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Poem
Holographic
Pieces make

Up, what become pieces of ourselves,
that run in circles, like little elves,

playing with bits and pieces of others
as we incorporate parts- be they brothers

our sisters, our fathers our mothers
aunts and uncles - that in some cases smothers

the identity, the puzzle making up our psychic well.
Camouflaging the shades, the hues, the story one can tell

of how we arrived, how we lived, live and how we fell
from grace and into the abyss, a black bottomless pit

where one comes out smelling like a steaming pile of shit,
rather than a bouquet of roses – finding no place to sit

among the healing rays of a bright, light day
knowing that this is the cost, the price we pay

for a small place in the sun, a place on earth to stay,
rest our souls, reflect, contemplate, meditate and pray

for something better to show its face, come our way.
these are the hopes and dream - for another day
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Depressions Hole

Depression has draped her tapestries in vain.
Trying to shroud my shoulders with gray pain
and yet her oppression – I will not let gain
a foot hold or weaken this tired, feeble brain.

No teardrops - to flood – fall like rain.
No teardrops – no water marks – show a stain
that can tell a story of what will not remain
of the hours spent in depressions train.

For with wisdom, knowledge, will, I will refrain
from being drown with depression / oppressions rein.
For all who live, feel, who forlornly sing this sad refrain.
remember !!! it’s in your head, you can eject it from your brain,

those track upon which rides this runaway train.
So my dear friends, do not be afraid !!!, apply the brakes
know relief and the joy and the difference it makes.
It is not easy- as you well know – but an effort is what it takes

to see the waters clear and calm – no drowning in these lakes
for those who can see past their nose, for that is the way it goes
for the fighters, for the adventurous, for the one who knows
that in the end – talking, sharing, writing – it will show

the world – your world – that depression, feeling drowned,
feeling its oppression is but a marry-go-round, going around
and around, and if you do not jump off, it will be into the ground
for you, there will be no escape from deaths song - that aery sound

the grim reaper plays as he marches you
to the other side of life, where very few
have come back from, to tell what is new
for me, for you, in this light, who knew ?

( B. J. “A” 2 )
March 10th 2006
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