Crescendo at the pitch ,
the touch of the octave,
the slide of my ribcage.
Put me on the overdrive
the feel of the rhythm,
beautiful eyes in glimmer.
I can't believe we are back,
on the track and split laps,
the untimed togetherness.
At the start of the race,
where heat and mist rose,
steams in the gush of the ****.
Poised passion rose to the skies,
wetness and action felt so right,
the torrential evaporated rain.
My future lies in your bed,
on the blue walls with graffiti,
away in a continent afar.
Inside the cocoon of a time-space,
irrigated by sprinkles of growth,
where we hum through civilisation.

I’ll be ready with the palm leaves
Upon your return.
I’ll lay them at your feet as you grace
Me with your presence.
Crowds will form and chant your name,
For they know that joy has arrived.
Countless hours staring out the window;
I have memorized the stains on the glass
And made friends with the spider on her web.
If only I had a web of my own to keep you
Adhered to my side.
You said it wouldn’t be long.
You lied.
Memories sustain me.
Hope contains me.
Who do you think you are,
Toying with my sanity?
Ah, my soul’s keeper,
My grim reaper.

You begged for my heart
So I gave it to share
But you snatched it away
And left me bare

I asked for it back
Or else I would die
But you didn’t care
You just said goodbye
BOEMS BY JA 505

Who is this Ja
Sean Hunt did ask
So I will tell you
This is my task

He’s a silly little man
Without any hair
His teeth are all gone
But he doesn’t care

He wears tiny glasses
Because he can’t see
They make him look cute
If you ask me

He writes some BOEMS
And thinks he is funny
But that hasn’t made
Him, any money

He writes WIZDUMBs too
And feels he is wise
But he has not yet
Won any prize

He makes up songs
And composes the tune
But won’t be on radio
Any time soon

Ja is that poor
Odd foolish man
Who just runs around
Does what he can

He’s the Polish version
Of that old grandpa
Just in his case
He is the Ja

He is in name
An old Polish, Jadek
I’m spelling it wrong
But what the heck

So there you have it
He’s no one of note
He’s not even famous
He’s just, an old goat
BOEMS BY JA 79

Dark is the night, by the light of day

Harsh are the words, which some people say

Grievous the malaise, which we often feel

Deep are the wounds, of a hurt that won’t heal

Lasting the wrong, to whom it is done

Fleeting the moment, when praises are won

Tragic the loss, of someone we love

Empty the feeling, when they are thought of
WIZDUMBs BY JA 619

Our car, among the classics
Our things, became antique
We, turned into relics
And our friends, befit a clique

Our cottage, now the hermitage
Our home, is a relique
Our life, will be a heritage
And when we talk, it’s a critique

What we do, has grown archaic
Our habits, turned oblique
Our thinking, esoteric
But we’ve, become unique
WIZDUMBs BY JA 418