in gods country ?,

the city of the British, the salmon run, a hollow tree,

mountains, bays, bears, a Princess, poetess gone to ash,

her rhyme, this forth cousin of mine, they did stash,

hidden from obvious view, in the woods of Stanley park,

where few knew, and for a hundred years, lay in the dark.

Many know not where Native, folk lore doth reside ?

In her books, hand in hand and side by side,

along with as many nationalities as there are nations.

In this place, women brought to life her creations.

 

Before I leave this bleak walk, in the arms of this black night,

My thoughts are, hope that all will come out all right,

when one of those day glow dots, in that black velvet sky,

all a glow, took off, streaked south, caught my eye

as it crossed the heavens, fast as the speed of light,

in the pattern of a Zed, then disappeared from sight.

( Strange !!!, this speck of star light, it’s unusual flight

as it star-ts out from nothing, speeds south on a

horizontal plane, pauses a split second, reverses direction,

drops down vertically, on an angle northward, towards a point

where it started out, again paused for a split second, then,

on a horizontal plan, zipped south before disappearing into star,

in the starry back drop from whence it took life, for a moment. )

 

This story, – twenty five years old – in rhyme, comes to life,

 for a brief moment, from a memories hoard, rife

with so many stories hidden from sight

coming from rhyme - into light.

B. J.“A ” 2

May 30^th 2002