Summer Memories

Summer Realities

 This, the first day of summer, two thousand and two, finds me,

slipping back into what once was my desire, my need, my reality.

This step back into, and into times passed, has allowed me to touch,

to feel, to re-experience – for a moment, to a degree – my all time,

favorite sport – sunbathing. A sport I once played in all my glory

– my birthday suit – with such joy and total freedom,

beneath blue skies, high above the mighty meandering Grand

or alongside it’s river banks, silent winds, a breeze, rustling the leaves

of many shading trees, of many a cornstalk, a million blades of grass

beneath the heavens, beneath my feet, beneath my naked body,

golden brown laying in the noiseless sound of Mother Nature,

all Her, creatures, large and small, invisible, one and all,

except to the mind’s eye and ear, as the pleasures of hypnotizing music,

the sweet taste of mother natures grass, the glowing nectar of sparkling grape

that could take one on a journey, away from or into, dependent upon

the destination, the ticket you purchased would carry you.

For me, the journeys were upon the black leather of my red motor cycle,

upon the black leather of my black Bird of Thunder, her wings spread,

her top down, that great, platinum, glowing orb, hanging on high,

above this little  planet, wearing it’s great, bright blue shroud,

opened to expose the light shining down upon her nakedness,

showering down upon me, in mine, on our journeys through time,

through space, with his – Heloise’s – healing rays as I drive, as I ride

over, upon those black ribbons that wrap themselves around

Mother Earth and the back roads of southern Ontario, in the

Counties of Brant, of Wentworth, of Norfolk and others as well.

This is a sport I played – as I laid – from north to south,

from coast to coast, even, out into the ocean deep,

– on an island of coarse – on mountain tops, on sand dunes.

This sport I played, on the shores of all five Great Lakes,

on the beaches of Florida, of Mexico, of California,

of British Columbia, the last place, the last time I sported

my birthday suit in public before hanging it up

behind closed doors for more years than I care to remember.

Today, along with a few more that followed, during two weeks,

I took the opportunity, – covered of coarse, in my red and black loin cloth -

to lie beneath that burning orb in the deep blue sky and tried to recapture

the essence of those feelings, those desires of long ago and far away

- of what was and I still would like to be -, that will always remain

a part of my psyche, even though all the changes – no more noiseless sounds,

for they have been drowned out, polluted by screaming tires as they tear up

those black ribbons of death, as those combustion engines ( the driving force )

cry out in pain from friction as they pass by my horizontal frame looking for,

but hearing not, all that once was hearable, all that was beautiful in nature’s noise

–  that have left me longing for that time, left me as empty as a dried up lake.

A lone bird cry’s out it’s muffled song, a note or two where once was a chorus,

a full-fledged opera now reduced to a mumbling, meaningless sound,

a sound drowned out by the sounds of  traffic, traffic from our attempt

to escape our closed in, modern life style of constant motion.

 

Those sweet smells, clean and clear are lost by the cremation of decaying,

remains of once living organisms that inhabited this planet.

They are now – in death – permeating, with pollutants, the nostrils, the lungs,

the air Mother Earth and all upon her back, inhale.

 

The peace, once known, - in rivers flow, upon its banks, in Mother Natures flow,

on my motor cycle, in my black Bird – for this old man has almost evaporated.

The grass, the wine, the music, the camaraderie, the clean air, those silent sounds

have almost become extinct, fading into memories hoard, to be stored, forever more.

All that seems to be left - from the origins of these thoughts – is that silver orb,

still radiating down upon, but with more intensity and less glory and peace.

Only the music carries on as before, seems to remains the same,

at least to these ears, this heart, the old soul of this lone traveller.

Maybe the music has change ?, maybe for the better ?, maybe not ?

Could it be just perception ?, or has all lost its glory ?, its fire ?,

its passion ?, its glow ?, all I thought I did know in an earlier age.

Is it all in the mind of this old man ?, who still remembers that age,

the music, music still providing a refuge, companionship

and comfort during the hours, in the passing of time .

 

Thoughts about

 

The games in life, that one plays for his / her audience, are games perceived

- usually – by the recipient and sometimes by an observer, but to the player,

it is not a game at all, it is life’s essence needing to survive, to know.

I have no answer, nor am I the answer, I am just the lender of an ear,

to hear, a shoulder to lean on, to cry on - at least I think ?

all I have to offer is a helping hand, a willingness to listen.

Beyond that, you have the answers, you are the answer.

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Oh !!!, to once again touch some of the personalities

that walked into and out of,  leaving flacks, specks, stardust

upon my moments, became a part of my reality in days long ago.

Those life’s experiences that are not, but distant memories

drifting in and out of my memories hoard, past my minds eye

 

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Daydreams, revere and their dreams of, have become buried

beneath layers and layers of film, film that has been deposited

upon them as the years, once flowing freely, have become stagnant

pools, filled with life’s, death filled experiences, - doubts, self-doubts,

insecurities, fears – experiences that once allowed the poisonous

debris to harmlessly drift by - during those days of one’s past -,

not to get caught up in, become a part of the all that settles upon,

weighs down, dampens and distorts the light into and out from

so that these stagnant pools only reflect – like smoked mirrors –

ghostly apparitions that are but black and lifeless.

 

B. J. “A” 2

June 22^nd 2002

Men’s Secrets

There are men of god who like innocence for their pleasure.

There are coaches, teachers etc., who never – their actions – measure,

as they destroy the impeccability of this, our worlds Treasure.

 

There are so many men – thoughtless – leaving so many scares.

Destroying the spirits, the souls, the luster of so many Stares.

Leaving them as barren, distant, cold as the surface of mars.

 

What is in man’s heart ?, that drives all this horror, all this insanity.

Why do they not see ?, what they are doing to a segment ( fifty percent ) of humanity.

What ?, lies in the murky depths of these men’s sick, broken souls and heart,

 

that makes them shatter the chastity of a life that will never know how to start

living out their lives, and on a much higher plane
and not know the stress, the depths, the separation caused by all their suppressed pain,

 

pain that comes on, comes out- screaming with every action,

action that stops one – who cares, who shows with every reaction,

yet neither – these sick men made it impossible – will find peace or satisfaction.

 

B. J. “A” 2

March 6^th 2014

The World of Time

What is time ?, but a river, flowing into and from the universes sea.

What is time ?, but a raging river, ever flowing on, for all eternity.

Time – passing, has become the essence of mans mystery.

Time – passing, has become the story in books of history.

 

Time, the machine by which some guide their lives.

Time travel, takes into realms of past, present and future.

Time experienced, something some just love to kill.

Time, one does, is the killer of one’s spirit.

 

 What time offers, upon this plane is the death of the soul.

What time offers, is a chance for us to come to know.

Time is but a manmade creation, an illusion.

Time, during our time, offers no conclusion.

B. J. “A ” 2

March 5^th 2014

A Vision

 

A beautiful Lady, strolls along a beach, all alone.

Within her vivid imagination, I find what is in store.

A beautiful image emerges, it’s essence in a stone

lying upon the sandy edge of the oceans shore.

 

Mother hoods gorgeous door, seeing heaven, doth moan

under waves lapping, caressing hands touching ever more,

all that woman means to this expanding universe.

Ecstasy felt, passion expressed in every poetic verse

 

as waves mount, a crescendo reaching its peak,

then those hands, that brought ecstasy, seek

out the meaning of true and passionate love

from universal consciousness - the heavens above

 

From the above, might we understand woman ?

From her soul, will we get to understand man ?

From her position, this vision she doth know !

From her mouth, this vision, to me, she did show.

 B. J. “A ” 2

January 28^th 2014

This day is Bright !

Thoughts take Flight .

Music – the companion of my soul !

Books – the confidants to my mind !

Daughters – the reasons for life to know

more than experience has allowed me to find

in a life where todays existence

is little more than yesterday’s experience

brought to the surface – from time to time –

in thought, in memory of what was sublime

living, knowing, movements written in rhyme

unfettered by strings, shackles and chains

that tie, bind, weigh down so nothing remains

of the life that once was embraced with enthusiasm,

– kissed passionately !, the mouths of opportunism –

all its expressions, hugged its passing with gratitude

for all that this poor old soul was allowed to include

in its brightness, as it burned holes through the black

fabric of times passed, leaving scares, no longer visible

yet still felt in the waning light, but not looking back

at the passing or being passed, no matter how credible

it gives cause for one to wonder, what was truly of value ?,

being passed on, what light did I shed to guide ?

it seems as though, nothing did I provide

to warm and comfort, each troubled soul

these Daughters of my dreams I do not know.

Forces

Inspirations, the force in talent that leads on,

lives on while the unsure, insecure follow, drift, or gone,

carried away by murky waters in roadside ditches,

until it’s all gone, left by the wayside, life with bitches

 Father, Daughter Dilemma

Ships passing in the night

 Daughter, Father – two cosmic souls – alone,

who are on the run, empty ships, made of stone.

Stripped clean, rudderless, floundering in life’s seas.

Slipping through fog laden blackness of night, sees

not, but lack of freedom, because of lack of sight,

unable to discern the truth, or know what is right.

Each heard by the other, their sad notes sent into the mist

as they cry out for each other – reach out in need and missed.

They blast out their warning, “ not to close ”, for danger

lies in contact – opening up, setting free ? – be a stranger,

the essence of their distorted shadows, shadows that barely touch

in the night, during sun light, in their flight, and such

is the journey as they skim the cold waters of life’s surface,

– even though, as one from out of the cosmic gene pool –

 seldom see, seldom come together – come face to face,

realizing, in the fray, that each is being but a fool

as they touch, for a brief moment, in cosmic space,

space shrouded in misty clouds, clouds of fog,

 and then, as strangers in the night, pass in silence.

Ripples, echoes, permeate, the only trace

that shows the distance from whence they came,

upon turbulent wakes created by each passing place

on their journey, lending credence to the distance

of where it stands ?, in all likelihood, antipodal is its name.

The Soul

Living beings essence, their source of energy,

that which brings them to being a part of the whole.

That place, that space within which I often write

has now been brought down into a conscious state.

A state nothing more than the shallowness of a pizza pie,

satisfying ones enormous, gastronomic gluttony

that has our glorious souls relegated to, I see,

I hear, in the commercialism of every TV.

I mourn the loss of energy, of the essence of our souls.

Computers, TVs, games, a strange world of words, of images,

the meanings of which we are now living with, living in

this illusory state of virtual reality are so many,

yet, no more so than in times, thousands of years ago, when,
 man took facts, twisted them to suite his beliefs, his need to hide

reality, from reality so that he could manipulate, control,

live out his days with some sense of meaning, of purpose.

B. J. “A” 2

June 8^th 2002

 

Into my life

Out of a smoke laden, fuzzy, hazy night

 into my liquid, libation, blindness – sight

has come to me, as you fill my eyes to overflowing.

That is just alright, for what lay before me, is for knowing,

even when you pull the curtain in order to keep from showing

the essence of what is, that does not feel, alright for life’s growing.

 

Into my seclusion, my hermitage you come at will.

Will I accept ?, of coarse I will !, for I am as easy as still,

crystal waters, as easy as warm, lazy, summer breezes that fill

a slow Sunday afternoon, caressing a beauty who lies uninhibited,

comfortably upon the sands of timeless time, exhibited

in the eyes scanning some beach for her exotic beauty.

 

Every man’s desire !, every virile man’s duty!,

to be gazing at her beauty, radiating towards  heaven,

it’s bright blue iris, with pleasure, with delight even

as it’s golden, flaming heart radiates down,

all around, upon this beauty laying on the ground,

radiating her beauty for all, never uttering a sound.

 

Can I not but be most grateful, thankful, and appreciative

for the warmth showered upon this old, cold, soul ?

B. J. “A ” 2

June 6^th 2002