As I see it !!! As I have heard it !!!

 

You say !, you have written !, “ I do not lie ! ”.

On many, many an occasion, I have stood by,

and listened to many – over the years – a lying word.

In all honesty ?, you cannot deny this is what I have heard.

 

Where is it coming from ?, habit ?, a need to survive

a past ?, what you need to hide from ?, a method to stay alive ?

It continues to remain within, as today harbors the past

that should be buried  – not so, for today it cast

 

it’s troubled shadow all over my day, my hour

over my heart, my spirit – my soul continues to tower.

I look into, I see the future, – after fifty three years –

for you, then, now and tomorrow nothing but tears.

 

These words, from me, I realize, feel like spears

and you want not, filling your eyes, your ears.

 
 

B. J. “A” 2

May 18^th 2006

Necessity

- the Mother of Invention -

 

A Sunday walk took  me on a journey over six miles,

carrying nothing bur myself, shorts, sweat shirt, sandals.

 

On Monday, to the grocery store and back, over three miles

carrying all the above, plus twenty five pounds of groceries.

 

On Tuesday, a walk to the auto parts store, over two miles

carrying myself, my cloths and thirty pounds ( clutch  ) of my car.

 

On Wednesday, another walk to the parts store, over two miles

carrying the above, returning with the thirty pounds of my car.

 

On Thursday, another walk to the grocery store, over three miles

carrying myself, my cloths, returning with thirty five pounds of groceries.

 

Thursday evening and a walk to the auto parts store, over two miles

carrying myself, my cloths, plus forty pounds ( flywheel ) of my car.

 

Late Friday afternoon, another walk to the parts store, two miles

returning with all listed above, the forty pounds of my car.

 

On Saturday, all my doubts, my insecurities, my fears

disappeared as I laid my car on the cemented terra firma,

 

fired up her heart and took her into motion once more.

Out the underground door and into the light of day.

 

Surprise !, not a nut, bolt, washer left over off the jack stands to stay.

For all went well and life, it had become the Mother of Invention.

 

I accomplished something new, what I thought – at sixty three-

I would never be able to do - ever again – things I did in youth.

 

 

There you have it Joyce, another week in the life .

Over a total of thirty miles of walking

and carrying over a total of 220 pounds

 

B. J. “A” 2

April 30^th 2006

 

Evenings Light

Late afternoon, rainbow colours slither across my floor,

climbs up and over my audio, my video equipment,

streaks across the covers – between which family history lies

and lights up the frames, the pictorial history before my eyes.
 

Mother Nature’s breath, dances shadows of forest foliage

- with Father Suns refracted rays, his rainbow children,

his multi shaped Silhouettes, shadows of animated  still life  

all throughout, permeating my four cornered room

as they sway, rock, weave, dance, crawl across my walls,

walls holding onto my history, my family’s history

as we look down upon me, me in games of solitaire.

As am I, and wonder why ?, there is no dance of life

in here, except from that which comes on light waves,

floating through – reflections of forest shadows,

refractions of light ( heavens rainbow children ) –

my living, dining room, my prison window.

 

( B. J. “A ” 2 )

May 3^rd  2006

COMING,

to me, is no longer what it used to be, getting there.

Leisure, pleasure, walks into a forest fresh with delight.

Feeling the grass beneath, the sky, the leaves above.

Fully enjoying the time from dusk, to the rays of dawn,

from the shadows of darkest night to days first light.

 

COMING,

to me, is no longer what it used to be, getting there.

For time has taken away, has killed time to indulge.

Leaving, only little pieces, of moments, for full delight

from this runaway train, booking it down a decline.

Its brakes no longer controlled by old hands

in these physical and psychological lands.

COMING,

to me, is no longer what it used to be, getting there.

No longer miles a head, lies a station of destination.

I envision it, I want to reach it, I remember it so well.

All the water towers have fallen, long ago turned to dust.

For this old engine, all its steam escapes through the rust

long before it can produce a head of steam allowing it reach

that longed for, elusive, desired awaiting station.

COMING,

to me, is no longer what it used to be, getting there.

It was once, the last place that I wanted to be going.

It still is !, but I have to wonder ?, is memory showing

me reality or is it all but a fantasy of this old mind

searching fragments of the past only to see, to find

that I desire more than what came before - unkind

is fate, is memory – these new experiences, if this be so

and there is no one to say, what will I truly know ?

 

( B. J. “A ” 2 )

May 3^rd  2006

A Desire

My decaying, crumbling, lost kingdom for one last safari

into the jungles of life and the living,

in order to seek out, to search for, to hunt for

all that once was, that are now but elusive experiences

for the aged, the indigent, the disabled, the depressed.

 

Oh !!! but to touch, to feel, to know a meaningful relationship,

just one last time, to find the same desire in one of the opposite sex

that would enter upon moon beams of light and fantastic dance.

These are some of the desires of the aged, the disabled, the depressed

who live in a world of seclusion, who dream the illusion.

This from old men without possibility or any chance of a last dance.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the Lost

There are many, many,… many dark hours,

of times when one’s life is carried away,

when feels the strength, the pull,

when one feels he is drowning

in the flood waters of his years

or drowned by showers of his tears.

 

( B. J. “A ” 2 )

April 25^th 2006

Days

From images, from messages,

from reflections, from representations

from the shady land of dreams,

- each morning my ass is kicked into the light –

reality strikes me each and every morning

whether it is 8:30, 9:55 or eleven thirty.

 

On my four walled room - pictured with history –

comes light to brighten up my four cornered room

with emerald greens from pines, ferns. maple hues,

colours that fill the empty spaces between their taller,

larger cousins as they reach up, crawl towards the light.

 

From them and from the jungles of my dreams

comes a multi coloured blanket covering up the brown

the graves of their off springs, their forefathers

that for seasons, for eons, have laid upon the ground

The past that lays decaying beneath the tears of gray skies .

 

There are days- few it seems – that the sun’s rays

do break through, furthering growth, accelerating

the process of decay – the future, to become –

in another day – nourishment for another generation

of shades of green that will shroud the browns of the past,

that throughout winter’s cover, covered the ground

all around the land scape and the landscape of my dreams,

 

( B. J. “A ” 2 )

March 31^st 2006

Age’s toll

 

The soul screams – cries out in silence –

in age, without dreams – never comes a chance

for souls, it seems – to experience another dance

under moon beams – have life’s moment enhance

 

the hours of one’s day, or better one’s ways,

no matter how they pray, for hours to fade away

so that one might say, nothing lasts, nothing stays,

no one left to play, so for everyone who may

 

get to see, get to feel, get to understand and know

the essence of the one who takes the time to show

what is buried beneath the snow of a cold mans soul

which by north winds, and by south winds, doth blow.

 

( B. J. “A ” 2 )

March 23^th 2006