Caves

Time the Purveyor of sunsets 

Roads

The open road once beckoned this soul.

Many, many a journey towards adventures.

Miles and miles upon the surface of this continent.

Flying by the seat of my pants to destinations unknown.

Now, this black ribbon, upon which I gallop

leads to not but many familiar places, familiar faces,

as the road calls me, every day, to retrace my tire tracks.

Going over the same old ground, a rut going round and around.

B. J. “A ” 2

December 10^th, 2019

Dreams

Resurrect little vignettes of what once was a reality.

Dreams sometimes became the reality of one’s life.

Dreams have longed waned, become shadows of a man,

a man slipping into the ether, the reality of emptiness

as he sits on the bench, observing life through windows,

of life  passing by, most of, gone in the blink of an eye.

Reminiscing of days, adventures following so many sun rises.

Only today, to become journeys for this son’s setting,

over the beauty, the darkness, the heart aches, over the joys

as surrealistic visions shine upon a long and checkered career.

One wonders just what awaits at the end of this long, decaying pier

as he traverses the last path, the long winding road, as he comes near.

B. J. “A ” 2

November 6^th , 2019

Life from down Under

Beneath the turbulent, undulating seas of one’s life,

I have swam, against the ever changing, raging currents.

Many times, without foresight !!!, towards dire consequences.

Looking up from the depths at the underside of wave after wave

rolling over me, watching many a ship pass beneath star lit nights,

finding safe harbours, for brief moments, then moving on into the light

and the arms of new adventures, journeys into the mysteries of life.

Mysteries that this waterlogged, ancient piece of driftwood fathoms not.

This piece of driftwood, not but debris left to decay upon the shores of time lost.

Lost !!!, but never forgotten in the light of day – dreams

reflecting, refracting, sparkling like jewels upon the crest of waves.

Waves that will, across this plane, slip into the body of a safe harbour

and upon sandy shores, bask in the sun light of one’s history.

History, all that is left to a lost, old soul, a wander, an uninhibited free spirit

who has become locked within his memories hoard and the hollow shell of old age.

This spirit looking through the haze of murky H2O and into skies so blue,

remembering, reminiscing, seeing from within the darkness of oceans so deep,

of what once was, of all that could have been a much different life, but was never to be.

Accepting the currents flow, even as the stagnate waters of fate, tend to dictate,

direction, they continue to wash over one as he awaits going into that good night,

without rage he lays among the seaweeds waiting for amphibians to come and turn the page.

Upon land, many gardens were cultivated, planted with millions of seeds.

Those that blossomed gave some beauty that lingered on among the many weeds.

Voids were filled, moments were given freely, life was lived and in the end filled needs

After all is said, that has long been done, the journeys, the adventures, in spite,

were one hell of a ride and now all is said and done, one cannot hide, wrong or right

in all that has been integrated, has become nourishment for all, this old soul just had to feed.

B. J. “A ” 2

March 31^st, 2019

Resurrected from the dust,

Revisited, Reviewed and Revised

October 12^th, 2019

The world of old men

Kissing

Sun has set on many a man’s passion for kissing.

Caressing beautiful, soft lips, we all are missing.

Electricity, once generated, on longer the song.

This, the fate of many old agers is so very wrong

when men, when women still have a burning desire.

The flesh may be weak, even if the spirit is on fire.

 B. J. “A ” 2

August 28^th, 2019

One’s ??? Seeds

Where planted, years ago, in troubled soil,

A Garden, overwhelmed by such turmoil.

Two Roses, sprouted from these flawed seeds.

The Garden, was unable to nourish their needs.

One Rose, plagued by phobias, anxiety and fears.

The other, a victim of life's weeds, a world of tears.

This appointed Gardner, has tried to do his best.

Time has left him feeling elapsed, laid to rest.

No longer thought of as a family member ???

History, no longer taking time to remember.

The winds of time blowing the soil away.

No ground upon which to stand and pray.

How does One, cope ???

When there seems little hope.

B. J. “A ” 2

August 27^th, 2019