Symbology

For thousands of years we have walked this plane,
 among the wavering shadows of symbolism.
A state of affairs that deserves much criticism,
for much revolves around it and one must explain
why it is that we have been guided by their interpretation,
 for what has been set, we may never get another explanation.
Upon this plane, most walk with blind faith, seldom do we wonder?
Wonder about this ancient mechanism that takes mankind asunder,
beating upon our souls like Thor’s hammer of lightning and thunder.

B. J. “A ” 2
October 28^th 2013

A Dreamers Dream

Yesterday – a force that sends fragmented pieces of dreams
into the waking, fragile, waiting arms of today.
Today – a receptacle that coalesces these flakes of reverie
into images that reach out to solidify one’s future.
A Dreamers Dream.

What are dreams anyway ?
They are but fractured reflections,
pieces of one’s daily / nightly journey
throughout one’s adventures upon this plane.
Except, of course, those few derived from a psychic nature.

Dreams tell a story of history.
Dreams speak to us of our hidden emotions.
Dreams show us the true nature of our desires.
Dreams will carry us through the tumultuous times.
Dreams will become the comforter, masquerading in riddles
 
B. J. “A ” 2
October 28^th 2013

Linda

Linda Blair, is a woman with too much care
in her heart for so many, who seem to care not.
This forces me to wonder ?, what it is they have got
that entices her, lures her into their lair ?
What is it ?, Subconsciously, that is being sought,
by this woman named Linda Blair?
To me, it seems troubling and ought not
to be, for the price seems to high, the fare
to steep for the ride she is on- that should be forgot.

I look intently, I see deeply, then I stare
into the mournfully sad eyes of Linda Blair.
This mill stone, weighted soul, so fraught
with pain, aching heart, tears caught
by winds hanging high in the air
above this woman who cannot help but care.

This thoughtful woman named Linda Blair,
 whose days have come and gone, will come and go
leaving me to wonder why ?, what for ?, what do I know ?
Do I know anything ?, in the end what will show ?,
 me anything about why Linda Blair,
suffers the head aches, the heart aches, why she doth care.

Life is to precious !, time is too short !, to share
it with such negative forces, forces the cause despair
to my friend, troubled friend, Linda Blair,
who, no matter what the cost, has a needs to care.
Psychos have come and Psychos will surely will go.
This my friend, you have, surely come to know ?,

that this is part of what makes your world go round.
Linda, know !, to survive upon this psychological ground,
you must awake, you must take a firm stand
and realize that it is time to let go of the hands
of those negative forces that take you down.
Find your place, fill your space, ( positive ) make it sound !

Time has brought me to this understanding, and to an end,
and so, my troubled soul, know my dear Friend,
that in my efforts, I have truly striven
to leave you with more than I have ever given.
For you, a bitter pill ?
As always – Love Bill .
B. J. “A ” 2
March 27^th 2002

Phantoms

Phantoms, nightly steeds, flared nostrils all aflame
with their steely hooves thundering on my brain, as they came,
these apparitions shrouded in blackness, to carry me off, conscious,
into the darkness, into the mystery of the subconscious,
they came to light the fires within, and within my soul,
to shed light upon the darkness, for me to see, to know
just how far to go, just how far one can go,
is what these phantoms, nightly steeds, want to show.

B. J. “A” 2
March 26^th 2002

Women and Love

even when it is lavished upon their fragile, fractured hearts,
their desperately searching, lost souls, their buried spirits.

Some women - with sex – are reaching out for security, financial gain,
for some, it is playing a game, reaching for the ladder they see,
reaching for material things they can touch, some out of fear,
some for a future that will take them passed their past,
 some out of anger for that past, some out of spite,
 some for revenge upon the unknown,
out from the subconscious, some,
just for the passion.
Many – I do Believe – by the hands of Mother Nature,
from the pure essence of purely biological needs.

Many of the reasons for a woman making love, having sex, just fucking
are buried deep within the psyche, the subconscious, of which,
most no nothing about and likely never will understand the mystery.
For those who do know ?, understand ?, little or nothing will change !,
as does, with those who live in ignorant, blind, bliss, for the patterns
form a lifetime rut, most remain the same, habit, ritual the game.
And so, for the self-destructive, the destructive nature, they doth permeate  
the heart and soul,  permeating the very essence of every relationship,
regardless of how shallow or deep, how meaningless or meaningful.

And so, are the reasons for woman
 ( let us not exclude men from the analyses, the meaning,
the understanding of human nature as stated above )
to be many colours of butterfly wings ?,
 shades of gray ?, or be the blackness of the whole ?
That journey, for them, most of us will never know !,
for we, after all, are not but human beings,
products of our life’s journey, our life’s experiences,
our nature and our nurturing, our life’s march
through history, times past, present and future.
 In their passing, in the here and now, in what is to come ?,
some of us have been most privileged to have tasted pieces,
moments of it all, and understood, and in that,
have come to know some of what it is that makes a woman
 come and go, as the seasons, seasons with reasons untold.
Sometimes, even if we ( men ) cannot understand, only see
the unreasonableness that fills the air, our eyes, our minds
and our thoughts, we still climb aboard that ride,
that roller coaster turmoil, that is laid before us.

Leaving the mental anguish, the emotional whirlpool behind,
letting the intellectual analysis go, in lieu of the purely physical,
is where my thoughts now take me, with my experience, my words
that will bring this monolog to a logical conclusion

To have “ tasted the pieces ” !, what a journey !, for one’s mind,
even as one suffered the searing pains of being burned by the
flames of a troubled mind, yet to have tasted, to have felt
– not in mind but in reality – the “ fire down below”,
what a thing to have experienced, to have come to know,
that electrifying heat from the flames down below,
as they galvanized one’s manhood, and in unison,
in harmony one’s manhood electrifies,
sets aflame the motherhood in her.

B. J. “A ” 2
March 27^th 2002

What I see

Melanie, let me tell you what I see,
and know, it is all from with inside of me.
I am watching you, as you walk away,
into and through the crowds on a midway,
toward that house, made of glass,
mirrors, through who’s doors you will pass,
 pass from view, out of my sight,
into that hall of mirrors bathed in dim light.

I see you looking, intently, at your reflection,
with, - I pray – a great deal of comprehension.

Before you, you see this image.
Yet – I do believe – it, you do not recognize
as it, as you come of age, letting go of the rage
that we both have come to realize
has been a part of this image, that surly is you.
You look deeply !, yet know not what to do,
 for you are unable to distinguish, you from the shadows.
Find your true self ?, at this stage, who knows ?
Shadows veil, they are vapor without form
and you know not – yet – what is norm.

What these venomous, vaporous shadows project
 I must tell you Melanie, will never protect
you from what they have to say.
What I hear, my Dear, brings to me a sad day
as I hear the words “ I am insecure ”,
“ I am without self-esteem, so unsure”,
“There is, in this life, no certainty,
and I feel myself so unworthy ”,
“ I feel, I see myself as ugly. ”

These are the thoughts that I see Melanie,
yet know !, deep within you, these are not what you be.

B. J. “A ” 2
March 26^th 2002

Epilogue

   It is only from within you, they come, Melanie, and you are the only one that can see, you are the only one, who experiences, who is able to dissipate these misty shadows, looking back at you from those mirrors in this house of glass .
   As time passes Melanie, I pray, of what I speak will pass !
   I have been watching you continually crash into these mirrors, but they have yet to crack, yet to break, and so, therefore, these images we see reflected, you feel are you, will never take you to the gates, into the cracks and set you free, nor, like the looking glass of Alice in wonderland, will they be absorbed so that you may come out on the other side being all that you could be and that we both would love to see .

                     Love
                 Dad .

Words
The ship
Words come to me like spring.
They set free, they shed the shroud,
open with all their glory, beauty and sing.
They stand tall, they ring out loud,
from a life that blossoms with life’s renewal,
with its continuation and the energy it will fuel,
 taking all living things, from their creation
to exotic places, the place of their final destination
and that of their destiny.
And destiny for you and me.

Words are my stairway towards the breasts
of heaven, its waiting arms and its protective nests,
where there is nothing that harms
- as one snuggles in its enfolding arms -
one on his journey down long winding roads
 he has to travel with such heavy loads.

Words are the steps I have climbed, they take me
on adventures – and many, they have been – to see
me through the doors, ( doors of perception ) of my mind,
 those places, where it is, I spend most of my time.
These pathways I have chosen to embark upon,
  seem to linger on, and on, and on
through to the subconscious that doth confirm, 
to consciousness, the light and I do learn
from the words, the life, the thought
  flowing like meandering streams, into raging rivers,
 rivers into seas, into oceans and ought
to take flight, light up the livers
of life on their voyage towards heaven above
where all might be pure love
for a soul and for that soul to know
what is unknowable to conscious man, what doesn’t show,
of what is not known to life, in its everyday living.

Words, for me, are knowledge, are for wisdom, for giving
to all of whom want to know for all those who want to grow.

B. J. “A” 2
March 21^st 2002

Melanie, Dear Melanie !!!

My heart, Melanie, is aching.
My heart, Melanie, is braking
from the attitudes that never seems to cease.
They just seem – to me that is – to ever increase,
 taking you ever deeper and deeper into ?, and further away
 from who you are – what I feel and what I pray,
is not where you are at and what you are heading for.
It seems that there are few days left ?, before you are out the door.

B. J. “A” 2

March 21^st  2002

Troubled Times
My hours tremble, they shake in their passing.
The minutes I live, are pressing, they are oppressing,
for the thunder that rages, that is your presence,
I have no safe haven, no shelter, I have no defence.
To become completely silent ?, never to sing out,
 to ring the bell that tolls of your life, turned about
expressed  with anger, in the hostile words you shout
at me, words that let me see into, know something is amiss
in our little world, that once tasted the sweetness of bliss,
but now, has been destroyed, taken away !,
 by what ?, by whom ?, who has lead you astray.
B. J. “A” 2

March 21^st  2002

Loss

I have felt, for some time, and do feel the light
within you flicker, yet does not quite burn bright
for long, but one day, may just take flight
on your butter fly wings, not dried or out of sight
and carry you passed all in life – BAD – you tried, in darkest of night..
B. J. “A” 2
March 21st  2002

Touch
I have reached out !, I have tried to touch you Melanie !,
but have found, not but vapour, mist in my hands,
passing air, on the run, to an uncharted, unknown sea,
to far off, barren, dusty,  desert lands.

I offer you, - my Daughter, my Child, - my time, my ear.
I would like to know, to understand, to listen, I want to hear,
but silence is all that comes to me, upon the turbulent wind,
on the run, in the air, stilled by this horrendous sin.

B. J. “A ” 2
March 21^st  2002

The Fall
Melanie, !!!, your fall, I find hard to conceive.
It is a picture, a movie that I do not want to believe,
yet it is all around me, but if I would perceive.

B. J. “A ” 2
March 21^st  2002

A black hole
My life is caught up in this vortex called living.
This whirl pool, called life, sucks me in,
 spins me round and around, giving
nothing, just drawing me ever downward, in,
 into this it’s empty black hole, pierced by it’s swards,
laying my heart wide open, bleeding on my thoughts, my words.

B. J. “A ” 2
March 21^st 2002

Veiled sight
My eyes flow, they swell with red
rivers, in vain as painful waves
of tears, tears full of fears fill my head
as the pain, from within, fills the caves,
the hollows, the shelters in my mind, never put to bed

B. J. “A ” 2

March 21^st 2002

Much to much time !!!
It seemed that I had too much time on my hands, to reflect,
too much time on my hands to project,
to much time on my hands to infect
my days, my nights with what I did suspect,
and now the years have slipped by like lightening,
and all that once was frightening,
has, with the passing of time, become clear
as time has shown, elevating all that I did  fear.

B. J. “A ” 2
October 12^th  2013

Returning

One may never go back to what never was.

For what never was, is but reminiscing, with regret.

Regret for what one let slip by, gone forever, and yet,

we hang on to those illusions, because ?,

into the moment, afraid to immerse.

Only in dream, in rhyme, in verse.

Twenty four years, words came, they laid

upon pieces of paper, the memories staid,

upon mat, three and a half by five

images of what once was alive.

What was, what wasn’t, they all, are stored

within the deep recesses of memories hoard.
 

They come floating back to us on airwaves

They come flooding back to us from black vinyl.

They come floating back to us from magnetic tape.

They come flooding back to us from CDs

They come floating back to us from upon a stage.



 B. J. “A” 2

October 11^th 2013