for the time thats left :)

Why we don’t talk anymore

 

My silence speaks volumes, by the things I will not say,

For it takes a lot, to rattle my cage,

While your actions spoke loudly, on that very day,

You not caring, hoping, wanting to see my outrage,

 

It never occurred to you, that I could feel,

Silently trying to help, in any which way I could,

A lifetime of being there, helping to heal,

Came to you running, as you knew I would,

 

Sorting out those issues, whether right or wrong,

Put myself at risk, took many a fight for you,

And fought on, no matter how hard or long,

Realising too late, only one of us was true,

 

When will we be ready, to speak of how things were,

Will there be a time, where we will sit again as friend,

When you think of me. Do you wish that I was there?

Perhaps, I’m of no further use, your glad we have this end,

 

In any case, regardless of, whatever fight we had,

Remember, it was you who felt the need to call upon me,

And for life’s part and mine in it, I am glad,

Whenever I needed help, there was no one there to see,

 

Will we ever speak again, who knows?

All wounds will heal in good time,

Yet my resolve is standing fast, it shows,

Without you my life, is just fine,

 

I am glad I was of help, when you were in need,

Although our reasons for it, were different at best,

Us not speaking now, I hope you are freed,

Too much time gone by, silence now my only test,

 

My phone is ever silent now, my door hears no knock nor chime,

I’m of little use somehow, issues no more made mine,

I was always there, I lent that hand,

Who for me? would make things, so grand?

x-mas me arse

Dear Santa,

 

Write a letter they said, ask for something nice,

Ask for something real they said, be reasonable on the price,

So this young child sat down, and thought long and hard,

Looked in all the shops in town, wrote his little card,

Saved and bought a stamp, put it in the box marked letters,

Socks for dad and gramps, gifts for peers and betters,

Waited for your reply, watched the postman pass the house,

No answer did you write, you filthy, rotten louse,

Down the chimney you would come, and leave gifts for one and all,

Answered cards for some, but for me no reply at all,

Well here’s a little treat, as you ride your hefty sleigh,

Be careful with your feet, down my chimney on the day,

I will have the fire blazing, as you try your descent,

Your ignorant and brazen, for the letter I had sent,

I don’t need your Christmas joy, nor do my feet need new socks,

From childhood through to man and boy, I’ll roast your bloody rocks,

You take all the glory, it’s Santa this and that,

And it’s all from a flipping story, Christmas day for me is flat,

My kids won’t be writing letters, nor saving for a stamp,

They’ll buy for family and betters, you credit stealing tramp,

There’ll be no milk or cookies, no reindeer food left out,

In my house will be no rookies, they’ll know what your about,

They will know who worked all year, who bought all under my tree,

So don’t you have any fear, no credit here for free,

If you land upon my roof, and try my chimney pot,

I’ll make glue from Rudolf’s hoof, and roast your bloody lot,

On every card I write, I’ll put my blasted name,

Stay up on Christmas night, so you don’t get the fame,

Write a letter they said, ask for something nice,

I light the fire instead, everything has a price,

Baaaahhh humbug

the last straw

The last straw

 

Sirens, flashing lights, ambulance and police cars,

Surround a family home,

A woman with a black eye and emotional scars,

Sits quietly on her doorstep alone,

 

It began so nice, young and so in love,

Marriage, kids a home for all to enjoy,

Happy days, until that first shove,

Can’t recall where or why,

 

But, there was that friendly slap,

Oh, it didn’t seem much at the time,

Waking her up, from a nap,

Saying, she could be more into trying,

 

Somewhere along the line,

Love was a word less used,

“Yeah”, he said, everything was fine,

She never realised she was being abused,

As time passed, the shove became a poke,

Than from nowhere, she walked into a door,

So she said and laughed, like it was a joke,

Soon though, she was being dragged along the floor,

 

He worked long hours, while she sat home,

Frustration and anger seemed the norm,

Dismissive, when she called him on the phone,

Yet, she tried to keep the kids in good form,

 

Until she got tired, from the constant abuse,

Told him if work was so important, she was not,

She reared his kids and had become a recluse,

What part of a team had he forgot?

 

That was the last time, he would ever lash out,

The last time, fear would ever rule her life,

Never aging would he scream or shout,

She is now a widow, no longer a wife.

endoscapade

Endoscapade

 

Good afternoon, he said,

Sit up on the trolley, he said,

And let us explain what we are about to do,

 

So I did just that,

No quite hearing much of his chatter,

I was lying flat,

But to him it didn’t seem to matter,

 

They strapped my mouth so It was held open,

Nothing much there that’s new,

A fast spray and not much spoken,

My open mouth and no words flew,

 

Swallow when we say, your about to be tested,

If I had a choice I think I would spit,

He shoved it in, I was helpless and now felt molested,

Renewed respect for blow jobs, seemed fit,

 

He wiggled and twisted, forced with a shove,

His thing in my mouth, pushed as far as he could,

Forced his way, this sure wasn’t love,

I prayed he’d finish hoped that he would,

 

Open, close, he instructed his aide,

Push, pull, we’re doing just fine,

Soon be over, don’t be afraid,

A total invasion, of this body of mine,

 

 

I didn’t feel well, thought I couldn’t cope,

He then finished, and withdrew from my throat,

Cleaned and wiped his endoscope,

The results, to your doctor by note,

 

Endoscopy, an invasive procedure, for sure,

Next time, my choice is, sleep through it all,

For if the other end, needs a scope or a cure,

He better offer dinner, before I make that call.

 

pathway in life

Life’s pathway

 

On a lonely road, heading nowhere fast,

Losing a heavy load, leaving behind my past,

I met a shadowy being, who questioned my trip,

He cast a doubt upon seeing, my mind had slipped,

 

He said:

 

So, your leaving your past behind,

And what do you hope, or think you’ll find,

It’s your past that made you, all you are,

However, the distance, no matter how far,

On you may go, to the end of this world,

All that has been, will be there, unfurled,

 

I pondered:

 

So I thought of family, and I pondered, on friend,

And who if any would I travel with, to my end,

Sprung to mind, there was yet not one,

So my journey it seems, was to be lonely and long,

On this lonely road, where travel I must,

My only load, a search for trust,

 

I replied:

 

My travels are long, and I journey hard,

I played my last hand, each and every card,

All who I know of, do not, know me,

Cast me aside, and therefore, set me free,

Though I remain, where I’ll always be seen,

Free now, from all that has been,

 

Conclusion:

 

I have taken all, that life has dished out,

Some my own doing, of this there’s no doubt,

My thoughts will be, to my journey’s end,

I help all I am able, family or friend,

My task is simple, and plain to see,

I cannot ask any, to be of help, to just me,

 

Solution:

 

In life there are those who are born to care,

They can’t help it, it is who they are,

These, suffer long and hard, the most,

No one sees them, or the cost,

Yes, it’s a long road, going nowhere fast,

None who care, can leave behind, their past.

mothers lesson

The mothers lesson

 

Grounded she screamed, for two weeks this time,

I’ll give you sneaking out, to steal another man’s horse,

Then she took away, all that I called mine,

Two weeks passed and she screamed, till she was hoarse,

 

But I was out and running, as fast as I could,

To see what friends were planning, ahead,

Mostly we did things, that were considered no good,

In the darkness of night, when the world seemed dead,

 

Riding horses bareback, was our idea of fun,

The faster the better, and we knew them all,

On the city streets, we would race and run,

We had no fear, even when the sirens would call,

 

Usually, when we’d finished, we’d let them all go,

But I had a plan for mine, this night,

Telling no_ one, so the mother wouldn’t know,

It may shut her up, if she got a good fright,

 

I tied the horse, to the knocker, on our door,

Climbed up the pipe, and went straight to my bed,

Soon, the mother left out with a roar,

Whoever is knocking at this hour, is dead,

 

Down the stairs, with anger in her mind,

And murderous intent, filling her with disgrace,

Yanked open the door, and what did she find,

The horse and herself, met face to face,

 

At four in the morning, the whole street was awake,

With the racket they made, as they both danced in her hall,

From the bed I was yanked, no more could she take,

On the road, she beat me, before one and all,

 

As a son you’re nothing, but a dirty old rake,

The priest and the guards, will make the next call,

Teaching me a lesson, showing me my mistake,

For making her, and that horse, dance in her hall

 

To daingan they shipped, me which was not very nice,

The brothers to teach me, the error of my ways,

But the look on her face, was well worth the price,

I’ll recall it fondly, to the end of my days.

Horse thief

Horse thief

 

In the dead of night, when the house is at rest,

When it is dark no light, this time is best,

 

For creeping out, to meet a friend,

To whisper, not shout, to no good end,

 

Down the drain, for the door is closed,

With ease not pain, waiting friends are posed,

 

Ropes from wash lines, within each hand,

Faces shined, this night was grand,

 

Through the streets, across some field,

In hopes to meet, a horse, to yield,

 

A jockey’s dream, to ride some winner,

Over ditch and stream, underneath this sinner,

 

And sparks will fly, through city streets,

Chased speedily by, the sirens screeched,

 

While mothers rest, all kids in bed,

Dreaming their best, a cool calm head,

 

In distant places, the loudest bang,

Police man’s faces, a doorbell rang,

 

In handcuffs stood, who should be in bed?

One of her brood, no pillow, under his head,

 

Stealing horses, in dead of night,

The street as courses, were his delight,

 

He took a bend, but fell to ground,

He can’t defend, what we have found,

 

To court this day, his charge of theft,

Jail no delay, the horse’s owner, these bruises left.

 

In the dead of night, this time is best,

When it is dark no light, stay home and rest.

horses by night

The conversation 1974

 

Did you hear the racket, going on last night?

I thought it was thunder, from the sky,

Her neighbour said, she got a terrible fright,

Which neither of them, could deny,

 

They were shouting and roaring like devils from hell,

Along every street in the place,

Vans hooting horns, I just couldn’t tell,

They had hoods, pulled tight on their face,

 

It was worse than the black n tans, they said,

As they gossiped, over the garden wall,

I’m surprised one of them isn’t dead,

Awake all night, waiting for them to fall,

 

The noise would scare, a seasoned whore,

Galloping on every street,

Sure I thought they would come, right in my door,

Horses with metal shoes, on their feet,

 

Sure how’s your young lad? Still not well?

Mine’s the same, god help us its tough,

We bring em into this world, and we never can tell,

Getting em out of the bed, is hard enough,

 

Up all night he says, too tired to rise,

Never heard the racket galloping in the street,

Barely able to open his eyes,

And your lad the same, tis the doctor they’ll meet,

 

Why are the guards stopping at our door?

They’re coming in, oh god, the utter shame,

And us two loving mothers, from good stock and more,

Must be that racket last night, they know who’s to blame,

 

From two upstairs bedrooms, there’s a sudden flurry,

Two mothers angels, are vacating the place,

The want to be jockeys, are gone in a hurry,

Leaving, two mortified mothers, in total disgrace.

death of a martyr

from a long time ago found this thought it was worth throwing out there :)

 

Death of a martyr

 

Sat in this cell, is like living in hell,

They’ll never let me out,

The louder I scream, the less I’ll be seen,

So I’ve learned how, not to shout,

I’m sick of this bucket; they won’t let me chuck it,

So I threw it all over the walls,

The smell is intense; it makes no bloody sense,

And still, they won’t answer my calls,

They’ve taken my clothes, for god only knows,

I sit here naked and bare,

A tin plate on the floor, behind that solid door,

I’m refusing to taste their fayre,

I sleep on the ground; it’s where I am found,

For they have now taken my bed,

Cold and alone, shook to the bone,

I think that I soon, I’ll be dead,

They’ve taken my all, in the hopes I will fall,

And agree to their little plan,

Soon they will see, my mind is set free,

They’ll learn the resolve of this man,

With clean sheets I woke, a doctor he poked,

A needle right into my arm,

Asked me to eat, the taste of defeat,

Before I would, do myself harm,

Yet locked in my cell, its heaven not hell,

It is them who sit and observe,

While they kneel down, under that British crown,

I for one will not serve,

Keep yer food and yere bed, I’d rather be dead,

Than give up my right to be free,

For a simple request, put you all to the test,

Pride was all you could see,

I’ve had my last shave; I go now to my grave,

For freedom I made my last stand,

I made it my fight; I fought for the right,

I die free for my Ireland.

Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.: strong roots

Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.: strong roots: Strong roots   When an acorn falls, and takes root, It hugs the ground, with all it’s might, Soon appears, a tiny shoot, ...

strong roots

Strong roots

 

When an acorn falls, and takes root,

It hugs the ground, with all it’s might,

Soon appears, a tiny shoot,

Its grip on the earth, hiding from sight,

 

From then, all it takes is time,

As we did, on the day we met,

Growing, into something sublime,

Our roots are strong, so don’t you fret,

 

Branches spread, as cover my dear,

Sheltering, all who dwell below,

You and I need have no fear,

Our grip gets tighter, as we both grow,

 

The passage of time, shows us strong,

Growing, like a fine oak tree,

Whose root is deep and grows ever long,

My love, you mean the world, to me,

 

And so,,,,,,

 

Should the ground beneath us, shake?

Our oak is rooted, on solid ground,

This love, has never been at stake,

Like that oak our love forever bound.

fading memories

Fading memories

 

When I am dead, and no longer around,

Will you recall one thing, I have said?

When you have burned me, or buried me, underground,

In the paper, will nice things, ever be read,

 

Will you recall, one single time,

We laughed together, at life,

Because of trauma, either yours or mine,

When stress, was running rife?

 

And having overcome the worry,

Glad that I was there,

I didn’t run off in a hurry,

I stayed and showed I care,

 

While I live on this green earth,

Before my time is done,

With those held true, I’ll share my heart,

I’ll walk with them or run,

 

All the good that I can do,

I will do so; I’ll try my best,

Honest fair and always true,

Hope I pass life’s test,

 

Don’t wait until; I am in my grave,

To rectify any wrong,

The time is now, our memories save,

Together, sing life’s song,

 

For all that has been, lays in the past,

What’s coming to us all, who knows?

A willingness to forgive, should forever last,

Whomever, stood on our toes,

 

Recall me now, while I’m still here,

I’m never too far away,

If all that holds you back, is fear,

Memories fade faster, day by day.

tethered length

Tethered length

 

 

“I’m at the end of my tether” you said,

“I have nothing left to say,

Tried it all inside my head,

And still, there is no way”,

 

Perhaps, the time has come,

To take a step right back,

All the efforts have been run,

Success is what we lack,

 

Time is what is needed,

Pray there is enough,

When all words go unheeded,

Things get kinda tough,

 

Your tether, you say,

Has come, to its own end,

Holding it night and day,

Life is good, you pretend,

 

But when is enough, just enough,

We all differ in how we cope,

Daily living and all that stuff,

Has us tethered, to some kind of rope,

 

Family ties, and friends, who try,

Their ropes, some long, some short,

Their length of care, we can’t deny,

In our lives to be a part,

 

So, it’s the end of your tether, you say,

You just ran out of strength,

Check your rope and pray,

We all have sufficient length.

fixing the fixers?

Who fixes the fixers?

 

Every family has one, a fixer so to speak,

They fix all manner of things, hiding under the roof,

Family issues, for the strong and the meek,

Never ask for anything, they need no proof,

 

Don’t ask, if you are right or wrong,

Making the effort and trying, their best,

Keeping secrets, moving right along,

So others can sleep, and get some rest,

 

Fixers we call them, one and all,

Always showing up, to lend a hand,

Yet, who can these fixers call,

When things for them, are not so grand,

 

Who will fix the fixer’s woes?

When the issue is theirs, who can they call,

In their mind, weakness is what it shows,

Not asking for help, they’d rather fall,

 

“I would have called, you should have said,”

Simply words, after the fact,

Somewhere, deep inside their head,

You would have known, if you kept in contact,

 

So fixers fix, most wrongs from right,

Stand by you, through thick and thin,

Alone they stand, but for you will fight,

Having cared for years, from deep within,

 

They will not hint, nor ask your favour,

But will shyly take an offered hand,

Will sit alone, depression savour,

When all for them, is not so grand,

 

So who helps the fixer, when the fixer has a fall?

Who cleans the mess, they find themselves in,

There is no place, nor number they can call?

Sadly they’re not able, their issues lay within.

unforgotten past

Unforgotten past

 

To all who know me, and know me well,

I’ve learned my lessons, ye taught me well,

The more I try, the less I get,

More importantly, I don’t forget,

 

And so I tried, for years a must,

Sentenced now, I fear unjust,

Spoiled forever, the name I had,

No more effort, for this I’m glad,

 

So on my way, I travel fast,

Yet never will, forget my past,

It taught me well, it taught me you,

A better man, stood tall and true,

 

But never fear, if we should meet,

My smile to you, I’ll always greet,

And though at times, it is hard to find,

I’ve travelled on, left you behind,

 

Where once you held, a place on high,

Too many times, did me deny,

Some hurt, some pain, I hid it well,

So much so, you couldn’t tell,

 

My journey long, my journey short,

It was up to you, if you’d take part,

My door was open, my kettle boiled,

My best effort, your action spoiled,

 

So I travel on, and I travel true,

The building of bridges, I leave to you,

I ask you this, when called you last.

The door now closed, unforgotten past.

The oyster palace dromkeen

The oyster palace dromkeen

 

It was the only place to go,

To meet a fine young lass,

You’d just never know?

The faces, that you’d pass,

 

Here, all the big bands played,

The oyster in dromkeen,

Where nerves, were oft times frayed,

Thin Lizzy might be seen,

 

And Brenden Boyer too,

With his show band show,

Some love would blossom true,

And marriage, don’t you know,

 

Courting couples kissing,

On their way back home,

Memories now gone missing,

Music now silent and alone,

 

It was a Saturday night’s desire,

To visit the oyster, in dromkeen

Sadly taken now, by fire,

No more the like, will ere be seen,

 

The memories that were made,

In a place once filled with life,

While dancing unafraid,

Found many a husband or a wife,

 

As the fire slowly wanes,

Smoke filled memories idle by,

The oyster palace rose in flames,

To us waved its last goodbye.

the silent sitter

The silent sitter

 

I sit with many faces; give advice the best I can,

Go to many places, I walk, I crawled, I ran,

Always I have been there, to lend a helping hand,

Honest, true and fair, tried to make things grand,

 

I’ve sat and had a chat, with him, or her or those,

My opinion, on this or that, with anyone I chose,

But when the talking is over, an empty chair I see,

I am everyone’s four leafed clover, but no one sits with me,

 

In all the high’s and low’s, no one dares to ask,

I’m quiet no one, knows, if I’m bothered by some task,

When the talk is done, they have left me in my chair,

They leave together as one, sat alone just seems unfair,

 

My door is always open, my kettle always boiled,

A missed chance, unspoken, alone my day is spoiled,

Friends I have aplenty, lives busy, they are glad,

Paupers and some gentry, can’t tell if, I’m happy or sad,

 

I listen to the woes; I help out if I can,

To great highs and lows, forward thinking plans,

But when the day has ended, my worries are my own,

This empty chair upended, I worry on my own,

 

With the listener, who will sit; lend him their wise old ear,

Make it their remit, use caution without fear,

Be honest in their chat; tell no one what was said,

No chair for all of that, thoughts swirling round my head,

 

I sit with many faces, others’ lives I see,

Through them visit many places, but no one sits, with me,

An open door, a kettle boiled, no invitation needed,

A lifelong trait myself I spoiled, forever I’ll go unheeded