Numbers ???  ( 3 / 13 )

What significance do they hold for me ???

 

33 years ago – 1973, 3^rd month, 13^th day

I lost my dear friend, his name was Rae.

A fourth cousin – E. P, Johnson – passed away

sixty years before – the 3^rd month, 1913.

 

I have to wonder ?, just what does this all mean ?,

for my Daughter Gail, born in 1963, first seen

light of day. Then came my Daughter Mandy, preen

by nurses on the 13^th day of November 1983

 

I have to wonder ?, has the fabric of time been torn

- letting these numbers swirl around time being born –

influencing, putting into motion what I’ve come to know

all that has played with, and influenced my soul.

 

I wonder ?, just how many more 3s and 13ns.

 

( B. J. “A ” 2 )

March 13^th 2006

Rae

To day ! I took a walk to a river far from.

To day ! I took a look into the river of time.

To day ! I took a time to reflect upon.

To day ! I took a piece of you out of my mind.

 

Yesterday ! - haunted many of my days, my nights

Yesterday ! - weighed heavy upon all I have done

Yesterday ! - on this date since – made my bones – ice.

Yesterday ! – I do believe – is slowly fading away.

 

Tomorrow ! – will it bring peace and set you free ?

Tomorrow ! – will it bring release and let me be ?

Tomorrow ! – will the end of your journey let you see ?

Tomorrow ! – is left for you to fly beyond that time and me !

 

Spread your wings Rea !!!

Come to enjoy a new day ???

 

( B. J. “A ” 2 )

March 13^th 2006

Holographic

Pieces make

Up, what become pieces of ourselves,

that run in circles, like little elves,

 

playing with bits and pieces of others

as we incorporate parts- be they brothers

 

our sisters, our fathers our mothers

aunts and uncles - that in some cases smothers

 

the identity, the puzzle making up our psychic well.

Camouflaging the shades, the hues, the story one can tell

 

of how we arrived, how we lived, live and how we fell

from grace and into the abyss, a black bottomless pit

 

where one comes out smelling like a steaming pile of shit,

rather than a bouquet of roses – finding no place to sit

 

among the healing rays of a bright, light day

knowing that this is the cost, the price we pay

 

for a small place in the sun, a place on earth to stay,

rest our souls, reflect, contemplate, meditate and pray

 

for something better to show its face, come our way.

these are the hopes and dream - for another day

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Depressions Hole

 

Depression has draped her tapestries in vain.

Trying to shroud my shoulders with gray pain

and yet her oppression – I will not let gain

a foot hold or weaken this tired, feeble brain.

 

No teardrops - to flood – fall like rain.

No teardrops – no water marks – show a stain

that can tell a story of what will not remain

of the hours spent in depressions train.

 

For with wisdom, knowledge, will, I will refrain

from being drown with depression / oppressions rein.

For all who live, feel, who forlornly sing this sad refrain.

remember !!! it’s in your head, you can eject it from your brain,

 

those track upon which rides this runaway train.

So my dear friends, do not be afraid !!!, apply the brakes

know relief and the joy and the difference it makes.

It is not easy- as you well know – but an effort is what it takes

 

to see the waters clear and calm – no drowning in these lakes

for those who can see past their nose, for that is the way it goes

for the fighters, for the adventurous, for the one who knows

that in the end – talking, sharing, writing – it will show

 

the world – your world – that depression, feeling drowned,

feeling its oppression is but a marry-go-round, going around

and around, and if you do not jump off, it will be into the ground

for you, there will be no escape from deaths song - that aery sound

 

the grim reaper plays as he marches you

to the other side of life, where very few

have come back from, to tell what is new

for me, for you, in this light, who knew ?

 

( B. J. “A” 2 )

March 10^th 2006

 

A Song !!!

Quiet Sorrow / Silent Tears

 

I awoke to cold, wet, gray skies,

remembered the pain- your eyes,

a story told – I heard – telling me

of your sad plight- your fight to be.

 

I closed my eyes to this early mornings rise.

A river of tears – into dream land – from my eyes,

carry my along, your words cry out, why ?

I wonder ?, then I know !, why you have to cry

 

and cry in silence ( from within ), stifled by fears

- your companion’s throughout all these years –

that have not stopped you, yet never let you be.

They have caged your spirit, will not set you free

 

from all that your mother and me,

in our infinite wisdom ?, could not see.

I left you to flounder in your mothers sea

of pain, anger, frustration, vindictive hate.

 

I left you with ghosts- from both of us – to your fate,

without a solid foundation, upon which, your creation

could rise, I left you no hand to hold – be your salvation –

as you grew up in a world, where nothing but starvation

 

of the soul, spirit, this little Girl, - where nothing could grow –

was the essence of your stifled little world – this is what did show

you a path – to rise above, free spirited, touch the sun, to know,

-  there is life, for you, beyond our flaws and my hollow soul. -

 

that who and what you are

is but a great and shining star

that has – beyond us – gone far

to eradicate – from your soul – who we are,

and no matter what, we can no longer mar

your heart, your spirit, your soul, your star,

for you have risen above ?, to be the woman you are.

 

B. J. “A” 2

March 7^th 2006

 

And so my Dear, leave the ghosts, us ghosts behind, for your mother and me to live with, and find the freedom that seems to elude you, take wing and do not be afraid to FLY !!!

Love

Dad

Tomorrows

 

All of our tomorrows

seem to be filled with sorrows.

But let me say, not necessarily the way

that one’s life will, upon the stage, play.

 

It might seem, that all our tomorrows

will be, as we have seen all our yesterdays,

life’s moments, experiences lived in sorrows

as we perceive our acts, upon the stage, in the plays

 

that have been written in the sands of time,

time that may never be yours and mine,

to know all of what could very well be sublime

and take us to the logical conclusion of this rhyme.

 

B. J. “A” 2

March 7^th 2015 .

Tooth and Nail

 

In this space, this world we have created,

it is - for most – a very slippery slope

that seems – for many – to be frustrated

by this feeling – there is very little hope.

 

Upon the edges of this world – scars of mans

attempt – fingernails ripped from his hands.

Upon the edges of this world – craters from teeth

attempting – hanging by the skin of, from underneath

 

On this world – from man’s shadows chained –

all that fate, karma, choices made, nothings gained,

for in the end, what is it that will remain ?,

that when we look back, be considered sane.

 

My words, my thoughts dance to a different drummer,

this places me on the outer edges, making life a bummer.

Life seems to exist on the fringes of winter – seldom summer

sings its songs to my ears – seldom a joyful hummer

 

will I be, for you  see, I dance to a different drummer !

Doing so, I can find no band in which I might  play

because my tunes touch most, reach none – nothing stays

categorized, for me – no place to belong – stark are my days.

 

In this world – life for me – to be on my own.

Journeys, adventures  – life for me – all alone

as I fill my days – empty – in my little home

with little light reflecting from my shiny chrome.

 

And so, for those who care, or care to see ?,

there is little I say, I feel, that could be

a full representation, a complete picture of me.

Lost in the subconscious blackness – an obscured sea.

 

B. J. “A ” 2

March 3^rd 2006

Women of age

 

A woman of age popped in last night.

The garden had become wet, might

this gardener – willing yet weak – plane seeds

into where nothing grows, not even weeds.

 

For this aged garden, has become barren.

No amount of passion nor patient caren

will be able to make life sprout or grow.

This the garden and gardener doth know.

 

that when sweet seeds – needs – are sown,

reality comes to light and all is known.

They will come to an end without fertilization.

This awareness, this knowledge, their realization,

 

that life’s true meaning has ended – procreation,

a dead issue, has become life’s - no perpetuation –

meaning for these tired, aged, lost souls

who’s time has stilled, it no longer  flows

from this garden, yet this gardener doth strain

for what will remain - their immortality never again

from them to create a new – life’s force to remain.

No longer will they provide new souls for this plane.

 

From these two, never a story to be told

for they travel down a different road.

Each, on a separate journey, to end

their days, do they, still call each, friend ?

 

There are so many ideas, points of view, thought

about life’s meaning, so what is it ?, that is taught

by the lessons we have learn ?, the wars fought

that have brought us closer, yet maybe not

 

to the understanding of mankind’s existence,

the meaning of humanity ?, or its relevance

to the world we live on, continue destroying.

We are but a disease ?, a virus ?, reaching out, deploying.

B. J. “A ” 2

February 26^th 2006