18 January,1923

i heard a call
an echo towards the sun,
come forth my heart
they wounds lay restless,
narrow seeds
upright among distorted rainbows
into darken storms do shroud
the forsaken road
alone and faraway,
a dream in death despair
the value of true love
the wisdom of its feel
has lost its touch
time's eager hands did block....

i'll never know
the kiss of fever pitch
thy cheeks best stole
the song no lyric
ever wore.......

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poem by Jean Rojas
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One Sunday Afternoon: At the Beach

neither fire nor storm
can wash the tide away
it is the earthy season
that makes the most of may
i plucked a seed from
whence it came
to plant a new breed
of unknown origin

i know not when
i shall return
for reasons inconceivable
i only know
the beach is free
and the entrance must be so

it reminds me of wooden seashells
of starfishes and
of swimming trunks
can makes an afternoon

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poem by Jean Rojas
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