Those mysterious black Eyes

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I came to know, it seems so long ago

when I peered into your deep dark eyes

with such a passion, with such a curiosity.

Those mysterious black orbs, hiding something,

something I could not define caught my interest.

They captured me, drew me in like some black hole.

They drew me into the heart of your mysterious space

That space where I hung so tightly onto its smooth edges

fearing that I would lose, what I thought, was my firm grip.

I was always praying that I might touch the beat of your soul.

Have it captivate the rhythm of my heart beat and move as one.

You danced gaily upon my heart, to the beat of a different drummer.

Though we danced beautifully upon the waves of many a moment,

The experiences of those moments of ecstasy became far too few.

Yet those moments became the nourishment that fueled my dreams.

Dreams, as time {{ seven years }} has slipped by, without wings to fly

falter upon the synaptic clefts of my brain and wither upon my desire

to once again explore, to touch the depths of your mysterious black orbs.

Behind which, to find the ingress that will lead me through the fortified walls

and into the deepest recesses of your beautiful, your generous, your elusive heart.

Oh,!!!, to only unravel the mystery that has frayed the strings of  my broken heart.

Oh !!!, to find the music within your heart, to be able to strum the strings of your harp.

If I could only feel the vibrations, hear the tones resonate, beating softly upon my ear drums.

I realize that we, you and me dance to a different drummers beat these days, bringing tears

to this dreamer of dreams that have been slowly waning in the sunset of our relationship.

I know that my dreams, you, and all we shared has to come to an end, I have to let go

of the moments of joy, of pleasure, the adventures, the journeys we experienced.

This I must do, for me and for you, in order to find life in the realms of reality.

My dreams of you have lingered on much longer than they should have.

Reality my Dear, has always been, letting you go is my greatest fear.

When the dreams dissolves and I awake, I will never dream again.

That being said, my Oriental Beauty, accepting my fate

finally, is the only road left for this dreamer to take.

B. J. “ A ” 2

December 11th, 2017

They tried to silence the music

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The Spanish, the Portuguese, the French, the British.

They all tried to mute, to squelch the songs, using genocide.

They all tried to eradicate the golden voices of warrior Eagles.

They all tried to erase the echoing beat from the drums of this land.

Tyranny, genocide was the raging noise, drowning out the music.

Yet, in over four hundred years, they all, could not kill their songs

of life, of love, of respect for all that Mother Earth has provided man.

Be he of the original colour, or caucasian,  yellow,  dark brown, or black.

They all have failed to exterminate, to terminate the First Nation’s voice.

A voice, who’s soul, soars on high, above them all, on the winds of eternal time.

All the First Nation’s, Heroes, their Prophets, have stated, our voices will be heard.

We will once again become the music, the beat, the songs, the voices of pure reason.

B. J. “ A ” 2

December 11^th, 2017

An adventure

Down those subconscious, mysterious corridors,

into one’s memories hoard , behind closed doors.

Into a surrealistic world of undecipherable dreams,

were one’s life is portrayed in reflections, it seems.

We move within this world of moments, to recall

moments, we pray, with pride, we did stand tall.

Moments, I have to say, where we also, did fall

Moments, I must say, we also lived behind a pall.

One looks from within the precincts of the cranium

to see, to find where one’s spirit, one’s soul did come.

The subconscious ?, a puppeteer ?, pulling the strings.

Creating a dance, to glide us across the floors of our past.

A voice that whispers in our ears, a voice that fervently sings

of all the adventures, all the experiences, with shadows doth cast

moments of uncertainty, moments filled with ghosts that haunt

one with memories that linger on and on, memories that taunt

one with passions lost, much like that of a fading, beautiful sun set.

At what cost doth one face impotence ? For how long must one fret ?,

over memories transported from our past, incorporated into our living days.

Memories of times which will never again see the light of day, only in dreams.

B. J. “ A ” 2

October 21st, 2017

B. C. A Flame

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All day long, we are under this orb, orangey, pink in hue.

We see it through the ghosts, the essences we once knew.

Helios, on his voyage over this blanket of cremated life, flies.

Unfortunately, only he, not we, doth see beautiful blue skies

while we, under this monstrously heavy blanket of  gray,

have yet been able to view a cloud or a clear blue sky day.

B. J.“A ” 2

October 5^th 2017

So many moments reflecting

Refracting so many experiences.

The lenses of time’s, evolutionary passing

have become moments of history pressing,

pressing upon one’s memories hoard

within which all has been stored.

There has become this void !!!

Reminiscing may help to avoid.

These memories, lucid, will remain

until more adventures come again

to enliven one to never ever refrain

from moments gone, bringing pain.

There has become this void !!!

Reminiscing may help to avoid.

Memories will enlighten, until I depart

this plane. A journey towards a new start.

Touching the moments You, created for me,

brought your essence, your soul for me to see.

There has become this void !!!

Reminiscing may help to avoid.

Thirty five days, three hundred hours

spent on so many of my days, it towers

above a thousand 3 and ½ by five prints

that illustrates the stories, fabulous hints.

There has become this void !!!

Reminiscing may help to avoid.

Looking into the many adventures, the reminiscence 

of my Beautiful, Daughters, Love, Family presence

that helped make up so many of my nights and days.

For this journey, these adventures to live again, one prays

There has become this void !!!

Reminiscing may help to avoid.

The last image these tired, old, brown eyes  got to see

was my Daughter Gail, hand in the air waving goodbye to me

as I entered the metal body of this giant silver bird

echoing in my ears the voice and every word I heard.

There has become this void !!!

Reminiscing may help to avoid.

The curtain, soon will be coming down upon this play

so that I may then begin to experience a normal day

were thoughts of my Beautiful Daughters, Love

is not fused with all the work I will soon rise above.

B.  J. “ A ” 2

July 15^th2027

Sounds that Echo

I have heard the deafening sounds of this raging River.

In her silence, echoes a voice that did make me quiver.

For, the essence of her diatribes at me, did deliver

a message so cruel, so cold, it made my spirit shiver

to think that all I gave, unappreciated was this giver.

From her heart, the depth of her soul, not a sliver

of compassion, of understanding, of acceptance.

She never even gave this silly old fool a chance

at the joys, the pleasures of a slow dance,

nor the intimacies, the passions of romance.

B. J. “A ” 2

May 17^th 2017

Healing

Could it be possible for love to heal the troubled, the wounded?

All those damaged souls, who’s ghosts haunt their every hour!

Could love bring them back from the brink of emotional extinction?

Give them back some of the innocence they, at onetime, knew?

When one thinks of the genocide of our First Nations People,

Think of the genocide of their spirit, those remaining souls.

Could it be possible for love to heal the troubled, the wounded?

All those damaged souls, who’s ghosts haunt their every hour!

When one thinks of the genocide of a child’s psyche, hers or his.

One has to wonder what part love plays in this destructive game

man plays as he molests, sexually abuses, emotionally, mentally,

verbally strips naked, to the very marrow, the essence of a child,

of Nations, of the first Peoples residing upon this little blue planet,

past, present and future. Will love give them a glimpse of a future?

B. J. “A ” 2

May 9^th 2017

Journeys

Moments, they will come, moments, they will go.

With their journey, what will one come to know?

Moments, they come, when they go, it rearranges

one’s perception, one’s perspective it changes.

Will the changes become a world of infinite wisdom,

or a lifetime of limited ?, or limitless ?, freedom.

Some say, the gods, will provide, will guide .

Within each cult, each religion they hide.

Men have taken their philosophies and deride.

Filling men’s minds with fears, false prides.

B. J. “ A ” 2

May 4^th2017

Nowhere Men

Roads have been long ones, for many an old man

who traversed every path, without having a plan.

Always flying, vicariously, by the seat of our pants.

Fighting many a battle, never in states of rants.

We just bears it, and carry on with the good fight

as our days, on gossamer wings, take flight

into accepting that journey, into that good night

as we wonder, ponder all that laid before our sight.

B. J. “A” 2

April 26^th 2017

The Light

When the lights of this reality,

this dimension, this plane, dim.

Will they be bright on the other side

or just ghostly shadows, gray and grim?

Which will light up your journey?

Freedom that comes with letting go

or a prisoner of this plan ?, by hanging on

to what transpired, that grounded your soul.

B. J. “ A ” 2

April 15^th 2017

A Journey

 

Upon many a rough and rocky street

have walked these tired, blistered, old feet.

 

Down many a dark alley they doth roam

towards that dimension, soon to be home.

 

So many tell a story of what lies ahead,

fill our brains, where our lives will be lead.

Some believe that dead is dead.

Others believe what books have said.

 

Will we ???, in the end, come to meet

and that last dance, be a delicious treat ?

 

B. J. “A ” 2

April 6^th 2017

Pink

Pink, is the blessed colour of Love.

Pink, from one’s knee, the heaven above.

OH !, to French kiss those sweet pink lips.

One eyeing those shapely, gorgeous hips.

On that journey one takes to heavenly bliss.

No woman, in the pink, should ever miss.

B. J. “A ” 2

April 2^nd 2017

A Mother ???

Nothing more than a name, a biological mother.

You would not find, you could not be the other.

You have, with hostility, with anger, left this plane.

Seeming to have lived your life hanging on to the pain.

You chose to throw, all those who loved you, away.

using the hostile, angry games you chose to play,

against the only son you acknowledge, you cared for.

The only Grandchild who cared, you kicked out the door.

One is forced to question ???, why all these wasted years

trying to kill the love, loved one’s gave, creating rivers of tears.

Mae, the ghosts you have harbored, give them release.

Mae, this, your last journey, become one of peace

B. J. “ A ” 2

March 14^th 2017

Essondale, the Riverview

 

Was designed to be a place of mental wellness, a safe haven,

where hospital patients could sit under a tree and watch a raven

 

at play, never having to think of what the First Nations lost,

nor just how much the toll, to their healing grounds, it cost.

 

This healing place, once dealt out such horror, untold abuse.

Not the design of the visionaries, not meant to be its use.

 

The government shut it down for so many a wasted year.

Thousands of patients, put out on the streets, living in fear

 

as drug pushers fill their veins with poisons of the day.

Our governments indifference, leaves them no place to stay.

 

Now the government wants to sell off two thirds of the land

leaving one third of what remains in mental health’s hand

 

Cities, groups, citizens voices, the government does not hear.

As time approaches, were money in their greedy hand is near.

 

B. J. “ A ” 2

March 1st 2017

Heavenly Influences

All the random acts one lives.

Are they what the universe gives?

Do they come from one’s heart beat?,

or do they come from the soul’s seat?

Does one’s life’s experiences come from the hands of fate?,

or are they reflections ?, refractions the psyche doth state?

Could karma be the force, the energy that guides one home?,

or is one’s life’s adventures, journeys to be spent alone.

Being the essence of a billion star’s dust,

light beams, sound waves undulating, we must

have, out of star dust come to be

everything we know, everything we see.

Out of the either, a zodiac sign,

is this who we be ?, what we find?,

what we truly are,

fragments of a star

B. J. “A ” 2

February 23^rd 2017

Melanie, where is she ???

September 2^nd, 2016  

Melanie, found herself !!!

Twenty plus years !!!, in a fog.

Many drugs, drug induced stupors

made up most hours of her life !!!

The loss of an appendage

became a door opening,

letting in the long lost light.

My belief is in these words she writes,

“ new life, new hair, back to being me! ”

This, this parent cannot wait to see.

Will she stand tall and strong ???, be free

of all in her life that brought her to be

a drug addict, making wrong choices !!!

Wrong males to become involved with.

 Listening to theirs and the drugs voices.

I cannot wait for these voices to dim !!!

To become inaudible whispers upon the wind,

a wind that will carry these destructive voices,

males, drugs, inner, out into a silent universe.

B. J. “ A ” 2

January 16^th 2017