Walk On

Dew soaked grass caresses
my toes as I walk on
through the field
of dreams.

Wind softly whispering
the melody of spring
in my ears, leaving
a comfortable feeling
in my mind.

The gentle embrace of golden
sun-rays around my body,
in the safety of
my solitude.

I walk on drinking
deep the draught of
nature in wonder and awe,
satisfied with being
surrounded by everything
and nothing at all.

I will walk on.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Where is the Love?

 Behind the blank black stares 
of every-day youth roils the lust 
of the opposite, branded by 
passion, controlled by coitus, 
left to uncertainty. 

Fiery glares behind the jaded eyes 
of twisted semi-adult "swingers", 
still perplexed by the multitude 
of malignant relationships, 
half-dead myths of love, and 
twenty-something promises of 
prosperity. 

Bright blissfulness of clear 
blue, or brown, or green 
(or somewhere in between) eyes, 
joyful from being blessed with each other, 
reborn in their children, 
resurrected by the "myth" that was 
told to them just years ago. 

Wise reflection in those icy 
knowing smiles, they who have seen 
most everything, they who know youth 
but pretend to not understand, 
letting us learn on our own. 

Glossy expressions of resignation, 
knowing it's time, feeling the burn, 
missing the touch, relinquishing 
the grip, letting it fall away, 
leaving one question behind, 
Where is the Love?

 © Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved 

Half-Hearted

You crept into my darkness,
lit the fire that was
extinguished for so long.
You were the only thing
that kept my smile
from ear to ear.
You saved me,
brought my heart back
from the dead,
made it beat vigorously
again.
The first words you spoke,
made my heart jump.
You didn't whisper into my ear,
you whispered into my heart.
Your kiss almost put me into a coma,
because you didn't kiss my lips,
You kissed my soul.
You can make me whole.
You can bring me back,
from the hell I've been through.
Only you can look into my eyes,
and make me feel like the King.
But no King is complete without his Queen
and my heart is only half without you.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Vision

Frozen in time, space, and memory 
viewing the past in a sort of 
picture frame in my mind. 

Faces seem spasmodic behind 
glass that has cloven 
from age and elements. 

Memories jaded from each 
jagged edge of fragments whose 
lines coalesce into spider webs. 

Space empty to sight 
but heavy in hearts remembrance, 
something visual acuity can't help. 

Time, in its acquiescence, 
leaves questions unanswered 
festering in doubt. 

Looking through picture frames in my mind 
viewing the past that seems frozen 
in time, space, and memory.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

45 RPM's

Toe tapping tantilization on the pitched pine floor,
spinning with that slide of swing that your mother
talked about with friends after school.
Twist that white poodle skirt like it just won't quit baby.

Pressing the pace further to a race like status,
bringing boogie back the downtown Motown way.
Half hiding in the shadows snapping to the beat,
Don't bump the box sugar my songs about to blow.

The horns are blazing sweet baratones on that
fourty-five sweetie so come on and shake.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved