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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

Any Small Town

Before I understood how life 
was a weave of intricacies
My town was a wonderful world 
to serve my childish fantasies. 

I was a young and healthy lad
a source of mother’s pride and joy 
with sun bleached hair and sky-blue eyes.
just your average wide-eyed boy 

On summer days I could run free 
over hills and through fields of grain 
played outside in times of sunshine
and inside whenever it rained

I loved to hunt and fish the creek
played in the streets because I could 
In my naive idealism. 
the outside world was kind and good 

My world was from the northern hills
and south as far as I could see 
About twenty square miles of everything 
A curious boy wanted it to be

Right there smack dab in the middle of it
sat a little town they called Wakenda 
Just a few houses and a tiny store
the grandest place anyone ever saw

A place where fathers manicured their lawns 
and neighbors waved or greeted each other 
There was no need for privacy fences
People treated each other like brothers

Where the men drove away every morning 
to places that I did not know where
in my mind some place that was exotic
but I can’t say that I ever did care

Hard-working mothers stayed home all day long, 
cooked the breakfast, lunch, and dinner with ease 
hung their fresh washed laundry out on clothes lines 
and let our underwear swing in the breeze

We played kick the can right out in the street
Or chased lightning bugs out in the backyard
Hide and seek could cover a couple blocks
So could freeze tag or ghost in the graveyard

In that magical village where I lived
I knew everyone and they all knew me
Never a worry about anything
I was safe, loved, innocent and naive

But then, when I was nearly ten years old
It was the first time that I witnessed death
a boy, just a few years older than me 
an accident had stolen his last breath

His death was like a stone tossed from a hand
into the pool of my reality 
Its ripples spread out from my soul’s center
with each wave a truth was revealed to me. 

I could not view life through rose colored glass
the youthful playground was taken from me
My life had become very small and cramped 
just a shell of what it once used to be

I saw the evil that surrounds us all
hiding in the shadows just out of sight
The town I loved now had blurry edges
life decaying behind an opaque light

Still the same town with all the same people
living their lives as if nothing had changed
Why had they not noticed the dust and dirt
and just how life had been so rearranged

What had started as just tiny ripples 
had now turned themselves into foaming waves 
that smashed my innocents against the rocks
and helped to mold my adolescence days

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

I Should Win an Oscar

Look at this smile on my face, do I look sad and alone.
With no one to give me love, and no one to call my own.
Can you look into my eyes, see them filled with happiness.
Would you ever realize, my life is in such a mess.

Chorus:
I should be a movie star, 
for playing this happy guy.
While holding back all the tears,
trying so hard not to cry.
I should win a gold Oscar,
for the way I’ve lived my life.
While my heart’s in so much pain,
like it’s being cut out with a knife

You know you can’t judge a book, until you’ve read every line.
Or feel how much it hurts, to know you’ll never be mine.
Seems like an eternity, of singing these happy songs.
While trying to fool the world, into thinking nothing’s wrong.

Chorus:
Look at this smile on my face,
do I look sad and alone.
With no one to give me love,
and no one to call my own.
While holding back those tears,
trying so hard not to cry.
They should give me an Oscar,
for playing such a happy guy.

They say if I wait enough, the right one will come along.
True love will one day find me, and I’ll know where I belong

Until that happens my friend…
I’ll put on my smile again…
I’ll laugh and try to pretend…
That I have not reached the end…
They will hand me my Oscar, cause I’m such a happy guy.

Details | Jerry Brotherton Poem

March Wind

This brutal March wind
that bellows and bullies
tearing through trees, 
and assaulting roofs

as it pounds against 
my window’s glass
and rips away expectations
of long awaited spring

Even as it brings frozen drops 
and sputters of snow
pushing trash cans
scattering life’s remnants

though I am forced to
hide under woolen blankets 
and stir the coals
of hickory logs

I bow to its greatness
and behold the beauty 
of its power

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

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

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

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

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

What Kind of Poet Are You

I write poetry not to change the world,
but to change the way I feel.
Sometimes it’s just made-up fantasy,
sometimes, something a little more real.

I’m not a sophisticated poet you see,
using litotes, anapest, or alliteration.
Though I’ve been known to use an aphorism or two,
when talking about the politicians of this nation.

I pay little attention to the rhyming scheme,
and syllable count means nothing to me.
I’m not even sure what it is they really mean,
When they talk about ABAB or CCCC.

Am I a Beat, Black Mountain, or Dada,
conceptual, confessional, or poststructuralist, oh my.
Things like cacophony, euphony, cadence, and feet,
confuse me to the point that makes me want to cry.

I just put some words in my dilapidated computer,
typing it out in fourteen font Helvetica.
I’m never sure of what form of poem I write,
Wait, is this one called Ars Poetica.