Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.

Wednesday, 4 February 2015

Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.: Behind those eyes

Christy O'Donnell ,Humour in Poetry.: Behind those eyes: Behind those eyes Deep behind those eyes you stare with intent, Hidden thoughts, of those things you always wanted to do, ...

Behind those eyes

Deep behind those eyes you stare with intent,

Hidden thoughts, of those things you always wanted to do,

Wonderful times when you appeared so content,

Happy go lucky, that was you,

Underneath that brow lurked a somewhat joyful youth,

The times you had the places you had been,

I guess we both always told each other the truth,

For behind your eyes are the same things I have seen,

So many times I was there to help and guide,

Taught you how to make them all smile,

To me you could never have lied,

No matter how much you used your guile,

And even when the truth hurt you to say,

Things were all mixed up in your mind,

I was there to ask if you needed a place to stay,

You knew how easy I was always to find,

Your determination was a sight to behold,

In everything you tried and every job you held,

Yet something in those eyes went cold,

Something strange therein had dwelled,

You are gone now no longer here,

Missed by more than you will ever know,

What lurked behind your eyes was fear,

The sight clouded when you decided to go,

Happy go lucky, that was always you,

So much our eyes have together seen,

I miss your cheeky smile you know,

All I can see now is what could have been.

Wednesday, 28 January 2015

homeless am i !

Homeless am i!

So, you just can’t see me stood here,

But you walk by me at the same time each day,

Are you avoiding my gaze through fear?

In case I have something to say,

Unlike you my bed is a doorway to sleep,

Life has put me in this place,

I had all you cherish and keep,

But now a very forgettable face,

No, I am not asking for your last few pence,

Fear not I won’t lay my hands on your clothes,

Behind these eyes there is good sense,

Where I am now no one knows,

But I am right here, yet you won’t see me,

You are embarrassed on my behalf,

In plain sight cloaked in invisibility,

You pretend to be on your phone and laugh,

Homeless yes homeless is what I am,

I sleep on the street each night,

I eat from skips or the odd thrown away can,

Yes I do look an unsavoury sight,

There are lots of us, who find it too hard,

To be able to deal with daily life,

Unable to cope we are playing our only and final card,

Forgotten by most, we cause nothing but strife,

To be avoided for days, months, even years,

Unwilling to see or fearing words that are said,

Until in public places your worst of fears,

Found on your street, homeless person dead,

Yes it was me you passed every day,

Your head hung low you had nothing to say,

As those in power passed by in cars,

Drinking whiskey in the government bars,

I served my country when I knew I could,

No one served me, nor thought they could.

Monday, 26 January 2015

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.

Wednesday, 1 October 2014