Bridges burning

Hanging onto the fragile ridge

of your life, under a bridge.

Seeing this, cuts deep like a knife,

filling our hearts with such strife.

Our souls constantly in fear,

our eyes well up in tear.

Watching you fade away

makes us all want to pray

for inner strength,

a vision, at length,

to show you a future,

where you may mature

and leave behind

your world so unkind.

This world of drug abuse

a world that has no use

but to chase down a fix.

For some, to turn tricks.

All in all self-destruction.

No longer able to function

is all that will remain,

for you cannot refrain.

For me, it seems,

dead are your dreams

 as you gather junk, to hoard,

sitting among it, being bored

waiting for someone to steel it

 and then to have another fit

over what you have lost.

This life, not worth the cost.

Light and hope on the horizon.

 I see your spirit free of the prison.

 B. J . “ A ” 2

July 21^st 2016

China Fading

Hours are many, have become so full.

Hardly a minute, a second to breath.

Meaningful moments are so few.

Only memories of what was known, with you,

are all that remain, of a way of life

scattered among the flakes of winter days.

As China, fades upon the waning pages of History

exploring, knowing, experiencing, journeying

upon the waves of new avenues, new adventures.

In hands are the remnants of tear drops

crystalizing into myriads of  flakes,

flakes in all their memorable divergences.

B. J. “A ” 2

May 22^nd 2016

Missed moments

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Wasted years of ?, one doth lament.

They lay heavy, like shoes of cement.

One, who walks through their days, in constant fret,

wonder what ?, tomorrow they will begin to regret.

One must forget all the above.

Walk through life full of love.

Love, one must, for oneself.

This will take them off the shelf.

A glorious journey will begin.

Adventures galore, to step within.

Jump right into every moment, with both feet.

Sucking all the life out of them, this is the feat.

Life is far too short a journey to take.

Live it to the fullest, for heaven’s sake.

B. J. “A ” 2

April 29^th 2016

A Place of Creation

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Telephone City, Wayne Gretzky’s home town, the place of my birth.

Thirty three years, I played, worked and walked this piece of earth.

Given - by Sir Frederick Haldimand, “ Haldimand Proclamation, ” -

to the Iroquois, six miles, each side of the Grand River, the six Nation

Reserve, from its source to its mouth ( 950,000 acres ) 904,000 eradicated,

46,000 acres left for the Mohawk, Cayuga, Onondaga, the rest confiscated.

as the Oneida, Seneca and Tuscarora are left to share this land.

Most taken by many devious means at the white man’s hand.

This is the place I grew up, the place that educated me.

The mean Streets of Brantford, forty years I seldom see.

Three thousand miles, forty two years away.

Life has been, in many ways, lived within a fray.

Home is where the soul, the spirit, the heart is, anyway.

So out here in beautiful B. C., is where I will stay.

B. J. “A” 2

April 4^th 2016

Welcome to your new Home

History’s moments

Ghostly shadows, will-o'-the-wisp, St Elmo’s Fire

slip through the cracks of my memories desire

to hang on, they resurface, lying upon a funeral pyre.

For a brief moment, they light up today’s sky,

reflections upon the surface of my inner eye,

before they burnout, dust on the winds, fly.

Memories get bogged down in thoughts quagmire,

creating a stillness, discontinuing what today doth require

to take one past, reach for the stars, climb so much higher.

B. J. “A” 2

April 2^nd, 2016

Valentines

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There is such a beautiful grace,

I see, every time I look into your face.

I wish to be your Valentine’s, this to be my place,

deep within your heart, not to be, by Buddha’s grace.

This I must realize and accept, this I must face.

Know that within your heart, I have no place.

To know that my soul will never discern your grace,

in any deep manner, sadly, distorts my face

B. J. “A ” 2

March, 1st, 2016