Come Join Me

I was walking along a stretch of beach in Far North Queensland a few years ago when I saw an older man looking out across the water. He seemed to be looking for something and I immediately thought he looked like someone waiting for a long lost friend or lover. I went home and wrote this poem so I would never forget that look in the man's eyes.


Come join me
Walk in my circles
Be by my side

No pain
No fear
Nothing to hide

Come join me
Let your heart lead
Find happiness here

My friend
My lover
The time is near

Come join me
Together to flourish
With decisions made

Paths cross
Two connect
Never to fade

Come join me
Live life so fine
Set yourself free

Slow dancing
Eyes closed
Come join me

© Bernard J Rossi

Colour scheme

After feedback from visitors to this site I have changed the colour scheme, but as I am not strong in this area I would appreciate anybodies thoughts on the current scheme and other combinations I might try.

Thanks

BJR

A New World

A barren world, alone and dark
Suddenly comes to life
An unexpected contact injects a spark
And extremes discussed and planned
Lead to fun without the strife

An exciting world, the future bright
Slowly begins to unfold
Compatibility now seems so right
No adventure to be unexplored
No pleasures considered too bold

Luck or fate? Deserved and fair
For two the search may end
Each for the other so deeply care
And become the most important thing
Shoulder, ear, lover and friend.


© Bernard J Rossi

The Black Dress

Crumpled,
It lies on the floor.
Discarded.
Black and lifeless.
A reminder of passions lost

Empty,
Devoid of life.
Taunting,
Beckoning my gaze.
A shrine of sorts

Memories,
Rise from the pile
Fabric,
Soft and fragrant.
A memento to a perfect night

Experience,
The first kiss.
Games,
Nothing serious.
Unexpected, feelings and thoughts

Striking,
Out of the blue.
Unrequited.
One night, one love.
Sorrow donated to unwanted charities

Created,
As one night, one stand.
Dreams,
Extravagant and unseen.
Crumpled, they lay on the floor

Shattered,
I lie on the floor.
Acerbic
Dawn responses,
And a naked exodus.

Memoirs,
Carved into every stitch.
Wrinkled,
The unrelenting chronicler,
Left abandoned, its story repeating


Crumpled,
It lies on the floor.
Redundant,
This keepsake.
A reminder of passions lost


© Bernard J Rossi

The World Stopped

The world stopped

Before this day
We had met
But my eyes had not seen
And my heart had not felt

She had stood
In front of me
My ears had not listened
I had not been ready

The world stopped

On this day
Inside the Harp
My eyes saw her true beauty
My heart rose from my chest

She stood
In front of me
My ears heard angel’s music
I was ready

The world has begun
My world has begun

© Bernard J Rossi

Tales of a Camper

I met a man named Didge one afternoon in a National Park. He talked, he listened, he took an interest in my poetry and he inspired this little musing. Until we meet again mate, take care. Bernie and Joy

As worlds collide, and so they must
Amid a turmoil of earthly dust
Covered completely in camping dust
In the elements and God we trust

To meet like us, a weary soul
Striving for that same great goal
A rare plant on a scrubby knoll
A mighty fish patrolling a shoal

The traveller’s tales, wild and grand
From snowy peaks to ocean sand
From foreign shores to our home land
He sailed a yacht with a single hand

Adventures, he had seem them all
Never stepping backward lest he fall
With his campfire flames burning tall
As his adventurous tales enthrall

Food from the can was the bushman’s fare
Burnt in a fry pan in the cool night air
Never stopping once to catch our stare
But into the flames, he trained his glare

There was nowhere he had not been
Nothing in the world he had not seen
Everywhere he went he’d created a scene
I recall one time in front of the Queen

A nice bloke we were proud to meet
Clever in wit, and fast on his feet
Every tale regaled as a wonderful treat
Our mate Didge, one of the elite


© Bernard J Rossi

Just a thought

What causes a woman to ruminate
When by all accounts she is content?
Should he assume her mind is pure
And with all her wishes consent?

In all his writings should he rubricate
If that were the object of her pleasure?
How does he know of her happiness
And what would he use for a measure?

“I want to see you, but please be late”
She utters with enormous sincerity
“Or better still, don’t come at all”
She proffers with great celerity

Suddenly it is he who is left to cogitate
And think through a maze with no escape
Might the only solution to the quandary be
To create a visual image of her inscape

Or perhaps just a simple tête-à-tête
Would see the resolution of the dilemma
Neither confrontations nor battles of wills
Nothing to make his poor knees tremor

Perhaps now its time that she reiterate
Is a woman ruled by heart or mind?
‘Cos in my experience it is the former
As it is with men I think you’ll find


© Bernard J Rossi