From the outside looking in
I show the world a majestic façade.
They see only a moment of me--
The moment I choose for them to see.
A moment I captured in forever
projected on a sea, stilled in tranquility.

Through the curved glass
I see the world in all its beauty.
I imagine all the wonders out there
just past the edge of this glassed horizon.

Inside the bottle my world is small
and this tranquil sea lacks adventure,
caught in an eternal moment that ticks without a toc,
rerunning an ever out of reach dreamt of horizon.

What I would give to feel life’s winds upon my sails.
To surf the currents that lead to life's wonders,
feeling moment after moment crashing like waves around me
until I find myself landing on those greener shores.

Instead, I find myself dry-docked on this shelf.
A vessel crafted by a master hand to tame adventure
encased in inhibition’s glass,
cursed just to be a ship in a bottle.


Joey Jones

Another morning, another day
I wake before the alarm.
The pressures, my stress
deprives me of the rest I need--
just to get through it all.

The rays of the new morning
slowly make their way in
transforming the room from dark to shadows.
I catch a silhouette of you,
lost in your peaceful slumber.
Such a perfect juxtaposition
revealing to me that I have been blessed
through it all.

I remember the young girl
her golden hair, the innocent touch
whose eyes once saw in me--her future.
Though I tried, time and time again
to wreck that dream-- you held on--
through it all.

The scene takes me back, to the expecting mother
so peaceful in her sleep, bravely ready to become
what I so feared I could never be.
While I struggled to become the man, the father,
you needed and deserved me to be.
I knew it would take your love--
to get me through it all.

Now those blessed gifts,
each containing the better parts of both of us
are starting to make their own way
while I'm still stumbling to make my own.
My fears for them collide
with the compiling stress of my day to day
and I find myself again awake before dawn.

On another morning, on another day
with the same silhouette reminding me--
We'll get through it all.

Joey Jones

The poem I’d never write
is of a love we'll never know
lost to life's cruel circumstance
and time's mischievous hand
just a couplet without chance.

The poem I'd never write
is inspired when you are near
we both lust in mum refrain
careful to keep hidden the truth
our each glance in secret restrain.

The poem I'd never write
is of a kiss that we can't taste
of passions in perfect rhyme
but penned in reality's curse
of meeting in bad time.

The poem I'd never write
is a Magnus Opus
I'll never set to page
but will recite each night
through the years as I age.

So I took a walk in the cool midnight air
for I was lost in the contemplation of my life
the stars all winked and the moon just smiled
at the silly fool who walked all alone at night.

The wind whispered its rambling scheme
while the night owl kept questioning me
echoing the inquisition of my own soul
so I took a walk in the cool midnight air.

I asked the stars to shine on my tomorrow
and the moon to reflect yesterday's light
their faithful reply gave me no direction
for I was lost in the contemplation of my life

Then at the intersection of the one-way streets
of What Will Be and What Once Was I stopped
and pleaded for answers from the midnight sky
the stars all winked and the moon just smiled.

Then the ever waving hands and familiar face
of the old town clock answered my query
the heavens and Father Time just laughed
at the silly fool who walked all alone at night.


© Joey Jones

Out of place in a northeastern field,
a rock sitting quietly by my side,
we admire the rolling hills, green grass
and a horizon of fall-touched trees,
like a characters in a hotel painting.

My soul should sway in this breeze
a gentle hand to rock my cradle,
my mind should be inspired
souring with the south-bound birds,
I should find peace in such a place.

My life steals this chance of life
as I worry on things I can't change,
the money for bills now overdue,
crimes committed by unknown men,
wars in places that are just too far away.  

I envy the solace of the rock,
with this view--the whole of its world
no summer to hot, no winter to cold
no feeling, no worries, and nothing to envy.

It has witnessed millions of sunrises,
stared off into the most starry of nights,
watched seasons change and change again
the trees sprouting, growing, and dying
evolution of the living, extinction the dead.

What a story it could tell!
What a song could it sing!
This silent friend -- I found in this field.

I wonder would it include me in its story
or sing about me in its song?
The envious, worrisome traveler
who spent an autumn moment by it's side.

Yet, it can't tell its tale and it can't sing
for in the end it is simply just a rock
the only story it can have is the story I tell
a story told by a man inspired by a rock.

Joey Jones

Between the wax and wane,
naivety dawns to wisdom,
adventure turns to vigilance,
as we're caught,
caged in responsibility.

It’s as if we're cursed by a caesura
of neither feeling youth's freedom
nor the peaceful surrender to old age,
just victims to our day to day routines.

Oh, we remember our youthful play
and tell those tails with boastful joy,
as we make grander plans for tomorrow
hoping it will be better than our today.

Its here we bid farewell to our mothers
and understand the plight of our fathers,
as we write eulogies for the friends we lost
and come to the realize love is not forever.

Yet, in this pause our minds' whisper to us
in the innocent voice we spoke in our dawn
mixed with the foreshadowed tone of our dusk,
that somehow the noon is indeed the finest hour.

For its here that our youth's dream are realized,
shared with those we are now responsible to,
its here that our children change our names
as we treasure their dreams above our own.  


© Joey Jones

The horizon grows angry,
it growls in thunder,
enraged with lightning,
I watch you people tremble.

With each thundering boom
the fear is revealed in your eyes.
But not mine.

This world's storms
time after time again
have tried to break me,
I have always risen
stronger and wiser
than I was before.

My body has been beaten,
my soul has been bound,
where other men would have cracked
my mind kept me whole.

I persevered,
I found the strength,
relying on my faith,
my family,
and my friends,
I stayed standing
while around me stronger men fell.

So now,
with our horizon turning grey
you want to throw me to the wolves,
sacrifice me for your self-perseveration.

Just be warned that when I return
the growling thunder will be my howl
my rage will be the lightning.

And I will be leading the pack.

Joey Jones

I am the eclipse that makes you blind,
a dark shadow cast upon your mind.
as you try to escape into the light
I'll serve as a reminder of the night

I am the scent of your blooms decay
a putrid aroma from your lost bouquet.
as from my dreadful stench you bolt
I'll engulf your being until you revolt

I am the bitter you find in your sweet,
the aftertaste from your spoiled meat.
as you glutton on to much too chew,
I'll feed you more of my wretched stew.

I am the timbre of your screams,
a sound echoed from your dreams.
as you try to escape with your soul,
I'll be the melody of your bell's toll.

I am the agony that you must feel,
the pain letting you know it was real.
if you think this fiend you have met
you have, for I am your life's regret.

© Joey Jones

We are Terran's children,
destined for her consumption,
cursed to her cycle of death,
just denizens lost in bereavement.

The clouds--dark and rolling,
encompass our soul's horizons,
obscuring the light, the hope,
in a shroud of solemn drear.

They moan in thunderous trumpet,
dirges for our inevitable requiems
we listen preparing for our reckonings,
a debt signed in the blood of our birth.

You stand there--a juxtaposition,
exposed without inhibitions,
blooming in a field of reaping,
the Crann Bethadh of lore.

I find your branch in trepidation,
a crow once cursed to just darkness,
in yours eyes I find the validation
to transcend the fate of earth and stone.  


Joey Jones

I'm lost on this endless beach,
just one desolate grain of sand,
all alone in the masses
no more or no less than the grains beside me.

I blend in,
eclipsed by this majestic scene,
I help to create.

Am I no more than a moment
falling through the glass,
like the one that just fell by
unnoticed -- forever lost to time?

Yet, I noticed the falling
and it transformed me from what could be –
to what once was.

And it has left me to wonder,
how can my life,
a life like the billions that came before me
and the billions that will come after
have a relevance to the existence of humanity?

This contemplation erodes my soul
for I can find no solace in being just part of the whole,
no matter how inspiring that whole may be
my love, my passion, my being,
has to be more than this.

For inside me,
there is both the best and worst of humanity
I have tamed the worst
and strived each falling moment
to be the best me -- I can be.

And if for no other reason than this
I deserve to be more,
more than a desolate grain of sand
forever lost in time.

I should be the beach.

© Joey Jones

Time--such a wicked *****
teasing you with possibilities,
allowing you a taste as she
denies you a seat at life's buffet.

She devours your childhood,
leaving only crumbs of
birthday cakes and brownies
on a disposable plate of memories.

She lets you dream in your youth
just so that you can morn their loss
while she slowly nibbles at your potential
until you’re left with only what could have been.

She decays your body,
savoring each agonizing moment
as you become just a shadow
of what you once where.

She laughs her devious laugh
as you weep while loved one pass,
those that have escaped her cruel caress
but she lingers to savor your mourning.

Finally, she takes your vitality
turning the simple things in life to pain
just so she can mock your frailty
and dance at your upcoming dirge.

Then in the end--she isn't finished yet
for she'll sit by your deathbed
savoring your last moments
as you sip from the cup of regret.

When she finally walks out on you
she'll wink a tick, blow a kiss in a tock
yet, with your final breath
you'll beg and grasp for her to stay.

But like the ***** she is
she'll will be gone.

Joey Jones

I hear the sound of the pale white horse,
Its thundering hoofs beating to time's familiar rhythm.

I search the rider's fiery gaze
finding no remorse just a poignant resolve
to stay the coming course.  

I smell the blood of my yesterday,
raining down from his risen sword,
each drop a wasted moment forever lost to time.

He now decays my every thought
and plagues my waking hours
as he infects my dreams with pestilence
and lays waste to my today.

He'll lead his beasts along the coming road
ravaging all my plans leaving me gaunt and famished
as together they devour my tomorrows.

His slow and steady gallop
thunders to the beat of the ticking clock
creating a cadence that's played to its rhythm
heralding in a faint prelude to my eventual requiem.

© Joey Jones  

Revelation 6:7-8
King James Version (KJV)
7 And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.
8 And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to **** with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

The sun slowly rises outside the window,
I watch the peaceful ascension for a while
drinking coffee from an old chipped mug
tasting the moment as much as the brew.

The day before me is one that is far too busy
breakfast is to be made and errands to run
but in this moment my mind can only drift,
a leaf lost on an autumn field of reflection.

I savor a sip and allow the moment its due
thinking back on my youth and its ambitions
I find them unfulfilled but lacking in regret
then weep as I realize there will be one to come.

Daughter, I have worn so many hats in my life
played the roles of heroes and foes on its stage
obtaining my titles and fighting for positions
but your father has been my favorite one.

It is through your eyes I’ve seen this world,
as your tiny fingers unveiled for me it’s beauty,
in my lessons to you, you taught me to dream,
gave voice to my song, and rhyme to my verse.

With you I’ve surfed the shores of foreverland
holding your hand along its tides and beaches
living this amazing dream that began with you
a dream my youth could have never dreamed.

Today, we’ll laugh and play our games together,
finding joy in all those tasks that lay before us,
I’ll hold your hand and call you my baby girl
assuring you my hand would always be there.

But one day, like me today, you’ll watch a sunrise
with your tears blurring its wondrous beauty
my promise will break, the one all fathers make
and that day will fulfill my life’s only regret.

On that morning my breeze will have calmed
my leaf will have found its place in the field,
leaving you with just a memory for a father,
daddy’s little girl without my hand to hold.

Weep child if you must, for that’s living too
then close your eyes and lift up your hand
and I’ll find it, I’ll be the caress of the wind
to lift you back to the shores of foreverland

Where each wave is a forgotten memory
that crashes on those timeless beaches
where a father’s promise is never broken
and daughters are forever daddy’s little girls.


Joey Jones

The spring, such a perfect reminisce
of youthful play in sweet fields of bliss,
a myriad of dreams with wanderlust
a child's innocence of purity and trust.

The sun did rise and the bells did ring,
each day something new did bring,
worries and cares, so little so few,
think time, playtime, suppertime too.

The world spun as the spring's sun set,
the lad became as the child he slept,
in the dawn the summer's sun did show,
for these are the seasons of my soul.

The summer, a wondrous reflection
of friends and plans of perfection,
an experiment with life's finer things
a youth's excitement filled with flings.

The sun did rise and the clocks did tick,
living the day engrossed in the frolic,
my songs were sung and stories told true,
of friends, of pain, and of love too.

The world spun as the summer's sun set,
and the man became as the lad he slept,
in the dawn the autumn's sun did show,
for these are the seasons of my soul.

The autumn, in contemplation's awe
of all that will be and all that I saw,
living the dreams, planting the seeds
of what will be of my legacy's deeds.

The sun will rise and the sand will fall
each day for them I will do my all,
they are my dreams, dreamed anew,
A wife, two sons, and a daughter too.

The world will spin as the autumn's sun sets
an old man will be where the man had slept,
in the dawn the winter's sun will show,
for these are the seasons of my soul.

The winter, a time for peaceful reflect,
on a life I hope lived with little regret,
taking the time to enjoy life's attain,
living what's left before the wane.

The sun will rise just before the toll,
celebrate with me before you condole,
I want all to see before it's through,
I lived, I loved, and I played too.

The world will turn as the winter's sun sets,
just a memory will be where I once slept,
in the dawn His Son will show,
for these are the seasons of my soul.


© Joey Jones

Somewhere off the highway
between over there and yonder ways
stands a little church on a gravel road
that took me home in my younger days.

As you pass grandmother's old place
where my ancestors found their stead
lays Uncle Pete's house in the woods
where reunions were held to break family bread.

It was at this place our stories were shared
as one generation met the one to come after
mournful old eyes glimpsed a jovial horizon
finding condolence in the future's young laughter.

It's here I learned the history of my inherited name
as I listened to the tales that ultimately lead to me
of how I'm related to this person who begat that one
or of those who served in the wars to keep us free.

As those stories were told I often found it strange
as the storyteller's gaze traced further down the trail
to where the gravel gave way to a dirt trodden path
that cut its way through Boone's forested dale.  

Over the years I have often made this journey
out past the places of my childhood memory
down an old Kentucky road of gravel and dirt
that finds its end at our old family cemetery.

It is a place were serenity accompanies finality
a small clearing shadowed by surrounding trees
where each marble marks a loved one in peaceful rest
their names etched in stone and whispered in the breeze.

My grandmother and Uncle Pete now lie in its shade
and in their passing it's only here we meet as a family
but it's on this road that I learned who I truly am  
and at its end lies both my history and my destiny.

© Joey Jones

I See You

I see you,
Yes, you, not the façade
not the charade
the materialistic disguise
you try so hard to show.

No, I see you!
The bruised, the battered, the beaten.
The you that exist inside the lie you tell
from this mirrored glass.
I see you!

The you that once fell
no longer trying to get back up
no longer wanting to stand
for you fought your 12 rounds
and was measured for 13
but then fell short.  
I see you!

Now, see me!
the inherited meek,
the emancipated truth,
veracity unbound and free
finally prepared for realization.

Now, see me!
the healed,
the mended,
the survivor.

The me that can rise
for 13 is not the last round
its round 1 of the next fight
and like all fights before
I will find victory

Let them see us!
The reflection and reality
the charade and veracity
the epiphany shown in mirrored realization.


Let them see us!
The bruised that was healed,
the battered that was mended,
the beaten that survived.

The us that rose to our potential
undeterred in our determination
trained through our experience
resolved as one champion.

Let them see me.
the scarred truth that is me
not defined by my past
but the author of my today
and master of my tomorrow.

Joey Jones