Long Drop back Poems

Two new crutches and two double shots of Bushmills Irish Whiskey enabled Joe Faherty to move from the back seat of Moira Murphy's 1976 Buick into Eagan's Funeral Home for Tim McGillicuddy's wake. At 87,...

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Beneath the endless waves lays a body
Piscine and bow-legged; felt from miles away
Next to it, I sit
Lungs half-full, dappled sunlight caressing me

An abyssal peace shared with none
A third dimension for a third generation
Thinking beyond forward...

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SHOT AT…
Yes I went shooting with some city fellows to the Moonie
We got a place to shoot that had the wild pigs
So we are walking through a crop of something green and blooming
When a porker...

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Everyday i walk through the open desert called life,
crawling and stumbling trying to survive this world at night.

Protecting my eyes from the sandstorms may be hard,
but losing my grip on this thing called life is...

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Gus didn't have the original pointer that came 
with the Ouija, so he used an extra Indian feather, 
since it came from a real Indian, 
it may prove to be advantageous. 
Since Indians were the...

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A long spine of asphalt, sizzling black
The macka back cart rumbling
On the morning nerve, herring sprat
Is high life some days in this place
Across the street the bakery
Up the street the parrot teaching me to curse
The...

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she leans back and points bare toes at clouds
chains creak their rhythmic squeak, hypnotic loud
taken aback, her hair sails slipstream flung
downstream freedom for a moment hung
in mid-air - earth's force gives up its grip
hands sweat,...

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All Chevy drivers are dangerous; they cannot drive.
I search for a few minutes, finding the Chevy emblem.
Watch stealthily, sure enough he cuts in front of me.
Proving my theory.

Now I change my truth to all Missouri...

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Morning sun rise up
Coffee in a cup
New leaves from the branches of trees
Cold air passing by me, I embrace
 
Clear like a blue sky
My face seems as I passed them by
Laughter, sweet smile are sort...

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The candle light flickers for no reason
even when shielded from stray puffs of wind.
It is an internal thing, rhythm within its being,
a vibrato in its song of pixels waved.
A reminder that making light is tough
squeezing...

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The fearful waves of life be rude, 
The strongest winds of armies rage, 
Yet still I find myself at ease,
For, have I with me, Holy, a Sage.

Rocks my boat so madly still, 
Roars the storm...

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She was nine,
her sister
older.
He was a big 
thirty-five 
mean drunk 
coming down 
from Saturday night,
slicked-back 
black hair, 
Hawaiian shirt, 
dark
wolverine 
eyes. 
He hit her arm
hard,
uttered an order 
under his breath.
She looked down
(small tears). 
What else...

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The Rainbow of Truth, of which we are part,
burst  from invisible Unity’s heart.
We whirl into Life as visible light,
then drop back through Death into blended night.

Dazzled by life and existence, we’re blind
to all that...

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