Some Words On Being Homeless

Dempsey dumpster diving done
lunch is now complete
time once more to join my peers
who wander on the street

I chat a bit with Lady Jane
who leans upon her cart
she’s every bit of 83
God Bless her lonely heart

Of all the things we yearn for
And all the things we do
Of all the wishes called for
I hope this one comes true

That while we’re still alive
We each our love renew
To prove that we can care about
Everyone and not just the few

So Happy New Year everyone
May your dreams all come true
May you only have good fortune
And may it spread from us, to you
BOEMS by JA 644

She doesn’t like, my music
She doesn’t like, my songs
She doesn’t like, my boems
And, she doesn’t like, my thongs

She listens not, to my wishes
She listens not, to my plea
She listens not, to my wizdumb
And, she listens not, to me

She tells me, what do
She tells me, what to say
She tells me, when to go
And, she tells me, when to stay

She tells me, when to laugh
And when, to shed a tear
But when she tells me, when to pee
That’s when I say, “YES DEAR”
BOEMS by JA 47

The Seed of love planted by the river of amity hoping for an perpetuity life, Creating roots for the foundation of
our love.
The root of our love grows with a boundless destination in quest for
vigor not to let the tree tumble.
The tree is the love and the love is the tree.

T’was the night before Christmas
And in his outhouse
Sat Ja quietly listening
To waltz’s, by Strauss. (Really, he was leafing thru Penthouse)

His shitter was fitted
With all manner of lights
That couldn’t be missed
No matter what heights

When up on the roof
There arose such a clatter
Ja, kicked open the door
To see, what was the matter

So there sat Ja
With his pants pulled down
His ass in a hole
On his forehead, a frown

Under the little stars,
I abide still in your shelter
Shielding me from the night wind
Swindling my connection to you.
And under your sweet pitch
I savor every moment like eating peach,
Your body warmth against my temple
Gives me this ethereal feeling.

In the most unusual manic-panic creep,

Wildly lurking behind every corner,

The Shadow was about to recover some ungraspable but always constantly desired idea..

A fantasy, a darker shade of fantasy: a fun fetish.

Or, perhaps, could it be foolish fanciful notions?

This fully torked delusion can be a haunting mirage.

A make believe vintage slogan ghost from generations past.

That worn out American Dream. That Life.

THE LIFE:

-Free from the routine confusion and disorder-

Where are you going and why are you going there
What is it that’s happening, and why do you care

Why do you go, what is the purpose of your quest
Too also, with the mysteries of love and compassion be blessed

Or to bear witness to a life put to death, yet who also forgave
While you were not there, you ran away; your life to save

By persecution and fear, your faith you had spurned
Yet, in the caverns of your mind, it still burned

Your servitude, put in question by your cowardice
Is rewarded only, when you realize you are powerless

The casualties are not only those who are dead.
They are well out of it.
The casualties are not only those who are dead.
Though they await burial by installment.
The casualties are not only those who are lost
Persons or property, hard as it is
To grope for a touch that some
May not know is not there.
The casualties are not only those led away by night.
The cell is a cruel place, sometimes a haven.
No where as absolute as the grave.
The casualties are not only those who started

silence holds the light

clouds wear white and fence

the azure sky; moon shines full,

possibilities

stars reflect dreams dreamt

across blue rivers flowing,

thrives free life as love

peer past rapids roar

foams of unforgiveness, old

silence holds the light

-Alison Breskin