Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

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.



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.


February 3, 2012

I had a dream you outwalked me and I looked on and thought how does he do it.
I thought about arm wrestling with my father.
I remembered when you would lift me into the air and I wondered, how high I could go because of you.

One day you would lift me and I would grow as tall as the refrigerator and you would ask me to leave and I would be ready to outwalk you and take on all things and I would be the toughest until I wasn’t, but before then I would forget the poem about the wrestling. There would be nothing I couldn’t accomplish, because of you.

Then I would wake from the dream and see you not outwalk me and I would remember the wrestling, even if you didn’t, and I would wish for just a little while, and for a small amount you would pull my arm down or outwalk me and you would lift me one more time.

Then I would lift my own child and think this how it ends.

The Cold

December 26, 2011

I think about the snow that’s melted as I walk across frozen fields, trying to cling to something that won’t fade away. I think about the whiskey, like some stream fighting not to freeze against that same cold that the snow flakes cling and I trudge against. In the morning the sun breaks through the clouds and both the snow and I are blind. What can I do, you win again.

True Loneliness

August 14, 2010

True loneliness is sitting on your bed watching tv in one room while the woman you love sits in another typing on a computer and lol with virtual friends while you think about all the hours that pass every day not spending time together and not taking the time to talk it through and when you do she says she has to work but she lol while typing on a computer and after she’s spent nine hours away at work and now you’re trying to find a way to pass the time she might be there if she takes a break long enough to tell you about her day and you want to tell her about yours but nothing happened while you waited for her to get home knowing she was going to log in and tune you out but you hear her lol while you fix dinner and then you’ll get fifteen minutes to hear about her day before you clear the dishes from the table and she starts to lol again with her virtual friends and you think about how many hours are in the day and how many minutes in that day you actually spend together doing things you both used to love to do with each other and how many times you actually laughed out loud and you think about how now only one person ever lol and you think you know true loneliness.