it's not me

gone but never forgotten
death of a nephew so young

It’s not me (Keith Smith)

 

In the end it just wasn’t me,

 

Though, looking in the mirror, what looked back was my reflection,

I saw through eyes that were somewhat, clouded,

My mind saw me, as no more than a minor distraction,

I was hidden by thoughts, weighed down and shrouded,

 

Perhaps it was me yet different,

 

I fought what I saw as real demons, battled them each day,

For me the fight was real, but I know I tried,

Words came out of me that I never wanted to say,

It hurt me more knowing those who loved me cried,

 

It was me, but something was missing,

 

Facebook kept asking “what’s on your mind”

I was in there, but found it so hard to surface,

Someone else was living my life, which I couldn’t find,

My mind had thought it better, me to replace,

 

The missing thing was me,

 

It was a short battle and I knew I was lost,

Fighting to get a grip on life every day,

Yet I and all who knew me would pay the ultimate cost,

I was gone, but the fight was about how long I could stay,

 

Now it is me,

 

My battle was, I didn’t know how to say goodbye,

The words I said were, my attempt to say a last goodnight,

I know how much you loved me, also how hard you all tried,

The old me called and the new me wasn’t up to the fight,

 

Remember the old real me,

The me who loved and shared,

Not that new me,

But the one, who for you all, cared.

black sheep

every family has at least one I guess

Black sheep

 

 

How often do I cross your mind, or do you think I might be included,

Am I a fleeting thought, undefined, a subject to which someone or other alluded,

When gatherings are planned in advance, am I even on your list,

At tables a seat unmanned, am I thought of or even missed,

Is it easier for you to not me invite, fearing I may upset a preferred guest?

Who or what gives you the right, to decide whether or not I will be a pest,

I laugh and say I am the black sheep, always there but never here,

My laughter hides feelings buried deep, pushed aside yet still able to care,

Yes, I am that family member, the one that gets left behind,

Never allowed to be a contender, lost and no one willing to find,

While you sit happy within your chosen group, I am to be avoided,

You accepted by those in the troupe, all of which have now decided,

To trade lip service and politeness, to ease their troubled mind,

Here I sit outside the circle in quietness, the black sheep easy to find,

I am who you all made me; at one time I had a value and use,

An outcast, now you don’t like what you see, little more than a feeble excuse,

I recall times when there was trouble, now and then it was to me you all turned,

To sort out some or other muddle, the bridges to you all have now been burned,

From childhood I learned my trade, from you who went before I could walk,

The black sheep now that mantle laid, no need, no more, no talk,

I like to think I may have tried, at times when it was needed,

Know you all that I have cried, my efforts gone unheeded,

From black sheep land there’s no return, the bridges all raised to ash,

The fires out the feelings turned, a heart of stone not glass,

If at times I cross your mind, or surface as a fleeting thought,

It’s a memory you have no wish to find, like a cold you may have caught,

When gatherings in advance are planned, look hard upon your list,

There is no chair left unmanned; black sheep are never missed,

Now you’ve decided I have no use, the relationship has stalled,

The bridges I build are the ones I choose, but I was there each time you called.

Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.: http://gateway2hell.com/wp-admin/index.phpwell h...

Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.: http://gateway2hell.com/wp-admin/index.php

well h...: http://gateway2hell.com/wp-admin/index.php well here is a place that anyone who feels forced into the government schemes without any benef...

http://gateway2hell.com/wp-admin/index.php

well here is a place that anyone who feels forced into the government schemes without any benefit or end goal in sight can comment and have their say please check it out and send to anyone who would like a voice
thanks in advance

attended the funeral service of Desmond o Grady Saturday sad loss to poetry and those of us who try .

Desmond o Grady

1935 2014 RIP

 

You shone a light on poetry in a city that had none,

As you set out across the globe to share your word,

From a boarding school in limerick learning was fun,

Across the world your poetry was heard,

 

Always with a wry smile knowing all who listened,

Would Basque in all you had to say,

Never forgetting your home where poetry you christened,

And a place where your heart would always stay,

 

Having done with traveling and teaching, to a poet’s life,

Retiring to a cottage near all you held dear,

Writing of past lives of love happiness and strife,

Places lived where skies were so clear,

 

Gathering years, age followed as youth faded,

Collections of poetry sitting on libraries, shelved,

Your poetry shouts read me unaided,

Thought provoking from your mind where you delved,

 

Your last journey finally taken this day,

No suitcase packed just pen in hand,

Desmond o Grady never afraid to have his say,

No finer poet or teacher will hereafter stand.

 

 

Christy o Donnell

Just my way of saying RIP

oh what a shambles we are in Ireland

Dear Mr Brooks,

 

You don’t know me; I live in Erin’s green isle,

I am a country and western fan all my life,

I was going to travel many a fair mile,

So you could sing to me and the wife,

Aiken promotions were flogging tickets,

And rubbing their hands with the profit they’d make,

Then the residents placed all their pickets,

And the GAA foundations began to shake,

Dublin city council saw only dollar signs in the air,

And the wife was all excited to be going to your gig,

And you say it’s all or nothing “to be fair”,

My opinion is you are not too big,

And I am planning to find you somehow somewhere,

You see I got friends in low places,

Who drink whiskey straight given half a chance?

They could not care less about your social graces,

Both the wife and I are in pain we’re missing the dance,

There is a fine line between love and hate,

So I’ve taken a total dislike to your music and tunes,

The wife and I don’t speak I hope you think it’s great,

My sex life is firmly in tatters and ruins,

So, Mr Brooks you might have missed the pain,

But half of Ireland is now missing their dance,

And all my friends in low places have nothing to gain,

But believe me they won’t miss their chance,

Between you, Mr Aiken, Dublin city council and the GAA,

Along with the Irish government at large,

All your fans are in shock we have very little to say,

I’d appreciate a ticket to a different place free of charge,

I’ll hold off on my friends in low places,

Who don’t dance but like to inflict some pain,

And if you reconsider it might stop the wife from pulling faces,

Between you and me I think we both could gain.

Sincerely yours the husband of a garth brooks fan,

Not I might add living anywhere near the capital city,

Anywhere else in the world they’d say bring it on we’ll do all we can,

Alas the world simply evolves solely around Dublin more’s the pity.

https://www.facebook.com/limerickpoetsandwriters
a must fun read my first collection of what I think is great ways of dealing with stressful times