The Stone That Fell From Above

October 21, 2014

I have my critics and I know not everything
I say or do is well received. Whether
I have said it aloud to all or
I have written it to you.

My words find their way when they need to and
My words find their way to you whether it is
My voice you hear or another. Whether
My name is the one that comes to mind.

You are the only thing that drives me.
You are the only inspiration I need, whether
You know it or not. I am the one that puts the words before
You.

Before I can ever tell you how I feel and
Before I will ever let you know, I must come to you.
Before those that betray me, or disallow me that honor.
Be for you.

Mine enemies know me, and as a matter of course
Mine weakness they exploit. Purposely, and with grave desire
Their own bricks fall where they may. However, without regard, in
Mine own heart yours will always beat.

September 5

September 6, 2014

I received a text message today, and I’m not one for texts,
and I tried to respond via text as that’s the way things seem to be done
but after typing the first two words I realized I couldn’t type any…anymore
and that I’d have to use my words no matter how hard they would be to find.

Home for the Holidays

September 6, 2014

Yes, the holidays are hard for those that have lost someone.
I know.
I understand.
My family knows and understands as well.

My daughter woke up this morning and wanted someone to help her use the bathroom, as
She was afraid.
My wife got up to help her but I had to go as well.
My wife stood in the doorway letting me know I was third in line to pee tonight.

As I stood there, I wondered how long until work the next day.
3:16 a.m.
That means two hours and forty-four minutes until I start the coffee, and the day.
Whew, I’ll have a chance to sleep after we all have a chance to pee.

3:16 a.m.

The Galway Girl

November 9, 2012

yeah. her name is susan cavanagh prunty and what am i supposed to do

Hands

November 9, 2012

I think I’ve wrote about this before, so skip it if you wish.

I remember, as I’m sure you do too,
my hands are small compared to his.

I can never be as big as he is,
there just is no way, it can’t be.

I wanted to be as big as him,
I wanted to be bigger than his legend…in my mind.

He was a mammoth, a signal.
I wanted to be at least something he’d recognize.

Then there was a day he asked me to sit with him,
and I did.

He said there was no one else that could be there that day,
but me.

He told me without words what I needed him to say,
and I sat there, listening.

I watched him as he turned white, almost blue,
and I sat there listening.

For hours I heard him breathe and breathe and struggle for each breath,
and I hoped it would stop.

Until it did.

I know, at the end, he hoped he would be as big as me,
and he was bigger than I ever could hope to be.

Just breathe

October 12, 2012

Just breathe.

I heard my father died today

September 23, 2012

I got the call.
It was between cries and wails
but I heard what she said.

Today, my father died.
You’ve probably read about him
as I’ve written about him many times.

He was larger than many mountains,
and he was silent but touched
many lives.

My father was all of those things.
He was that man.

A Rock

September 23, 2012

I’ve heard it said, I’ve heard about a rock and I’ve heard about an island.
I know I’ve got one, not sure which, maybe an anchor.
She asked me what I’d be doing without her and I know exactly what I’d be doing.
It ain’t pretty and it ain’t something you wanna know.

She asked me if I’d be something special and I know.
It ain’t special and it ain’t pretty.
I’d be all those things you don’t want to know and all those things you
can’t imagine me being, but I’ve got an anchor.

Yeah, that’s me.
I’m that guy.
But I’ve got my anchor and I’ve got
what keeps me from being that guy.

I’m a bar fight. I’m a gun shot.
I’m a guy in an alley puking more alcohol
than you’ve had in a year.
I’m that guy, save my anchor.

I’m a prison sentence.
I’m a .45 waiting for a reason.
I’m a strong right hand and a broken jaw.
I’m that guy, save my anchor.

She asks me what I’d be had we not met,
and I’ll tell you what,
you don’t want to know.

The Strongest Man in the World

September 3, 2012

The strongest man in the world is only as strong as the man you remember him to be. I remember my father to be the strongest man in the world.

I remember being a kid and knowing my dad was the toughest dad, as all boys do. I remember the rumbling sound as I sat on the bus and the other kids would look out the window and wonder who that man was on that monster of a rumbling machine and say, “Is that your Dad!?” and I would jump up and get off the bus in time to jump on the back of that rumbling monster of a motorcycle and ride home and I would be beaming knowing all those other kids knew my dad was at least as tough as the toughest dad. I remember my dad turning wrenches, lifting things no other man could lift, and reaching into places there were things no one would reach and up to things no one could reach and I would wonder if I could ever be as big a man as he was. He was the strongest man in the world.

I remember wondering if there were anything he couldn’t do. He would ask me to help him from time to time, but I’m sure it was because he loved me as a son, not because he needed me, because I know he could do anything. He was the strongest man in the world. He would rebuild a car, a motorcycle, something in the house, all of it. He built two houses and asked for my help making me feel a part of it all. He wasn’t only the strongest man, he knew who I was and who I could be if he helped me be that man. I was a boy, and he built up the boy, and then I was a man. Then was the day I know he knew would come and the rest of us never really thought would and he knew I would be man enough and, then it was…

Whiskey Steals the Soul

May 28, 2012

I wrote this and noticed it was never published. I wrote it a year and a half ago. I guess I don’t mind if it’s never read, but it should probably be published either way:

I never read the book behind this poem, it was just an idea that stemmed from an idea of the book. So, if you fail to see the connection, well, it may be because there is no connection:

I remember my father bringing the bottle to his lips
He’d pull a drink and I’d watch the bottle pull a little more of his soul
and I’d watch my father gain what he thought was strength from the bottle
and I’d watch the bottle pull my father’s strength from him and my father grew.

My father grew weaker and weaker at every pull of the bottle
but he couldn’t see what we could see, my brother and I
and he’d pull harder and harder at that bottle, thinking he grew stronger,
and sometimes,
his words were strong and sometimes his hand was strong and sometimes his belt.

I knew though that as long as he felt strong and as long as his hand and his belt grew strong,
he became weak.

After many years my frail father clung to that bottle, with all his might. His hands were weak,
his belt had no power and he clung to that bottle, as if it were the only thing left that could
hold him from falling off the chair, and maybe it was.

I remembered though that time before the bottle became his strength. I remembered the man that could
move mountains. I remembered the man that could shake the earth, as I sit here, with the bottle, trying to let go.