VERSE

Tommy

The baritone guidance among the whispers of creativity
History walks, hammering with pillows, with verse and song - and laughter.
Bubbling forth in a man, a bard, The Godfather.
In passionate action is a legacy delivered to a new generation,
An heirloom, made more precious, more prolific, with each passing day,
With each new inspired poet, songwriter, singer and musician.
This is Tommy Makem, This is Ireland.

“I was born in Keady, the Hub of the Universe,” says The Godfather

No, Tommy, you were born in the soul of Ireland itself.
A giving tree of immortal life; to tradition, to the rich heritage
and the powerful ballads that will never die.
You altered history, instilled a pride.
The Giving Tree Makem has spread its roots.
And flourishes, in the songs and stories of The Bard.

Tommy’s Song

Awaken Mary Ann, for
The Liar,
The Man of No Conscience, cries,
That No Irish Need Apply
Peace and Justice disappear
in the Rape of the Gael
In That Land I Loved So Well,
True Love and Time.
have stopped.

There Was An Old Woman.
among the Four Green Fields,
She entreated me,
Brendan, The Darkley Weaver,
Don’t Go Down To The Big Green Sea.
contrast,
from Clean Air, Clean Water,
to the Ships of War ready,
even The Water Sings out -
to the march of
The Enniskillen Dragoons
Where Ever The Winds,
The Winds of Morning?

The Winds Are Singing Freedom!
And call for Better Times.
I went anyway.
And so,
Farewell My Friends.
Farewell to Carlingford,
Fare Thee Well Enniskillen
Let there be none
of The Morning After Blues.
Fear, but hope again to walk
This Dusty Road.
when next again, in victory
we are Rolling Home.

But now, as we enjoin
The Boys of Killybegs
toasting farewells,
sipping Paddy Kelly’s Brew.
Freedom’s Sons are singing;
singing sad songs,
to their love, songs.
Pretty Maggie O’, Sally O’,
Pretty Saro and Rosie.
for some,
a Song For The Children.

In The Time Of Scented Roses,
let they be not black,
The Long Woman’s Grave.
Rather Sing Me The Old Songs;
of Rambling Rivers
in The Rambles of Spring,
Clear Blue Hills
or Grey October Clouds,
among Long Winter Nights.

If I should return,
If You Should Ask Me,
I’m Going Home To Mary,
Smiling Mary
I can see her, as she holds
our Gentle Annie in her arms,
listening to
The Listowel Blackbird sing;
Music In The Twilight,
In Newry Town

I will return again.

A Window In A Memoir

Time stops for no man, woman or child
But the stories in “My Grandfather’s Emigrant Eyes”
or
“The Old Man”
slip away when they do
Of lives lived, things that were that are no more
First fading in memories,
then just fading

History that I want to raise from the dead,
before they are dead.
History from before I ever lived
For when I am gone,
and they are gone,
the history will be gone too
Too precious to lose without remembering, recording, preserving,
to be studied, admired,
understood – history whose presence shaped
and reshaped-
to make the people and the land
what they are today

Old practices, old beliefs,
rushed past by the trickling, falling sand
And forgotten. Almost.
I do not forget.
I know what I do not know
And seek to know it.
Not only for myself but for my children,
and theirs
Preservation of the memories
keep alive what has passed away
I was raised on songs and stories,
a stored up library
given for others to borrow,
read, see,
relive and mostly,
As a window within a memoir -
to understand.

 The Years in Her Eyes

I see the years in her eyes
A miasma that can only be caused by the pain of a life well lived
It may be the years, it may be the mileage
It may be all she has seen or lost - that took bits of her heart

A far off look, of things remembered, regrets
Then she smiles and those thoughts are supplanted, eradicated
The stories come forth, Almost unwittingly, shyness overcome
Good memories flood and wash away the momentary darkness
and the present recedes, to become overloaded with recollections
Now so much to tell, an urgency, to beat the recorder and the march of time
Wouldn’t do to have the stories lost.
It wouldn’t do to have the teller not feel this cherished, all of the time.
at least while we can. Until the next injects its own urgency.
The kettle is always boiling, and the stories taste so sweet.

Hours give way. New memories are born in crying the old.
for both the teller and the awed.
Perhaps, in a different way,
even more treasured than the stories that brought me here in the first place
The recorder shuts off but my mind keeps turning, reliving. The images so vividly reborn
giving context to the foggy images of history
that until now, only slipped in, and out of my consciousness.
A way that was only legend, has now become a history –
living and breathing – reborn, again.
For a few more generations to breathe, taste
Captured briefly, before it could disappear completely.
to what was, today, I know the light in her eyes has illuminated.
yet another window to what was, how it was.
The stories in her eyes, light, explain.
how I see, the years in her eyes.

Not an Act of God

This man I speak of, is not one but many,
He fights for his life, yet must scrounge for a penny.
He’s a warrior, a scholar and a man of great vision,
He’s often fought this war, thru the bars of a prison.
Or maybe on the run, meeting in some dark room,
Or in silent clearings, just ahead of his tomb.
His epitaph is not written, tho’ some call him traitor,
To others the only hope, freedom from the baitor.

Is there ever joy? Must there always be sorrow?
Is he our only hope, for a brighter tomorrow?
They butcher and hang us and treat us with malice,
Then go to the church and drink from the chalice.
Ian thinks hammers will bring him to glory,
After 800 years, still, painfully, sorry.
It didn’t work then, it’ll never work now,
We’ve had too much practice at faking to bow.

To those that have suffered, father, mother and child,
Treated like dirt, animals from the wild.
Sent out in coffins, or so the ships were called,
Separated from “Human”, in cages or walled.
Leave us alone, as you did during the hunger,
Leave us to the rain; bottle your empty thunder.
We can’t solve the problems, till you let in the sun -
We won’t give up the lance, while you still hold the gun

Forcing your will - doing as you please,
Why do you keep us, firmly on our knees?
India, U.S., and every country you stripped,
Over wealth and all pride, discrimination grips.
Times have changed, no more oppression.
Give what you’ve got, freedom of expression.
After 800 years, let’s try a new tack,
The time has come;
Give our country back.

Dublin Train

Sitting in the train station in Dublin
I’m not yet ready to leave
I hear the whistle, feel the vibration
Shut the door, I am not ready to leave
There’s a colleen waiting for me here - I feel it.

Ireland flows through me, It is in my blood
The turf smell, the fields, the pubs, the stories
The music
It is a much of part of me as my brown hair
My blue eyes, my heart
There is a colleen waiting for me here – I feel it

She is black Irish, in her long hair,
In her emerald green eyes so vibrant
I hear her laughter, taste her lips
I hear her voice wash over me, caressing
soothing, embracing, replenishing
Lithe figure, soft skin, long fingers – of grace
There is a colleen waiting for me here – I feel her

Intertwined, we dance to the music, to life
To each other. Happiness flows, like the Liffey,
ever onward. Edges worn away to a smoother tomorrow
Each day better than the last, more fulfilling
She blurs before me, but never fades. I will wait
I am here, where I belong,
But not yet complete
There is a colleen waiting for me here – I feel it

The rumble slows, the train stops
But I do not move, for I feel, I know, she is not on this train.
Focus breaks, doubt sneaks itself in
I brush it aside. Fate. Destiny. All the same
It is to be. She is to be. We are to be
Like her unyielding voice, it whispers
I walk in Ireland, and Ireland walks in me
I shudder as I feel that strength
There is a colleen waiting for me here – I feel her

She thinks, I am late, to the train. I miss it.
But there is another, and I wait.
The striking blue eyes, tall and handsome
He is good, generous of heart, swift in his tongue
To heal me, comfort me, lead me to the heights
and the depths I have longed for.
His long fingers reach yet respect.
Traditions believed, held, strong
Soft spoken, strong of character, incomplete
The kindred soul is waiting for me here – I feel him

The train passes, the rumble fades
I fall asleep and my dreams are fitful
Restlessly crossing the hills in the hunt
The quest is not the impossible dream
I dream she is beside me, with me, and I feel the warmth
Of her hands, her eyes as they stroke me
I sleep deeper.
I didn’t feel the rumble, hear the whistle
My dreams blend with reality.
And the train passes by
The hands, the eyes, I feel, are real
They are persistent. They push to bring me from my slumber
I awake, Look up.
Colleen smiles.

 In my Awakes

I saw you
last week,
and my heart,
it dropped
again

When I looked
into your eyes
bright
shining
so full of life
love

I wonder if
You understand
The way
I long for you
Long to know you
Completely

Or
How your laughter
Kidding around
Makes me want
to hold you
as I want to be held
only by you

I know I’m crazy
You are so different
The door has opened
Do you mind
If I walk on thru?

Your voice
So softly
Caresses
I hear it in my dreams
I dream of hearing it
In my awakes

The Cardinal Sings Kim

Cardinal of a bird, or a free soul that flies
I see her eyes often, in the sunset

The lift of her voice, the splay of her hair
Her long fingers spread, and caress my memories

I can’t make her love me, and I wouldn’t even try
I belong with the still, she belongs with the eagles

I am “nice” and hold no edge, At least in her eyes
Free to fly and majestic as hell

Unforgettable voice, smoky, sexy,
Her singing washes over me

Ten years later, I still remember
how she sang to me over the phone

Wish I will, wish I was: The other hand in hers
The voice she hears, whispered as we talk in the dark

The backing band, the wax of her candle, her flame
And the unending source of her turf

Sweet smelling, long lasting,
solid as the earth from which it comes.

Though I remember, below the head
I couldn’t possibly forget

I remember more leaning against the wall, talking
In the sun, of life, hopes, dreams – frustration

I remember laying on carpet,
when I first thought beyond the body
and recognized her soul

 Inside the Package:

I’ve known you awhile. But we really only just met,
when you gave me a glimpse behind the wall
Eyebrows Arched, intriguing, wondering, in surprise
and it only made me want to see more, to know more
The package is very beautiful, unwrapped it seems even more so
The ribbons of your auburn hair, the wrapping of your warm, enticing figure
The card of your voice and enthusiasm and dancing.
Now I am free to explore what I wanted but could not touch
I had just lightly touched, just the surface, outside the Homeland.
Though I am North, and you, you are in the middle ground, across a wall
It is not far, huddled in my chest, in the cold
to meeting, and warming, the packaging, melting it to nurture the core
so it can blossom. It can flower – only in safety and trust – it can flower.
Hard, Soft. Strong, Tender. As the flesh would mold to the hand
So the trust molds to my core – and feels no fear.
Mistrust and almost disdain seep from your past
I know not the injury, nor the source.
But it stands alone
Like a separate entity,
tainting.
Smash it with my sledge and expose it not as the norm
but rather the random circumstance, hurtful, but the exception,
not the rule
If I did rule; so that you felt not this pain, mistrust of all things male.
Explore together, taking the first step to where the path may lead
The journey can only begin if the first step is taken
So I take the first step

Footprints in Our Sand

I never walked alone,
But until I met you, I only walked with the Lord.
“Footprints in the Sand”?
I was always glad that He walked with me,
Glad, especially, when He carried me.
And many, many uncountable, times, He carried me.
In times of pain, loneliness,
Times of uncertainty, confusion and fear,
When things weren’t quite right.
Whenever I needed it, for warmth or for strength,
He carried me.

I didn’t realize it then, but He was holding me -
He was holding me for you.
Because of you, my heart is free.
Freed the day it was captured – by you.
Gladly, I give myself to you, as I did to Him.
And now? I will never be alone,
For we have not only Him, but each other too.
And if we can’t carry each other?
Don’t worry,
For He will carry us both.

My Heart Rides

“Her eyes, they shone like the diamonds.
You’d think she was queen of the land.
With her hair hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band”
- Black Velvet Band, as performed by The Irish Rovers

That song, I’ve known since my childhood, but the words now come to my mind
as I remember your smile and your laughter, Full of joy, your eyes brightly blind
Do not fear or mistaken, the meaning I am surely possessed to send
For friends we are and always will be, but my heart has started to rend
Listen now love, as I thank you, to reach out, to take a chance
For love is too precious and rare, to not at least attempt to the dance
The dance is of life, of love and of laughter. Its symbol could live as a waltz
Slowly it builds, learning our steps - Gathering speed, glossing our faults.

To dance like there’s no one watching, well I’ve heard that often enough
To live life to its fullest measure, though times may be humbling or tough
Aching for you, to make you happy, to make you proud of me as a man
To thrill your heart, as you thrilled mine. When we kissed, my soul heard the band
I miss you my love, though you’re gone from this earth. Emptiness reins -- I’m lead
You told me to find another, to live like we once did. Dirt on your coffin in my head
I miss you now more than ever, your words, I cry, I rant.
Tears run softly, burn a path, even in my dreams -- I can’t.

I know you can’t come back to me here, I know I won’t see you here again
But your stone will always be visited, your garden I will passionately tend
I need you now more than ever, no children or future dreams fill my days
I’m trying to break through the sorrow, to sunny up so those down grays
The most perfect companion was created, she lived right here in my house
I found her first as my friend, I reveled in her as my spouse
Everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I could ever dream
But when they told me you were leaving –I cannot stop the scream.

I know it’s no good to keep going, to dwell on the past you can’t fix
But my heart has gone beyond broken, my soul is of house built of sticks
Life is a mess of deep sorrows, but they say to look at the sky
There’s gold at the end of the rainbow, keep believing and someday you’ll die
Goodbye for now, though it hurts, I must go. To life I must now return
To a life full of sadness and sorrow, such joy, such promise – I burn
I guess you know that I’m angry - Angry I’ve lost my only and true soul friend
Two separate worlds exist before me, two separate worlds here to blend

Time heals no wounds, no ache does it lesson, when knives keep piercing your skin
But my memories will flood out the darkness, for love of you -- I begin
Tho’ to try again -- I can’t fathom. A future with someone other than you
But your words keep coming back to haunt me, the hospital promise I threw.
Our promise of joy has been wasted, but the starkness has gotten thru the gloom
A bigger tragedy could happen - If I allowed such desolation to bloom
So I’ll try to keep on trying. Where to begin to find sun in the rain?
Though our garden of memories has such flowers, I’ll risk venturing out to the lane

You’re everywhere and beside me,
Good Bye my love,
My heart rides with you always.

The Vacant Chair

I asked her if she could go home or did she have to stay out all night
She looked at me kind of funny, her laughter peeled with delight
My heart broke in two and I can still freeze the moment
But a terrible devil had been born, it’s destruction to foment
We saw no sign. We were young, without a care
Now I sit alone at the table, ‘cross from the vacant chair

We struck up a friendship, there was nothing more at first
Yet every time we separated, I felt an unquenchable thirst
Friends grew to lovers, in body and the spirit
We finally faced our fate, no time to hear it.
We found each others joys, She loved the teddy bear
And she nearly keeled right over, when I built the vacant chair

She was beautiful, she was gorgeous. The kindness that I saw
How she left me after the night, and always in constant awe
I was never so happy, we traveled and we laughed
We danced and we sang, she was a master at her craft
I wrote while she painted, her skill extraordinaire
Poems and fond memories, engraved deep in the vacant chair

We never had such happiness, each was wide with wonder
That kindred souls found each other, amidst the din and the thunder
No children had we, tho’ in the thought we’d often revel
For the sickness had already started, the bastard of the devil
Waiting, throwing up, more chemo left to bear
And when the pain got too bad, I widened out her chair

Time slipped away, but the devil wouldn’t let go
The drugs and the treatments – rained blow upon blow
She fought it so valiantly, she cried that we might part
Then I learned that it was winning and a knife ripped apart my heart
I did all that I could, she loved when I washed her hair
Damn you devil, Damn the empty - the vacant chair

Day after day, yet her smile was still bright,
When I’d walk in the room, see her body there so white
She was home now, in her own home, peaceful here at last
We planned out her funeral, and remembered about the past
The pain and the fashion, were more than I could bear
For one last night, I held her close, as we sat in the vacant chair

I asked her if she must go home or could she stay out all night
She looked at me kind of funny, then laughed with remembered delight
My heart broke in two and I can still freeze the moment
But the terrible devil had won, death’s taking it did foment
We were frozen in time, lost, without a care
Now I sit alone at the table, ‘cross from the vacant chair

The time it goes so slowly, the moment’s hard to wait
This that brought such delight, now I’ve started to hate
How can it sit empty, when I am still sitting here
How can the crying stop, when every single thing brings a tear.
I miss you love, we were a once-in-a-lifetime pair
So I search out the polish. Lovingly, I caress the vacant chair

 Hills and Valleys

Hills and valleys, life changes mean less
A different life of joys, in having less stress
Though I’ve no major awards to color my mantle
Can’t I still be a beacon, maybe start as a candle?
So I won’t change the world, or make it a better place
My satisfaction must come, from the look on your face
As one who understands, been there, done that
Maybe just a moment, to sit here and chat
Help some to others, to reinvent the wheel
Nothing like experience, to help one heal

Unfulfilled dreams, such a hard thing to accept
An empty feeling, my soul that has wept
MY tears are not wet, they come not from my eyes
But in finding no answer when I ask the whys?
Why unfulfilled promise, when I had so much to give
This is not the life that I wanted to live
My soul, so empty, that is who cries
At an empty life, that passes on by
Dreams of past glories, that I thought would never end
I have broke, when I thought I would bend

Hills and valleys, 21 years, I have tried
I’m feeling so tired, like my brain is half fried
Herniated disk, and arthritis as well
Oxycontin has its own, special kind of hell
Though I fear the future, want more than the same
Life’s too urgent, it’s not such a game
I must find a place, one to make my mark
An unnoticed life, is way too stark
So I readjust again, my parameters once more
I thirst the way to be, among the worthwhile lives of lore

Rain Is

Rain is as soft as silk
As soft as your skin
Working away the edges
Of mountains, of stress
While upping the levels of Rheumatoid induced pain

Rinsing away, adding a layer
It helps the hurt of my mind
But hurts the ache of my body
Picnics cancelled
As new grass is fueled, thirsty reservoirs replenished

Cleansing, as it dirties
Ending a drought so hot it shimmers
Flash flood
Possessions float on by, away
Pretty flowers snake and then burst above the compacted mulch

The death dealing
Life giving
rain

Seven Nieces

Eyes so full of life, expressive and deep
I wonder my niece, what souls you keep?
Do you envision far and think of great joys?
Does your future hold the sounds, of many children’s toys?
What will make you happy and what will you love?
Will you be sustained, by the Good Lord above?
Life starts so slowly and we’re always so eager
to be older, to be able, we think our experience too meager
Yet the more time passes, the more it flies
Keep yourself open to the joys, to knowing the highs
Many thoughts, many ideas, float across the plain
things you’ll do, and experiences you’ll gain
Things I can’t even imagine, will be part of your life
I pray for great joys, and just enough strife
Your life has just begun, yet skip no day
Learn all that you can, yet build your life with clay
Strong yet supple, easily flexible, redone
Able to reject water and hold up to the sun
Know that there is a world, far beyond your corner
Step not with trepidation, act not the mourner
Live to it’s fullest, each and every day
For life is fickle and we have little to say
If you give it that all, you won’t have time for regret
Let others rack up and owe you their debt
Know great happiness and search for the joy
That’s life’s fulfillment brings, I’m not being coy
It really is up to you, the way you will live
With sadness or passion, for self or to give
Wake up happy, because you’ve a full day of blessings
Manage the stress and life’s little pressings
Before you know it, life will surely start to fly
A life worth living, if you gamely try
My thoughts grow rambled, and are quite premature
But the future in front of you -- it’s such fun to conjure

Great Happiness Caitie, Maura, Kathleen, Maria, Eileen, Anna and Caroline

Thank You, Lord, For You
(Mother’s Day, May 2001)

From our birth, you held our hand
and taught us to pray in the pew
Your joyous laughter filled our house
Thank You Lord, for you.

A Mother’s Love’s a Blessing, we learned
for time has proven it true.
Unwavering support, no matter what we did.
Thank You Lord, for you.

Troubles came rarely, you brushed them aside,
but it’s the joy that fills my view.
You gave us our faith, and lots of love.
Thank You Lord, for you.

Love of our heritage, honor and pride,
the unseen hand that we knew.
Your children are blessed and carry you always.
Than You Lord, for you.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom
from all your kids and their seventeen kids too.
Words cannot express the thanks we feel.
Thank You Lord, for you.<

Twisted Caine

All is flying, the clouds are black
People are running, a raging attack
The wind kicks up, without a pause
Causing more panic, natural cause
Twisting and turning, no path set in stone
Then comes the pain and the crack of a bone
Houses get damaged, not much, tho’ they cried
But how do you replace, when someone has died?
They say it is quiet, in the eye of a storm
You should see a whole town’s funeral, never to be warm
Winds are lashing and cows fly through the air
Suspense hangs so heavy and plywood is rare
But twisters and ‘canes leave memories far worse
Along the East coast, they suffer its’ curse
Dorothy’s fair Kansas, and the Plains hit like a hammer
Fluent men and women, reduced to stammer
Rage, then gentle, before rage hits anew
Lives torn asunder, memories gone too
If we could gather all the damaged, lakes it would fill
Yet at least folks could reclaim, what storms did kill
Bits and pieces of life that disappeared in thin air
Though the lovers may be gone, memories are still there
And though the hurt pounds on, long after all has been cleaned
Some still search, for what wisdom can be gleaned
Why did it happen, why did they lose?
How do they move on, from the emotional bruise?
Like the damage pile in the lake, they need time to sort
Do they open again to life or build an iron fort
One is risky, it takes someone stout
The other is “safer” but it keeps all life out
Leave the iron fortress, see the sun and get warm
Burying your head, can’t erase the storm
You’ve given up possessions, maybe home or even spouse
But grieve not for too long, for they’re safe in God’s house
And though you can search for answers, and you can cry and you cry
Moving on can be so hard and some often wish to die
A new day is dawning, it will rise with the sun
Life is not over – The storm has not won!
Words can’t help you, to find your new way
Taking it slowly, day by day
The storm outside has passed, it time has gone
The storm inside need seeks a brighter dawn
The lakes has been cleaned, all the words have been said
The past life is over – we must leave the dead with the dead.

Ghosts in the Attic

Ghosts in the attic, hidden in a box.
I move aside the history, among Broken Clocks
Hidden in the bottom, hoping to be missed.
Lightly yellowed, where the sun had once kissed
Another box , and another, in another box,
experimentally open the door, to the past’s pervasive knocks
Small medals, old letters, as I sit down hard.
I can’t see the time, just glimpse a little shard
Sharp and bleeding, the edges are so blurred.
What had hatred spawned? What had wrath incurred?

Search the meaning,
Wipe out the pain.
What made murder?
What hopes to gain?

Plagued heart, plagued soul, beaten too much?
Were you missing love or maybe a tender touch?
A future so empty, a day of no vision?
Otherworld preferred, no door from your prison?
But to murder a gift? A life’s a virtuoso.
To snuff out animation, to simply crush its’ prose so?
What did you see, that you saw no good,
that you abandoning life – and your parenthood?
Could you feel no sun and weighted by the rain
Did you fight like a wildcat or just accept the pain?

Search the meaning,
Wipe out the pain.
What made murder?
What hopes to gain?

Unbridgeable? Uncrossed? A private chasm?
Premeditated murder or desperate spasm?
Did not someone see, was no one aware?
Were they afraid of him too or could they not dare,
Could no brothers nor priests, nor saviors get through?
Could no one see, what was happening to you?
And in the end, when you gave up the fight
Did you expect to see the devil or pray a heavenly light?
A virtuoso is gone, she sings no more.
I guess the legacy lives, in the hearts it tore.

Tho’ I know not the meaning,
My heart sobs, it cries.
That no one could stop,
your suicide.

Memorial

Sean,
The words come hard, for the shock is so strong
I saw you just a few hours before, I can’t believe you’re gone.
A charming smile and a willing hand.
No work was too hard, No idea was too grand.
You gave so much, You wouldn’t say No.
You helped so many, to develop and to grow.
Dancing and festivals, music and the clubs.
All felt your touch – and were better because of it.

“Good to see you,” whether a day, or a month since we last met.
Your dedication and class I will never forget.
Picking you up in the morning, On the way to the festival grounds
Those memories will stand precious and your advice will stand sound.
We’ll miss you Sean, for all that you have done.
We’ll miss you more, for what you have helped us become.
God Bless you Sean, as He has blessed us
By giving us the chance to know someone as special as you.

Nora,
If tears could build, a stairway or a path
and memories could build us a lane
I’d walk right up to heaven, and take your hand
and bring you back home again
(author unknown)

A hero is gone, She’ll dance no more, I can’t find the words, and I cry
So many memories, So much joy, When I think of days gone by
Always a welcome, whether old friends or new, you brought them into the fold,
with a cup and a word. Your laughter, rang out, and swiftly chased away the cold

I see you now, dancing with Frank, and I’m glad your pain is gone
But to all the eight boys - Here it is night – we’ll help you through to the dawn
We’ll miss you Nora, your strength and your peace, our friend has now gone home
We won’t forget all that you’ve done - It is never enough, not in this, this poem

We bid you farewell, Goodbye for a time. Till again our paths should cross
We’ll hold you close, in our minds, in our hearts, To ease the pain of this loss

Farewell Dear Nora, Safe Home.

Angie,
It broke my heart, to see you go
Not for you, so much, for your pain was so great
But for Danielle, Bronson and Zachary
Not seeing their joys, their sorrows, their successes.
I know you are in a better place,
But we are worse for your going.
Or maybe we’ve gained an angel,
To watch over, to inspire, to gently push,
Where we should go

I realize.
We have not lost you.
You live in our memories
Of things, places, events.
Yes, God has gained an angel.
And so have we.

 Mother Money

It’s 3 am and its cold
The sticks of the trees, like claws of a horror flick
Money cries, I pause in contemplation, then I cry too
Nausea, the son of stress, joins hands with its’ mother
I throw up

Its’ 4 am and I’m cold
Words pass silently through my head, mocking, goading
Goose bumps make me shiver. Green eyes waste my time
With no room to maneuver, the light hours away
I am maxed out

The rain is receding and the singularly forgotten Christmas lights
on the neighbor’s bushes fights the battle to be seen
little pinpoints of light, massed together for relevance
fragile but seen a ways in the distance, always pushing back the creeping
always pushing back the creeping

It’s 5 am, neighbor lights start to come on, chasing the night
It’s a Monday, and work calls many to its’ anthem
Another day, another quarter.
I’d like a cuppa but fear the caffeine headache
Or maybe that’s just life

Yes, It’s 6 am. Daylight surges forth, illuminating all but the deepest nooks
Night slips away, with my worry, gathering itself for tomorrow
and its’ set of problems. Yet the nausea returns –
from stress or lack of sleep. It all runs together at 7 a.m.? p.m.?
I go to worship the porcelain God once again. Another day has begun.

I Never Died*

I was sleeping a while ago, when a dream brought me awake
So stark, so real, it chilled my heart, and I began to shake.

I dreamed I saw, Uncle Sam last night,
alive as you and me
Said I to Sam, you’re many years dead,
I never died said he
I never died said he.

After New York City, Sam, said I,
Fireman standing by your side
They framed you on a Terrorist charge.
said Sam, I never died.
said Sam, I never died.

Them Hate-filled bosses, shot you, Sam,
They filled you full of lead
Takes more than guns, to kill a man,
said Sam. And I ain’t dead
said Sam, And I ain’t dead.

I thought that many, bullets had,
killed you Uncle Sam.
Of religion and race and green-eyed hate
Freedom seems ever damned.
Freedom seems ever damned

And standing there, as big as life,
and smiling with his eyes
Said Sam what they forgot to kill,
when terrorists do organize
When terrorists do organize

From San Francisco, thru the plains.
From every plane and dam
Where free men spend their working lives,
It’s there you’ll find Uncle Sam
It’s there you’ll find Uncle Sam

Freedom waves, in Red, White and Blue.
North, South East and West
If others seem to hate us so,
Why are we so blessed?
Oh, why are we so blessed?

I dreamed I saw, Uncle Sam last night,
alive as you and me
Said I to Sam, your many years dead,
I only cried said he
I only cried said he.

*New lyrical arrangement from: I Never Died Said He – as performed by The Dublin City Ramblers.

Freedom to Roam

Born in the west, taught how to lead
Sent to Iraq, to make them free
Heat and dust and dirt blow wild
Protecting the life of the little child
Gunfire and bombs, from “friend” and from foe
American Soldiers show, where no one else will go.
It’s never easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is
Protect those who can’t protect themselves is a message of His.

Nothing has happened, here since you’ve left
Not one bomb or virus, not one airplane theft
Though we would rather have you here, in the still of the night
ever so grateful, you’re fighting the good fight
Words cannot express, how proud we are of you
You’re living the character of the red, the white and the blue
Integrity and compassion, though a few soldiers lost sight
Of the values and spirit, that gave America its might

Their numbers are few and their lessons have been learned
But Old Glory’s Legacy, was never earned to be burned.
Go strong, go softly, be proud, as we are of you
The toppling of such evil, gave thousands new view
The Church and The State, they can live well together
Whether here or in the Mid-East, storms to weather
But day by day, as you come closer to home
They’ll get the same chance, freedom to roam

There’s no better role model, then the American Soldier.

Know what you are doing, of you we are so proud
The critics are few, even if they are loud
Changing history, peace doesn’t come too fast
But soon they’ll see much better, than what they’ve seen in the past
Know that we love you, prouder we could not be
Americans are behind you – sea to shining sea.

God Bless you, Soldier

 Toby Keith

People criticize me,
for The Red White & Blue
But for my country,
there’s nothing I wouldn’t do
Not all Yanks,
are like the few rotten scum
Who hurt the vanquished,
pushed under their thumb

Tho times are hard and
freedom’s flame not so bright
The day’s soon returning,
you’ll love it’s pure light.
For those that paid,
the ultimate price
Or hurt in other ways –
life’s random dice
Words can’t express: our thanks,
Our praise and sorrow
You’ve given a better world,
and given a better tomorrow

Couldn’t be prouder,
this country of ours
So many trying to get in
or afraid of our powers
If we’re so bad,
why are they crashing the walls
No one’s pushing to get into hell
by heading God’s calls

Free as I want,
and happy as hell
I’d crawl on my knees
to ring the Liberty Bell
For some gave all
And others gave enough
But crashing a plane,?
That ain’t tough

Take your “morals”
that see killing as such joys
10,000 virgins
- 10,000 dead boys

Love of religion,
yet hate thy neighbor
Living not for God,
but the blood on your saber
All the bombs and the planes
and the terror you accrue
Don’t mean Peter –
to the Red, White and Blue

So here’s from Toby
and the Angry American
The hypocrisy you spill,
while cowering and craven
The soldiers have a present
- look to the sky
It’s Bombs and Banners –
Happy 4th of July!

Today’s Thanksgiving

Today’s Thanksgiving.
The snow falls, battling against the still green grass.
The leaves, though sparse, still hang on, swaying with the falling snow
The pine trees are ever green
Wet leaves stick to my shoes, turning to mush
The wind whistles and I whistle back
I am happy, I am thankful, I am giving
But the emptiness on the bank continues to stalk me

The Lions and the Cowboys and the turkey will fill my afternoon
The nieces and nephews will fill my evening
Memories fill my mourning.
Of The Kearney’s -- I miss you Pat
Of the laughter, the warmth, the caring
They always remembered, and asked
Of the ravaged. The physical.
And accepted no matter. Caring.

Of Pat, P.J. and Patti, Colleen and Jim, Mike, Margaret and Mark
Of Keith and Kevin, Catherine and Katherine and Kathy and Kelly
The family we never had, roots intertwined in Roscommon
The joy of true friends, the relaxation of being home, when we were not.
You couldn’t weird science this, no matter your dreams
Today’s Thanksgiving.

I think not of sorrow, but of remembrance. Not of gloom, but of hope
I am grateful for my present, for my past and for the future
Of continued joy, of continued friendships, as meaningful as those of the past
And Thanksgiving.

Shake the Bones

Christmas smells and sounds drift through the house.
The sun is shining brightly. There is no snow
But the cold and wind shake the bones, the panes
Shudder and stress. Sticks against the racing clouds
on the beautiful blue canvas of the half clear sky
Cinnamon and pine and the green, red and gold
brightly tantalize the nose and the eyes.
Ave Maria, O Holy Night. Tynan in my ears
Praise and wonder in my mind.
Regret not the confusion, the chaos and the urgency
of preparation. Of Thanksgiving. Of Christmas.
Anything that can make people gather, exchange hugs,
kisses and handshakes, without an agenda.
That draws people together across miles, continents and anger
is worth celebrating itself, let alone for the miracle that spawned it
Contact, in cards and letters and pictures sent, seeing old friends
Reunions, the healing power of hugs
The healing power of God
And they say they don’t see God at work in our world today.

Cherish the Mystery

Ghosts of Christmas past, go floating through my brain
I remember cold and snow, yet remember not much pain
Joyful childhood, waking up Christmas morn’
Delivering the paper, before the wrapping could be shorn
The house all dark, but the tree lights still lit.
Not a sound in the sharp air, as I pull on my mitts
Bag over my shoulder, paper in my hands
Had to be in the door, not today’s “wherever it lands”
Quiet, so quiet, but this one morn I’m not afraid
I think not of dark driveways or who hasn’t paid
The stillness so peaceful, I try not to make a sound
I’m all alone in the world, as six a.m. comes around
Up the long driveways and then back down them again,
Can’t jump the high snow, stuck like a pig in a pen
Broom hockey shoes kept me from falling, on my ass in the snow
No matter how I hurried, I went much too slow
Frozen and often wet, I’d turn the corner for home
My mind is on presents, and Christmas past poems
The last paper’s delivered, each door tightly closed
My Irish cheeks look like Santa, the weather has rosed
I trudge up the hill and see my dad at the door
My mind sees those less blessed, many reasons for the poor
The houses in the neighborhood with no presents or a tree
My world’s not so cold, I’m starting to see
Into the house I go, my bag hung on the stairs
One sister wakes up the others, who come down as a pair
Warm clothes, thick socks, and hot chocolate whipped to a foam
Rush through breakfast quickly, eyes to wonder and to roam.
My stocking off the fireplace, filled with fun little gifts
Then under the trees too sharp needles, the attention snaps and shifts
Clothes and cool games, wall holders for my collection
We each had our spot, our haul’s own little section
And when it’s all over, put the wrapping in the bag
Mom always says: “for thank yous keep the tag”
Tho’ my sister is all tired, as my mother did warn her
I lean back against the wall, in my section in the corner
I think of the morning, from high chaos to early still
Of the food and the company, that this day will fill
The smell of the turkey, reaches me as I stretch out
Such wonderful memories are without a doubt
The reason I still cherish Christmas, and the still of the morn
Jesus works in mysterious ways, since the very night he was born.