The Trouble With Walls by BJ Neblett

The Trouble With Walls

by BJ Neblett

© 2005, 2013

The trouble with walls is

            They can’t feel

They can’t distinguish between love and hate

They just keep things in as well as out

The trouble with walls is

            They have no eyes

No way to see the loss without

No way to know the soul within

The trouble with walls is

            They cannot taste

Outside the rain is as bitter

As the tears that are shed inside

The trouble with walls is

            They cannot hear

Longings of loved ones echo back into the night

The cries of despair are absorbed deep within

The trouble with walls is

            They have no heart

They know nothing of suffering

Have no capacity to understand

But even the strongest of walls are flawed

For they cannot contain the spirit of man

                                    Boston, MA

                                    June, 2005

The User by BJ Neblett

The User

by BJ Neblett

© 2013

Once I was a child

Childish games I did play

Carelessly

Ignoring waning days

Once I stood in manhood

Confident strong and blind

Foolishly

Leaving innocence behind

Once I was a lover

Roaming wild and free

Thoughtlessly

Hurting those who loved me

Once I was a pilgrim

My days I did wander

Squandering

All that life did offer

Once I was a dreamer

Now I just remember

Recalling

The things that never were

Once I was somebody         

Now I’m just nobody

Realizing

I never was…

                                                            Seattle, WA

                                                            May, 2013

The 12th Day Of Never by BJ Neblett

Ok, here it is, my first 'officially' published work, a poem from 1967 that appeared in a national poetry anthology. The Vietnam War was escalating, there were protesters in the streets, Bob Dylan and folk rock were on the radio and the Republicans were about to be in power. I was 17 and in high school and sitting in study hall bored and just wondering what the big deal was about Friday the 13th. Calliope must have been bored that day as well. Enjoy and please feel free to comment.
BJ.

The 12^th Day Of Never

by BJ Neblett

© 1967, 2013

The morning burst into a crisp,

clear gay marriage

of loneliness.

Soon the shadows of night

are forgotten and all around

is a joyful feeling

of sudden death.

It is the 12^th day of never.

To the east the burning sun

is slowly climbing the skyward

of hatred and deceit.

In the garden, Alice In Wonderland

type figures have already

landed their forces in

the outer rice paddies.

It is the 12^th day of never.

Scheming people turn in fear of

a strange flash of burning black

gone as suddenly as it came.

And the morning air becomes

full of cloudy, dust filled

rings of crazy people in a

crazy world.

It is the 12^th day of never.

Now the sun returns to the west;

the frightening flash of total

darkness is about us.

Meanwhile, hidden deep in alleys,

people are drawing conclusions

on the walls and returning to

their coffins ‘till tomorrow.

And what of tomorrow?

Why everyone knows it’s Friday,

The 13^th day of never.

                                                            Broomall, PA

                                                            November, 1967