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 18^th 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 13^th 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 13^th 2006

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 4^th 2006

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 11^th 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 6^th 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 28^th 2005

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 23^rd 2005

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 16^th 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 15^th 2005

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 21^st 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 10^th 2005