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Best Poems Written by Jerry Brotherton

Below are the all-time best Jerry Brotherton poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Jerry Brotherton Poem

It's hard to Let Go

On Christmas day before he died,
I went home to visit my dad.
The house was full of family, 
our mood was quite somber and sad.

We drifted in and out the room,
where he lay dying in his bed.,
Each of us sharing memories,
saying the words that needed said.

Those last days perhaps the hardest,
as death became reality.
We made the promise to ourselves,
to hold on to his memories.

We were grasping for any hope,
all my brothers, sisters, and me.
We had not yet convinced ourselves,
it was time to let him be free.

Be free to hunt that long coon hunt,
that will never come to an end.
To dance his jig among his friends,
to lie beside his wife again.

Goodbye my beloved father,
in my heart you will always be.
Place a kiss on my mother’s cheek,
and tell her that it is from me.

Details | Jerry Brotherton Poem

Help

On the poor side of the city,
there’s an innocent child crying.
The rats and roaches are crawling,
on the bed where he lies dying.

There’s a family of seven,
just trying to scrounge a dollar.
So they can buy a Christmas feast,
made of bread and peanut butter.

Mother has given up all hope,
and her children have no wishes.
The only gift she’s got to share,
are some hugs and Christmas kisses.

But hugs don’t fill empty stomachs,
of the children on Christmas morn.
When the snow blows in through the cracks,
Christmas kisses won’t keep them warm.

The next time you spend a fortune,
on another unwanted toy.
Drop some coins into the kettle,
for those who have no hope or joy.

Details | Jerry Brotherton Poem

Thank You for the Gift

Perched here within my writer’s garret,
among all my dusty books and notes.
I'll bare my soul and try to share it,
all my stories, poems, quips, and quotes.

Sometimes inspiration guides my hand,
but other times nothing to be heard.
It's hard for people to understand,
the struggle to find that perfect word.

Though my attempts might fail, I won’t quit,
like the Phoenix, I will rise again.
If my heart still beats, I know that it,
will have me write and never give in.

Thank you, God, for the gift of story,
I have strained to pen them full and well.
In hopes the world will know your glory,
with my humble words, I've tried to tell.

Details | Jerry Brotherton Poem

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

I lost a friend; Jason really loved his gin.
One night while he was on a binge.
He walked off into the deep end,
now no one has ever seen Jason again.

I lost a friend; his life was his duffle sack.
One day he headed to Iraq.
I didn’t know him when he came back,
well I guess Billy’s mind slipped right off its track.

I lost a friend; his name was old Stan the Man.
Spent two tours in Afghanistan.
Survived bullets and scorching heat,
just to come home and get shot down in the street.

I lost a friend; lived in a house on the hill.
Had two kids and a bag of pills.
One day they found her on the floor,
she’s not going to need those pills anymore.

I lost some friends; I only think about them.
Oh, once in a while, now and then.
Don’t want to seem harsh or unkind,
but as they say, they’re out of sight, out of mind. 

You know that life is a very fickle thing.
Make the best of what it might bring.
We’re just a bright flash ‘cross the screen,
before we can blink… we’re just a memory.

Details | Jerry Brotherton Poem

My Childhood Christmas

The folded corners and wrinkled pages
of catalogs that were tattered and ripped
From the first of October until late in December
we drooled,
we fawned,
we lusted, 
we swooned and giggled
mutilating each page
until the pictures faded.

Sears and Roebuck, 
Monkey Wards 
JC Penny’s, 
Macy’s, Mattingly’s, K-mart.
Our wish list grew long
more than one sheet could hold
tears welled up with each toy crossed out.
Until the list was whittle down 
Though the likelihood of getting any was nill.

But still
That’s why we called it the book of wishes.
If wants and wishes were hugs and kisses
There would be no need 
to thumb through the pictures
and dream.
Perhaps imagination was the best Christmas gift

Details | Jerry Brotherton Poem

Playing Guitar In the Rain

I’m too old to live out these songs I sing.
There has been too much pumped into these veins.
But if you remember how I was back in time… 
Won’t you toss me a nickel or a dime?

I used to travel all around the world.
and I bought my condoms by the case full.
I stored all my cocaine in quart-sized mason jars…
in my yachts, jets, and fancy armored cars.

Man, those were sure some good old glory days.
Before I smoked and drank my dreams away.
When everything I touched turned into solid gold…
Back before the horse took away my soul.

You know that once the devil seals the deal.
There’s no way you can beg, borrow, or steal.
Another second of the fame that you ain’t owed…
No matter how bright the lightning you rode.

Chorus:
When I was on top, man I was the best,
I was so damned far above all the rest.
I’d give my life to have that spotlight once again…
Not outside on this sidewalk begging change.
Standing here playing guitar in the rain.

Your tracks may have faded away with time. 
But all those old wounds that you left behind. 
Left me with so much more to remember you with…
I can’t say that I thank you for the gift.

I wonder is there nothing left in me.
but the memories of what used to be.
and those sad dreams about how my life could have been…
Knowing I can never go there again.

Now I’m playing these old forgotten songs.
begging change from strangers that come along.
Hoping to get enough to buy a fifth of gin…
I lost my wife, kids, and even my friends.

So heed the words of this broken-down man.
Hold on tight to any dreams that you can.
Because once they're gone, they won’t be back again…
And you’ll find yourself outside, playing guitar in the rain.

(Repeat Chorus)

Details | Jerry Brotherton Poem

How Happy Ever After Begins

When I was young, I heard my momma say, 
come here my child and sit upon my knee.
This life is filled with many ups and downs,
but you can still be what you want to be.

I was just eighteen when my momma said,
son don’t you know you got to have a plan.
If you hang around this place all your life,
you will never grow up to be a man.

Don’t be afraid of what’s there in the end,
cause it’s the journey that’s worth living for.
The only way for you to get started,
is by taking that first step out the door.

She said, don’t you be uppity with folk,
but don’t let nobody push you around.
Best be humble when things are going good,
stay positive when things are looking down.

Don’t you be spreading hate and discontent,
among the naive and the innocent.
Never once have trust in the government,
because that’s the way evil always wins.
 
When a few good people band together,
lend a helping hand to one another.
Watching out for their sisters and brothers,
that’s how happy ever after begins.

I was thirty-five when my momma died,
they said that her illness could not be cured.
I was feeling as low as I could get,
and hated life and all that it stood for.

I had sunk down and was feeling sorry,
thinking that this life made no sense to me.
Until I recalled those words momma said,
while bouncing that baby boy on her knee.

Details | Jerry Brotherton Poem

When I’m in Heaven

I think when I’m in heaven,
I’ll put my feet on a soft cloud.
Pour some Tennessee whisky,
and read poetry to the crowd.

I’ll hug my dad a few times,
I’ll kiss my mom on both her cheeks.
Sit at the kitchen table,
eat her good cooking for two weeks.

I’ll walk those dusty backroads,
won’t care about the summer heat.
I’ll play tag and kick the can,
right in the middle of the street.

Maybe I’ll help as momma,
hangs our clothes outside on the line.
And listen to her singing,
“Old Rugged Cross” just one more time.

Perhaps I’ll join my father,
listen to coon hounds running free.
Laying on the grass watching, 
soft clouds floating on a cool breeze.

Walk a few acres of beans,
then buck a thousand bales of hay.
Or head to Wakenda Creek,
sit on the bank, and fish all day.
 
So, when I’m dead and gone, dear,
please don’t shed any tears for me.
Just take my body’s ashes,
and spread me neath that old oak tree.

Take me back to Wakenda,
back to that place where I was born.
Carry me up that big hill,
let me see fields of wheat and corn.

Let me watch the birds and clouds,
drifting through that Wakenda sky.
Like I did in those old times,
before life went too quickly by.

When you come to the graveside,
and see my name carved on the stone.
Know that I am happy dear,
and I shall never be alone.

Details | Jerry Brotherton Poem

Putting People Down

Lovers have each other so they, 
will never have to be alone.
A king has his tall stone castle, 
where he can sit upon his throne.

Musicians have their instruments, 
and a singer will have a song.
Religions will have holy books, 
to teach them about right and wrong.

The poets have their words to give,
the baker has a cherry pie.
The dreamers have their dreams to dream, 
pilots fly their planes through the sky.

The artists have their paint brushes, 
and sculptors have their marbled rocks.
Teachers have their eager students,
tinkers have their toasters and clocks.

People come in many colors,
and in every shape and size.
But I can’t help but wonder when, 
we’ll ever come to realize.

It’s time we stop seeing the world, 
in black, white, yellow, brown or red.
Each one has a different way,
of how their book of life gets read.

What makes us think that we are right,
while others will always be wrong.
Or that we will know the best way,
to tell people where they belong.

What makes me think that I can tell, 
anyone how it should be done.
When I have so many battles, 
with myself that I have not won.

We must learn to love and let love, 
before we’ll ever really live.
We must stop taking a bit more,
than we’re ever willing to give.

Every person should be free, 
to just let their lives go around.
But all I can see are people, 
just putting other people down.

Details | Jerry Brotherton Poem

Connie Was a Cheerleader

Connie was a cheerleader
bright white toothed smile
bouncing boobs
short skirt legs running long
through school boy fantasies
friday nights her stage
crisp November air her makeup

Robert was a loner
a stoner
bad clear down to the core
shriveled up inside
Salvation Army furniture
Batman comics
bologna sandwich supper

Connie was manicured lawns
gardens of flowers
white picket fences and stone pathways
Norman Rockwell dinners
lavender bath soap
silk pajamas
pink bed spread

Robert was a rundown trailer
on a filthy back lot
goddamn you f*****g punk
get the hell out morning breakfast
garage sale coffee table
stacked with beer cans and ash trays
overflowing with death
 
Connie had a secret
hidden touches
fatherly lust
make up hiding
violent bruises
don't tell your mother
if you want her safe
I can hurt her too

Robert had a secret
18 hour days
two jobs at garages
straight A's
never give up
never give in
blue eyes and crooked smile
whispering to the world to kiss his ass

Connie was the sharp
razor's edge that gleamed
like the holy grail 
in her bathroom drawer
Robert was the strong will
the hard desire
the drive to move on
to something more

Connie was a cheerleader
Robert was not a quarterback
but they were each other's
Salvation