Rubbing the tear-streaked pane,
I peer through the window clearly,
The landscape beckoning me to leave my fortress.

I returned embattled just yesterday,
Injured by my most trusted ally,
Wounds still fresh keeping me from pondering denial.

Temptation urges me to bolt the shutters,
And remain within safe towers,
To shed concern over the next friend-turned-foe.

But Seclusion was not the purpose,
For which I have been sanctioned,
And to do so would render my victories for naught.

Three years I have been on this quest,
In search of True Love's prize,
But today I struggle to believe in its existence.

I honored my duty and began my watch,
Staring through these clouded portals,
Observing a figure approaching the gates.

In the distance it sounded like singing,
I strained to hear her tones so sweet,
Until she drew nearer and her words captivated me.

Listening to her song,
I realized she was singing to me,
Proclaiming True Love's arrival draws near.

Acceptance of her message,
Was slow on my weary heart,
But I listened until I surrendered my doubts.

Alas! Life began to fill my soul,
And my heart accompanied Love's song,
Giving healing to my wounds and courage to seek Love's source.

Wandering through the gates,
Love was waiting there for to meet,
Where I saw your beauty and took your hands in mine.

Love surrounded us and filled us with its song,
"Your hearts are the prize of the quests made together,
Life comes from love, and love is forever."



-BCJ, 30 May 2008

On the other side of this curtain,
Are things I am not certain,
But time will provide me the clue.

Fate leaves me confused.
Does it make you amused,
That I’m wondering what I should do?

I try hard to believe,
Though some call me naïve,
That I have put my faith in you.

Shall I rein in my heart,
Because we are apart?
You have never shared in my milieu.

How long must I wait?
Why do you hesitate,
Or is it time for me to bid you adieux?

-BCJ, 20 June 2008

My soul shall never rest again,
Forever hungry, craving that satisfaction,
Of knowing the taste of true love’s kiss.

For many years, my soul doth slept,
In a numbed hibernation.
I gave away my heart, love filled,
Returned empty in frustration.

Acceptance of the status quo,
Believing that was all love was to be,
Survival brought restlessness to my soul,
Stirrings from slumber within me.

Opening my eyes, I saw a little lost butterfly,
Who led me to a silver brook,
Reflections showing not who I am,
But what I was about to be.

Like the butterfly who shed her cocoon,
I was ready for the new life ahead of me.
But the lost butterfly would fly on ahead,
In search of her own fulfilled dreams.

Eyes wide open, fate brought love to me,
My soul was filled with life.
Traveling a difficult road to get there,
I knew it was worth the strife.

A dream come true, it was true love’s kiss,
A life of never-ending bliss,
Until she called it quits and went home.

Remembering the sweet taste on my lips,
And the touch of true love on my soul,
I shall not be satisfied until I taste again.

BCJ - 9/22/08

Happy birthday, my dear twin,
Where ever you may be.
Wasn’t this suppose to be the year,
You were going to celebrate it with me?

Two and forty years ago,
Our lives were set in motion.
We came together for a time,
But now are separated by an ocean.

Twins can feel as though the other,
Each pain and joy and tear.
But now that we’ve been separated,
I can barely breathe, I fear.

Nothing makes a person richer,
Than having many a true friend.
They celebrate your victories,
And stay with you ‘til the end.

Compared with friends, the things you own,
Hold no real measure of value.
They come and go, gone and replaced,
They do nothing to see you through.

But a friend so true will gather near,
Through good times and the bad.
But one who leaves in your time of need,
Is a friend you never had.

Always give the gift of kindness,
Be a friend to have one too.
And count your riches friend by friend,
These blessings are gifted to you.

BCJ, 1 Oct 2008

I’m waiting for you, holding on with faith,
That you will be here just as you said.
People say I am foolish for falling in love,
Wondering what is wrong with my head.

But I know because I peered into your heart,
And I know that you would be here today,
If not for your life you find yourself in.
Changes are just a leap of faith away.

The glue just dried on my reconstructed heart,
Imperfect with chips and cracks evident.
But it’s my best that I have to give you,
And I know it is not too opulent.

But I know that things will be alright,
Perfection is not what you or I do seek.
All things become beautiful in love,
Mysteriously things are not so bleak.

My eyes have opened to this amazing truth,
Judge not mistakes and sins, instead,
The past does not define who we are,
But it prepares us for the road ahead.

I have fought the good fight,
With all I have,
With all I am.
I think back on all the victories.
Those glorious battles where,
I was the victor.
Gather up all the medals!
Let me gaze upon the glory,
Before I go down.

My spirit is worn,
And I seek the final rest.
I have nothing left,
And the enemy is at the door.
Soon I shall feel the sting on my neck,
And my final breath shall escape me.

Where I go many men have gone before,
And my victor shall gaze upon his future,
As he looks down on me.

I have done all I can do,
I have nothing more to give.

"Yesterday is not ours to recover, but
tomorrow is ours to win or to lose."
- Lyndon B. Johnson

Tuesday: It is fixed.

Fresh fallen snow covers the trail of footsteps,
Leading from the church to the gallows.
One day removed from justice’ travesty,
Nature’s course lays a blanket of forgiveness.

Perhaps healing is nature’s purpose,
Else time should stop dead cold,
When evil men commit the most heinous crimes,
And saintly men do worse.

Yesterday was not just the end of one,
But the innocence of the all was tried and hung.
Mayhem conquered virtue, and corruption overtook reason.
Where a display of dissent confessed guilt by association.

Today, the gavel lays silent,
And peace replaces strife.
The world turned upside down is set upright again,
And time marches on.

Tuesday: I have known someone like that.... common ending too.

I sure miss my harem (j/k there).

Whatever else be lost among the years,
Let us keep Christmas still a shining thing:
Whatever doubts assail us, or what fears,
Let us hold close one day, remembering
Its poignant meaning for the hearts of men.
Let us get back our childlike faith again.
-- Grace Noll Crowell

Another Year ...
...... comes to its close!
A lot achieved - some good, some bad.
A string of memories left behind,
some happy, some sad!

A path we chose, a journey travelled.
A destination - some met, some await.....
A new year dawns...
A new begining of unspoken dreams....
and of whats in our fate?

A list of resolutions yet to be tackled,
Things that we'd like to obtain
New distances to be covered,
Hurdles to cross & blows to sustain.

Each day is a calling...
to come forth & live,
to live life to the fullest,
to love & forgive.

Let's claim each day with confidence & zest
Live each moment to our very best!

Happy New Year TWO THOUSAND & NINE

-Venita Pereira

Is this a holy thing to see
In a rich and fruitful land, -
Babes reduced to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!

And their sun does never shine,
And their fields are bleak and bare,
And their ways are filled with thorns,
It is eternal winter there.

For where'er the sun does shine,
And where'er the rain does fall,
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appal.

--Blake

There's room at the top, they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
-- John Lennon

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

--Dylan Thomas

The Usurper: I like this one. Thank you for posting.

TJ: YW :o)

"The Zulu shaman, or sanusi, Credo Mutwa, has written a poem to express his thoughts on what he sees as the true nature of Barack Obama and the agenda for Africa and the world that he represents."

An actor walks upon the floodlit stage of life
wearing a mask of an angel beneath a demon's gown.
Pretence smiles upon the crowded hall of life
holding out hope as bright as it is false.
Son of a woman in whose veins flows the blood
of ancient Ireland and dark Africa’s plains.
You are Obama, nick-named the standing king
You are Barack, oh, son born to deceive
The suffering hoards of Africa look up to you,
See a black saviour where nought but a Judas strides.
An entrapper of nations, bringer of dismal war
Behind the robes and the nylon wings of hope
Oh, may those who look upon you, see you as you are.
May those who hope in you behold you as you be
A prince deceitful to bring down Africa’s shrines
A siren who leads Africa’s ships onto rocks of obliteration.
Your rule my lord will not be one of peace
Your reign my king will not be one of smiles
Even as we speak in caves both dark and dank
Enraged fanatics plot your dark demise
They will put around your head a bloodwet martyr’s crown.
Oh black Kennedy following the one before
May God forgive thee and thy fiery spouse
As you walk in silence from the stage of life
Barack Obama, blessed son, Oh standing king.

Tuesday: I agree with you. I came across it and decided it was worth putting up here. I know I'm not on the Right...but sometimes I wonder if I'm on the Left either. I think maybe I'm on the Outer Fringe. lol

Tuesday: Yes, I don't think Obama would appreciate what he might consider an unsympathetic caricature of himself. I think Mutwa's point is that a president, in his official capacity & because of the power temporarily ceded to him, is more than a man. He can do great things, for good or evil. Now we are straying into politics. lol But, naturally, I lot of poetry is political, even great poetry (I think of Blake, one of my favorites).

Tuesday: You're being too kind to the man. lol

Tuesday: To finish your poem...

He read from Pet-Goat
While buildings were smote
And woudn't get off of his tush

Tuesday: To continue...

By "us" he meant "me"
And so couldn't see
His mirror reflecting a Wus

Tuesday: lol

But now can he drink
Without causing a stink
And sleep like a babe in his pee

Tuesday: I can't top that. lol :o)

Tuesday: Enjoy the Bachelor. You may get new inspiration. Or at least some well-earned relaxation.

Tuesday: What was Jason thinking? Bachelorette #3 was the prime choice. (This is a shot in the dark, as I haven't actually seen an episode...)

Tuesday: lol Good for her. Lord knows she can do better than Jason....

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
-----
[Translation: "It is noble and glorious to die for your mother country."]

-- Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)

Tuesday: Thanks for the link. A young man who could speak to the heart of things. So rare....

Welcome Budding Poets

The board is here
So have no fear
I see no ghost
So make a post!

:o)

[Posted by yours truly under my old nic.]

So, I'm waiting....

Vietnam Vet with a cardboard sign
Sitting there by the left turn line
Flag on the wheelchair flapping in the breeze
One leg missing, both hands free
No one's paying much mind to him
The V.A. budget's stretched so thin
And there's more comin' home from the Mideast war
We can't make it here anymore

That big ol' building was the textile mill
It fed our kids and it paid our bills
But they turned us out and they closed the doors
We can't make it here anymore

See all those pallets piled up on the loading dock
They're just gonna set there till they rot
'Cause there's nothing to ship, nothing to pack
Just busted concrete and rusted tracks
Empty storefronts around the square
There's a needle in the gutter and glass everywhere
You don't come down here 'less you're looking to score
We can't make it here anymore

The bar's still open but man it's slow
The tip jar's light and the register's low
The bartender don't have much to say
The regular crowd gets thinner each day

Some have maxed out all their credit cards
Some are working two jobs and living in cars
Minimum wage won't pay for a roof, won't pay for a drink
If you gotta have proof just try it yourself Mr. CEO
See how far 5.15 an hour will go
Take a part time job at one of your stores
Bet you can't make it here anymore

High school girl with a bourgeois dream
Just like the pictures in the magazine
She found on the floor of the laundromat
A woman with kids can forget all that
If she comes up pregnant what'll she do
Forget the career, forget about school
Can she live on faith? live on hope?
High on Jesus or hooked on dope
When it's way too late to just say no
You can't make it here anymore

Now I'm stocking shirts in the Wal-Mart store
Just like the ones we made before
'Cept this one came from Singapore
I guess we can't make it here anymore

Should I hate a people for the shade of their skin
Or the shape of their eyes or the shape I'm in
Should I hate 'em for having our jobs today
No I hate the men sent the jobs away
I can see them all now, they haunt my dreams
All lily white and squeaky clean
They've never known want, they'll never know need
Their sh@# don't stink and their kids won't bleed
Their kids won't bleed in the da$% little war
And we can't make it here anymore

Will work for food
Will die for oil
Will kill for power and to us the spoils
The billionaires get to pay less tax
The working poor get to fall through the cracks
Let 'em eat jellybeans let 'em eat cake
Let 'em eat sh$%, whatever it takes
They can join the Air Force, or join the Corps
If they can't make it here anymore

And that's how it is
That's what we got
If the president wants to admit it or not
You can read it in the paper
Read it on the wall
Hear it on the wind
If you're listening at all
Get out of that limo
Look us in the eye
Call us on the cell phone
Tell us all why

In Dayton, Ohio
Or Portland, Maine
Or a cotton gin out on the great high plains
That's done closed down along with the school
And the hospital and the swimming pool
Dust devils dance in the noonday heat
There's rats in the alley
And trash in the street
Gang graffiti on a boxcar door
We can't make it here anymore

-- James McMurtry