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Charles Gillihan Poem
CONCRETE WALLS
The darkness crashes down all around,
Like concrete walls that keep you bound.
I've heard we're a nation of pill poppers these days,
And that psychotherapy is all the rage.
I wonder if those who say such things
Know what it's like when your heart no longer sings.
And the darkness crashes down all around,
Like concrete walls that keep you bound.
You hear a moaning, groaning sound
That seems to to be coming from underground,
But then you realize with a start
That sound is coming from within your own heart.
And you long for a pill, a shrink, a drink,
Something to keep you from going over the brink.
A prayer to God to hear your cry,
To give you wings and let you fly.
At times you see a ray of light,
And wonder could this be the end of the night?
So you crawl across the prison floor
Where you saw the light just a moment before.
But darkness crashes down all around
Like concrete walls that keep you bound.
Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/23/09
Written 8/31/08
Copyright © Charles Gillihan | Year Posted 2009
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Charles Gillihan Poem
THE FART POEM
A rose is a rose
By any other name.
A fart is a fart,
It smells the same.
A puff of air
From a dainty derriere,
A blast of gas
From a hairy ass.
The smell of beans
Passing through your jeans,
A deadly silent sleeper,
Bottle it! It's a keeper.
Of course, there are some
Who look down on the fart,
Considering it rude,
Instead of art.
A burst of methane
From the criminally insane.
A wet one,
Don't want to get one.
A foul discharge
From uncontrolled bowels.
The scum of the sphincter
Crude, nasty, vile stinker!
But such criticism
Is most unfair.
It's not as if farters
Are putting on airs.
They're proud on what comes
From their faithful rectums;
And they don't give a hoot
If some don't like their toot.
And to their critics they proudly send
A blast of hot, sulfurous wind.
One past gasser said put on my tomb,
He blew out a candle across the room.
Parting shot:
Some say a dinosaur fart
Could shatter a boulder, tear it apart;
But they died from the gas that out of them poured,
Giving a new meaning to killed by assteroid.
NOTE: This may very well be my last poem on Poetry Soup if I am banned
by the censors. But that's ok. I just thought that in the midst of all the
angst, misery, and depression (including mine) some might enjoy a
hearty laugh. By the way, Benjamin Franklin loved fart humor.
Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/30/09
Written 10/16/08
Copyright © Charles Gillihan | Year Posted 2009
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Charles Gillihan Poem
A TRAIN IN THE DISTANCE
This morning
I heard the long, moaning sound
Of a train in the distance
Moving past town.
If only it could carry me away.
And I thought in this instance
Of the folly of resistance
To the darkness that continues
To blight my soul.
A few days of relief
From the constant grief,
And then back it creeps
From its deep dark hole.
It has come for me
Like a familiar friend,
Though I've told him over and over again
This relationship has got to end,
He just smiles at me with a devilish grin,
It's time for a spell of eternal lostness again.
Again I hear
The long, moaning sound
Of the train in the distance
Moving past town.
If only that train could carry me away.
But there have been changes
In my sad ideation,
By no means elation,
But better than hell.
A new medication,
Insight from a book,
A call from a friend,
Relief for a spell.
Happiness for me?
How can it be?
Is this how it feels
At last to be free?
Perhaps it was the prayer of repentance,
But somehow now that seems odd,
That I should be sorry for my own pain,
As if somehow it offends God.
That train has long since passed this town,
No longer do I hear its long, groaning sound,
But as the dark clouds begin to cover the day,
I wish that train had carried me away.
Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/24/09
Written 10/21/08
Copyright © Charles Gillihan | Year Posted 2009
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Charles Gillihan Poem
WISHING FOR SNOW
Once upon a time,
A long time ago,
A little boy stood by a window,
Wishing for snow.
Somehow the snow, soft and silent,
Makes everything seem new again.
Snow covers not only the ground,
Sometimes it can cover your pain.
But that day there was no snow,
Just pounding, incessant rain.
No snow to cover the ground,
No snow to cover the pain.
That boy is now a man,
And just as years ago,
He is looking out a window,
Hoping it will snow.
You can can make a man out of a boy,
But there's still a boy within,
A boy who feels like things are new,
When snow covers everything again.
Houses and cars and yards and streets,
The mountains and the plains,
Still it's true though he doesn't know why,
Snows somehow covers the pain.
Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/27/09
Written 9/17/08
Copyright © Charles Gillihan | Year Posted 2009
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Charles Gillihan Poem
ENOUGH. PLEASE BE SILENT
ISN'T IT AMAZING,
TRULY HARD TO EXPLAIN,
HOW SO MANY HAVE THE ANSWERS,
FOR SOMEONE ELSE'S PAIN?
This it it,
What you need to do.
Need more advice?
I've got that too.
It really is too bad,
I know that you need help,
But, really, after all,
You brought it on yourself.
It's a real pity,
That is for sure.
But you just need,
To hang on and endure.
ISN'T IS CRAZY,
WHEN THEY DON'T HAVE A CLUE,
OF THE MAGNITUDE OF PAIN,
RIPPING, TEARING YOU?
It's all for a purpose,
It's part of the plan.
All will be well,
You just need to understand.
You're being tested,
Stand up and fight,
And if you pass the test,
All will be all right.
I know you're hurting,
I understand your pain.
But just remember sunshine
Always follows rain.
ENOUGH. PLEASE BE SILENT.
GO AWAY, LEAVE ME ALONE.
I DON'T NEED YOUR TIRED CLICHES,
I'LL DEAL WITH THIS ON MY OWN.
Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/25/09
Written 8/24/09
Copyright © Charles Gillihan | Year Posted 2009
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Charles Gillihan Poem
A TRIBUTE TO MY FATHER
Frank Rollin Gillihan
1919-1967
(US Navy 1941-1944)
April is the cruelest month,
Like the great poet said.
It was on a first of April
That I found my father dead.
His blood had flowed across the floor,
I saw as I entered the apartment door,
And it was then I knew for sure,
Sometimes a person just can take no more.
Not with a whimper but a bang.
April is the cruelest month,
The great poet said so.
That April still tears at my heart,
Though so many years ago.
He gave his life in the war,
He laid it down, there was no more.
And mom said when he was home at the door,
She knew he was not the same as before.
Twenty years after the guns were silent another shot rang out.
Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/24/09
Written 9/2/08
Copyright © Charles Gillihan | Year Posted 2009
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Charles Gillihan Poem
JUST LET ME BE
Never, never, never, never quit,
Mr. Churchill's the one who said it.
Of course, he had to stop,
Because now he's dead,
But he never did quit,
Time just ran out instead.
And it's not that I want to quit,
No, that's really not it.
There's just nowhere I want to go,
And that is sad,
It wasn't always so.
I'VE CLIMBED EVERY MOUNTAIN,
FORDED EVERY STREAM,
SEEKING THE RAINBOW'S END,
FOLLOWING A DREAM.
I'VE CHASED THE STARS, CIRCLED THE PLANETS,
RUN ACROSS CLOUDS AND THE SEA,
BUT NOW I JUST WANT TO SIT,
AND ASK JUST LET ME BE.
I'm down for the count but it's not reached ten,
So maybe I will rise again.
It hurts to feel so weak,
When you've always felt so strong,
But then you realize
You were really weak all along.
And something that's really odd,
For years I looked to God,
But now I find that as I bleed,
There is no healer, No one to lead.
I'VE CLIMBED EVERY MOUNTAIN,
FORDED EVERY STREAM,
SEEKING THE RAINBOW'S END,
FOLLOWING A DREAM.
I'VE CHASED THE STARS, CIRCLED THE PLANETS,
RUN ACROSS CLOUDS AND THE SEA,
BUT NOW I JUST WANT TO SIT,
AND ASK JUST LET ME BE.
Wounded Healer
Submitted 12/21/09
Written 9/1/08
Copyright © Charles Gillihan | Year Posted 2009
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Charles Gillihan Poem
NOT EVEN TIME TO SAY ADIEU
It's as if all your life you climbed a lighthouse stairs,
Finally, you find that you've arrived there,
At the top,
You stop,
Finding you no longer care.
Round and round the lighthouse we go,
Where we stop nobody knows,
All fall down.
You look over the side down at the ground,
You see a crowd gathering around,
On the nearby beach you hear the waves pound,
It is time to give a speech, say something profound?
But before you have anything to say,
You find the crowd just drifting away.
You don't really know just what to do,
There was not even time to say adieu.
Round and round the lighthouse we go,
Where we stop nobody knows,
All fall down.
Then you find yourself going down the stairs,
Your body starts trembling,
Your flesh falls away,
Your bones fall to the ground.
The tide comes in and carries you away,
Where you are bound who can say?
Not even time to say adieu.
Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/23/09
Written 9/13/08
Copyright © Charles Gillihan | Year Posted 2009
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Charles Gillihan Poem
IT IS A GOOD DAY MY FRIEND
No more regrets for time gone by,
You do what you can,
And then with a sigh,
You let it go.
What might have been
Could I begin again,
Should have
Would have
Could have
Is not a good place to dwell,
A cold dark miserable prison cell.
If only I'd done this
Instead of that,
Will drag you into the fires of hell.
All around miracles abound
In a universe without end.
The rain comes down,
The sun comes out,
It is a good day my friend.
No more fear for time to come,
From what tomorrow holds
I simply cannot run.
It's truly so.
No sense to fret
Over what's not yet.
Should be
Could be
Would be
How can I embrace today
Worrying about what's on its way?
What if this
Or what if that
Turn's life's colors into a dull gray.
All around miracles abound
In a universe without end.
The rain comes down,
The sun comes out,
It is a good day my friend.
Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/23/09
Written 10/11/08
Copyright © Charles Gillihan | Year Posted 2009
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Charles Gillihan Poem
HAPPY OR HURTING WE BLESS
Seeking happiness in a world of misery
Is futile folly indeed.
We're not here just to be happy,
But to help others in need.
If in the course of life
We experience happiness,
We'll find that as we pass it on,
We are doubly blessed.
But if sorrow rips our hearts apart,
That helps us others to heal,
By letting those we find in pain,
Understand we care how they feel.
Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/25/09
Written 8/25/09
Copyright © Charles Gillihan | Year Posted 2009
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