Adapted – A Poem by Steve Denehan
Learning of his death just yesterday
I breathed in
the quiet devastation
of realising
that I was fine
It is always raining somewhere
I suppose
Learning of his death just yesterday
I breathed in
the quiet devastation
of realising
that I was fine
It is always raining somewhere
I suppose
When the heart breaks
Pieces of memories
Ricochet off each other
With emotional violence
Such loss
Comes with numbness
Then the flood
Of pain
Followed by hopelessness
Yours is the deepest hurt
A childhood boyfriend
A husband
A father
A moral center
Solid and stationary
The comfort of aging
Sharing children
And grandchildren
Plans together
For a future retirement
All incinerated
But at its worst
There are “the we”
Who willingly
Will be there
Listening
When sorrow
Must be shared
Those of us
Who will bear
Any burden
While you find
The balance
As close to normal
As it
Can ever be
A maple chair
lies abandoned
by the curbside
tilting in the rain.
Its two good legs
dig into the mud
like a wounded man
struggling to rise
it longs to be upright
it was once the backbone
of hearth and home
now it sits forgotten
discarded as trash.
The clock
Has no more time
The cheerleaders
Left their pom moms
For marriages and careers
The letter jacket
No longer fits
The strong body
Gone to middle age
With the slow erosion
As years pass
But his heart wishes
The cheers never ended
The fight song
Still plays
Young girls
In their prime
Still smile
In recognition
Of Friday’s glory
He thumbs
The brown headlines
Calling back memories
That have no equal
In the life
He lives today
With Time and Again
We gain
Life that teaches
Could be itchy
Lessons are learnt
Hearts that were burnt
With Years to come
People have gone
Love that calls
Is never recalled
Waiting that is
Sounds humor
Destination change
With age
Breath taken
Is pain to return
Numbness
Now that is
Smelling the freedom
Emotions that are caged
Hopes
Someday, Sometime, Something
Will be “The ONE”
If I stay right here and don’t look outside…
shut off the phone and pull down the blinds…
there would be no day and there would be no night…
the world would not exist…
and if the world does not exist…
then there is no you or kiss to miss.
In the woods, I came upon my soul one day…
it turned and looked as if to say…
“I look for heaven, but I’ve lost my way…”
My shadow turned to it to point…
“You’ve lost your way because your void.”
“Pray to Him a sign you’ll find…
because the Devil has made you blind.”
My body froze, would not believe,
my soul kept walking as it took its leave.
I came upon my soul one day…
I wish that I hadn’t let it stray.
At thirty-five I spent the night conversing with you,
that this conversation would last all my life,
still may never do.
What might is an eternity with this exchange and you,
so it would never complete.
And when the evening of my life arrives,
I will wait for you by the gates with your cup of tea.
So again you would converse with me.
winter’s tale
three four blankets to keep warm
not the eternal furnace of long ago
remembrance flows through my veins
Marge graced all the years with me
hold her close rekindle the same fire
forever is the winter of our content
This cold holds us down
Snow this deep must go
And so, we begin again
Again, the plow goes by
Filling our mouth so full
Knee deep again, I bend
To lift all seventy years of
Snow, and one shovel full
Feels the weight of time
Of distances I have been in
Of seasonal jobs I did, I do
The grass is waiting under
This snow lawn, this storm
And this cold holds us out
Here, assigns momentary
Tasks, I’m mending what
Nature has done this time
And promises to do again.