All posts in JB on CY


Winter and Will, a Poem

Writers comparing winter to death. How trite. Please, do summon some observational might. Winter is pre-birth, in all its cold mirth. Of course, there are those caught up in their own hopeful dearth. And so we go along thinking, “Winter is death. It is so cold. I might not be able to take another breath.”

Oh yes. Winter provides its challenges. That is certain. In icy places, some might want to shout. Because it is so cold and they lack sufficient heat from the hearth. Frigid, choking air, a silent challenge to the lungs. And people suffering burns from the cold. But they will not shout, lest the ice air enter their lungs. Ah, the temperatures they confront call upon them to be bold.

Sailors at sea have their faces ripped by the winter air. Jump in the water? They would not dare, no matter how much they like to swim. They know in their hearts that winter will win. They will be cast as human popsicles faster than you can say ice. A desire to stay warm is their principle vice.

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Funky Semi-Rant Number 3, a Poem

Deviled eggs are heavenly. Some heavenly food is devilish; just check your belly and thighs. Ah, life is filled with duality. Let’s let out a collective sigh. What


Punk Heartbeat, a Poem

Yeah New York streets, dark beat And in a club you sit, daydreaming of a second chance that you’re not working for But the music, the music blasts Hop in Riveting Streaming fast


A New Year’s “Me” Reflection; a Poem

I wandered in my mind, letting out a cry, trying to find out a compelling reason why. Maybe my brain had gone gooey. I was without power to



It sounds simple and it is. Smile. Smiling is an incredible key to success in just about anything you choose to do. For some of us smiling comes


Chester Buys a Beanie, a Tale

Chester was not your average goat. No. He was far more stubborn. In fact, he was said to be more stubborn than four donkeys and three mules. Now


A Chill and Then, a Poem

There’s a chill in the air. I sit and I think. I am a bit cold. This is that time of the year. A time for hope, a


Thanks Grandma

My grandmother lived to be over 100 years old. Her life was not just long but healthy. However, by her mid-nineties her eyesight began to fail and she


Playground of the Mind; a Poem

(*Inspired by the painting Señorita Kreativitet by E. Quevedo.) I was swinging from a branch in my mind. Going back and forth. A wild ride. Playground with unlimited space


You Left Me, But…, a Poem

You had me dazzled. I wasn’t paying much attention. The flash came. I looked. Drawn to the sun. Pulled to the stars. My feet came off the ground.

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