brian-mc-donagh-1 - Hello Poetry

The wind-up figurine Plays a chimy and peppy lullaby Of Irish tune. It makes me think of your smiles, The trips to the store for waffles and Klondike bars, How you were there for activities such as my basketball games when I was little, My Confirmation in my teens, My First Communion, So many of my childhood birthdays were celebrated at your home On Keywest Drive. I think of the time, Pappy, that you scattered dollar coins around the backyard of the before-I-turned-eleven house So I could test my National Geographic metal detector. I remember talking with you, Granny, in the kitchens of your home and my parents’ current house Asking me how I’ve been doing. I even remember the times Where I was rebuked by you because of my behavior. I picture you guys standing in front of your house Waving goodbye. I took every moment for granted. I just hope you aren’t too far away now Because heaven knows I need you and your hugs and kisses. You both are now super angels And I miss you. My childhood was fortified and I am reminded of your presence by you, Pappy, reading me Magic Tree House and saying so eloquently: “The wind started to blow, the treehouse started to spin. It spun faster and faster and faster, until everything was still. Absolutely still.” As the figurine’s tune slows to a stop, I stare into space imagining and recalling the feeling of you in my life. I love you Granny and Pappy.

0

Aug 15, 2024

Aug 15, 2024 at 9:14 PM UTC

The Grand Grandparents

The wind-up figurine Plays a chimy and peppy lullaby Of Irish tune. It makes me think of your smiles, The trips to the store for waffles and Klondike bars, How you were there for activities such as my basketball games when I was little, My Confirmation in my teens, My First Communion, So many of my childhood birthdays were celebrated at your home On Keywest Drive. I think of the time, Pappy, that you scattered dollar coins around the backyard of the before-I-turned-eleven house So I could test my National Geographic metal detector. I remember talking with you, Granny, in the kitchens of your home and my parents’ current house Asking me how I’ve been doing. I even remember the times Where I was rebuked by you because of my behavior. I picture you guys standing in front of your house Waving goodbye. I took every moment for granted. I just hope you aren’t too far away now Because heaven knows I need you and your hugs and kisses. You both are now super angels And I miss you. My childhood was fortified and I am reminded of your presence by you, Pappy, reading me Magic Tree House and saying so eloquently: “The wind started to blow, the treehouse started to spin. It spun faster and faster and faster, until everything was still. Absolutely still.” As the figurine’s tune slows to a stop, I stare into space imagining and recalling the feeling of you in my life. I love you Granny and Pappy.

27

I have no regrets starting a landscaping job this summer after responding to a newspaper advertisement. During my phone interview with my soon-to-be boss Jeff, I learned that this seasonal job meant working in a team of two. Jeff said this guy’s name was Mel, A man who claims over twenty years of experience piping sewer systems for the Martinsburg water filtration plant on top of his continued seasonal work weeding streets, painting curbs, and waving to city neighbors. I usually go along with what I’m given, but I’m an inexperienced worker, let alone in pairs of teams. I also wasn’t happy about working with another guy. I often think that any person I work with Will be my age, someone I already know (heaven forbid I should be picked on doubly), And someone else who doesn’t know the job either. Not that I’m a full-time feminist, but I haven’t had many enjoyable moments associating with the guys outside my family, most men I’ve met are largely competitive, pride-absorbing carnivores. I was met with relief when I found out my colleague is a 72-year-old Mel who seems slow at first glance yet I am barely able to keep pace with him painting and weeding along streets. When I first heard my colleague’s name, I didn’t stereotype. I honestly assumed my coworker would be my age. My mental picture of my colleague was only half wrong: He may be wrinkled and gray on the outside, with a raspy voice that quakes his loose dentures on the inside, but his attitudes and actions haven’t caught up with the times. I occasionally see him staring me down while I’m painting to make sure I don’t overpaint or angle the roller at an up-down stroke position. And when I’m driving the company car, he’ll calmly let out an “Easy there!” when I’m only going 15 on a 25. The saying goes: “A picture is worth a thousand words.” And a thousand pictures can grow from one word: Mel.

0

Jun 27, 2020

Jun 27, 2020 at 6:45 PM UTC

[Hu]Man Up

I have no regrets starting a landscaping job this summer after responding to a newspaper advertisement. During my phone interview with my soon-to-be boss Jeff, I learned that this seasonal job meant working in a team of two. Jeff said this guy’s name was Mel, A man who claims over twenty years of experience piping sewer systems for the Martinsburg water filtration plant on top of his continued seasonal work weeding streets, painting curbs, and waving to city neighbors. I usually go along with what I’m given, but I’m an inexperienced worker, let alone in pairs of teams. I also wasn’t happy about working with another guy. I often think that any person I work with Will be my age, someone I already know (heaven forbid I should be picked on doubly), And someone else who doesn’t know the job either. Not that I’m a full-time feminist, but I haven’t had many enjoyable moments associating with the guys outside my family, most men I’ve met are largely competitive, pride-absorbing carnivores. I was met with relief when I found out my colleague is a 72-year-old Mel who seems slow at first glance yet I am barely able to keep pace with him painting and weeding along streets. When I first heard my colleague’s name, I didn’t stereotype. I honestly assumed my coworker would be my age. My mental picture of my colleague was only half wrong: He may be wrinkled and gray on the outside, with a raspy voice that quakes his loose dentures on the inside, but his attitudes and actions haven’t caught up with the times. I occasionally see him staring me down while I’m painting to make sure I don’t overpaint or angle the roller at an up-down stroke position. And when I’m driving the company car, he’ll calmly let out an “Easy there!” when I’m only going 15 on a 25. The saying goes: “A picture is worth a thousand words.” And a thousand pictures can grow from one word: Mel.

51

I wanted to voluntarily give my time in 2011 without any parental/outside influence to build my own heart and my own destiny. I’m sure people have had plenty of dates with Destiny, leaving Fate to pay the tab. What Destiny didn’t tell me at age fourteen are that churches that mingle together are still different populations with different works of focus. In the Catholic tradition, any Catholic can go to any designated church for holy communion, holding constant how anyone can attend anywhere. I received more than the church when I wanted to go to camps with another church outside my family’s church. Rather, I got a helping of obedience, discipline, work, teasing, trouble, uneasy fellowship, and a deacon who I believe was never true to the words he preached. This deacon, Dave Galvin, was not a personal heart-to-heart person. All he did, at least to me, was assign me to loads of work, answer my problems by pooling for other people’s answers, and keep camps and youth of his church [yes, not even being the lead pastor] on as inflexible of a schedule as possible. I almost think some days he wanted me to starve, because suffering makes him smile. Most times around this minister I would take my life as a failure if I didn’t understand his instructions Or didn’t have a faux homily lined up in less than a minute for a homiletics competition among other high-school guys at the time. He rarely smiled during services unless the priest made a joke. Gossip says that his family cheats with religious obligations. It wouldn’t surprise me if this man’s family were another cover-up story. There’s no genuine fun with this man. Being around his church and his mannerisms almost trapped me permanently from recognizing life outside being pruned as a seminary prodigy, trapped as a Trappist. And yet most people mimic him and reference his motives and leadership. Being the only one at most church activities with Dave from an alien church of another town, I tried so hard to keep my mind from being controlled and of being intensely Catholicized to the point of breaking down. Now, what I make of my former interactions with Dave’s church is meat for my resumes and stories to recount. I thought I was free-will from the Divine not Dave’s puppet.

0

Jun 27, 2020

Jun 27, 2020 at 6:44 PM UTC

An Alb That Does Not Sew

I wanted to voluntarily give my time in 2011 without any parental/outside influence to build my own heart and my own destiny. I’m sure people have had plenty of dates with Destiny, leaving Fate to pay the tab. What Destiny didn’t tell me at age fourteen are that churches that mingle together are still different populations with different works of focus. In the Catholic tradition, any Catholic can go to any designated church for holy communion, holding constant how anyone can attend anywhere. I received more than the church when I wanted to go to camps with another church outside my family’s church. Rather, I got a helping of obedience, discipline, work, teasing, trouble, uneasy fellowship, and a deacon who I believe was never true to the words he preached. This deacon, Dave Galvin, was not a personal heart-to-heart person. All he did, at least to me, was assign me to loads of work, answer my problems by pooling for other people’s answers, and keep camps and youth of his church [yes, not even being the lead pastor] on as inflexible of a schedule as possible. I almost think some days he wanted me to starve, because suffering makes him smile. Most times around this minister I would take my life as a failure if I didn’t understand his instructions Or didn’t have a faux homily lined up in less than a minute for a homiletics competition among other high-school guys at the time. He rarely smiled during services unless the priest made a joke. Gossip says that his family cheats with religious obligations. It wouldn’t surprise me if this man’s family were another cover-up story. There’s no genuine fun with this man. Being around his church and his mannerisms almost trapped me permanently from recognizing life outside being pruned as a seminary prodigy, trapped as a Trappist. And yet most people mimic him and reference his motives and leadership. Being the only one at most church activities with Dave from an alien church of another town, I tried so hard to keep my mind from being controlled and of being intensely Catholicized to the point of breaking down. Now, what I make of my former interactions with Dave’s church is meat for my resumes and stories to recount. I thought I was free-will from the Divine not Dave’s puppet.

68

I have the greatest friendship with a local Lutheran pastor because of her willingness to contribute her thoughts for an article I hurriedly wrote and published in 2017 on the Protestant Reformation. She also allowed me the next year to vent and cry my social troubles to her for four hours at her office, like a mother addressing her child’s cry. In the brief time I have known Pastor Karen, she continues to be the most passionate person about living life positively and about praying for animals. Pastors will talk creation at services I attend, but it’s not too often I hear ministers set aside social intentions to specify creational matters as a Sunday prayer. Pastor Karen is such an important person for me to know, Being the first woman and Protestant minister I ever truly befriended. An Office Depot employee named Matt remembers my name. Matt gives business interaction a whole new meaning: The secret to his successful customer interaction is the genuine tone of his voice: Matt’s voice sounds as though talking gives him purpose, while he listens just as sincerely Happily anticipating relatable life scenarios from customers. Skylar, my friend who works at a homeless shelter, gives inspiration to young adults like me. She radiantly exemplifies job loyalty As house-monitor every weekend. I usually drop by to hand over donation goods such as toys for the younger females of the shelter and foods as peanut butter (a favorite!), alkaline water, chicken tenders, organic raisin bran cereals, and toiletries as toilet paper and Kleenex. There have been times though where I wanted to just see her. I told her how I felt, once, directly asking her in her office while she was sipping her latte If she’d want to meet up outside the women’s shelter for a date. Skylar informed me that my gesture was sweet, but she prefers being single out of her own choice. Skylar likes being single. No blame there. Each time I visit, she’s either helping a resident, cooking a meal for all in-house patrons, or in her office doing administrative work. Though I don’t see myself as a rule-follower when it comes to religious teachings as fasting or simple slip-ups as tracking shoes in the house, the way Skylar abides by company policies Reminds me that even being a free young adult has its boundaries and responsibilities on and off the clock. I’ve heard it said That the world is one big family. I don’t deny that statement, but until I meet everyone around the world, in the jungles, departed, yet to be, the family I have are the ones who remember me. I am a son, a friend, and a rewards member.

0

Jun 27, 2020

Jun 27, 2020 at 6:40 PM UTC

Occupational Kin

I have the greatest friendship with a local Lutheran pastor because of her willingness to contribute her thoughts for an article I hurriedly wrote and published in 2017 on the Protestant Reformation. She also allowed me the next year to vent and cry my social troubles to her for four hours at her office, like a mother addressing her child’s cry. In the brief time I have known Pastor Karen, she continues to be the most passionate person about living life positively and about praying for animals. Pastors will talk creation at services I attend, but it’s not too often I hear ministers set aside social intentions to specify creational matters as a Sunday prayer. Pastor Karen is such an important person for me to know, Being the first woman and Protestant minister I ever truly befriended. An Office Depot employee named Matt remembers my name. Matt gives business interaction a whole new meaning: The secret to his successful customer interaction is the genuine tone of his voice: Matt’s voice sounds as though talking gives him purpose, while he listens just as sincerely Happily anticipating relatable life scenarios from customers. Skylar, my friend who works at a homeless shelter, gives inspiration to young adults like me. She radiantly exemplifies job loyalty As house-monitor every weekend. I usually drop by to hand over donation goods such as toys for the younger females of the shelter and foods as peanut butter (a favorite!), alkaline water, chicken tenders, organic raisin bran cereals, and toiletries as toilet paper and Kleenex. There have been times though where I wanted to just see her. I told her how I felt, once, directly asking her in her office while she was sipping her latte If she’d want to meet up outside the women’s shelter for a date. Skylar informed me that my gesture was sweet, but she prefers being single out of her own choice. Skylar likes being single. No blame there. Each time I visit, she’s either helping a resident, cooking a meal for all in-house patrons, or in her office doing administrative work. Though I don’t see myself as a rule-follower when it comes to religious teachings as fasting or simple slip-ups as tracking shoes in the house, the way Skylar abides by company policies Reminds me that even being a free young adult has its boundaries and responsibilities on and off the clock. I’ve heard it said That the world is one big family. I don’t deny that statement, but until I meet everyone around the world, in the jungles, departed, yet to be, the family I have are the ones who remember me. I am a son, a friend, and a rewards member.

77

The best learning comes from putting books aside and discovering the public world on the road. A few years back, I put my textbooks on hold To take a trip to DC’s Native American museum. My favorite scene of the museum was the wall commemorating the Navajo Code Talkers of World War II. As I walked around solo, I pretended that I was my dad walking around slowly and curiously. The moment I entered the museum, I lost track of my campus group among bustling tourists and museum enthusiasts. But shouting for my mom hours away might have only made me stranger than a stranger. Crossing several lanes of traffic in search of dinner felt like a level of Frogger (Seinfeld reference). I wasn’t expecting dinner and a show, but apparently the show came first when a man named Dan intercepted my path to a McDonald’s corner restaurant. It was no surprise that a fellow loitering the streets would turn out asking me for money. I hypnotically scoured my pants pocket and unfurled an Alexander Hamilton bill for Dan to confiscate. Surprisingly, Dan refused a quick grab-n-go. Coolly, and I kid you not, He wanted to perform a service Before compensation. Dan apparently wanted to earn his money By singing a song. All I remember from Dan’s singing Was how he sounded pitch-perfect, Like a sincere American Idol audition. The glitz, government, and grub of DC Will never beat the day Dan and I met on a backstreet sidewalk.

0

Jun 27, 2020

Jun 27, 2020 at 6:38 PM UTC

Per Pulchram Vocem

The best learning comes from putting books aside and discovering the public world on the road. A few years back, I put my textbooks on hold To take a trip to DC’s Native American museum. My favorite scene of the museum was the wall commemorating the Navajo Code Talkers of World War II. As I walked around solo, I pretended that I was my dad walking around slowly and curiously. The moment I entered the museum, I lost track of my campus group among bustling tourists and museum enthusiasts. But shouting for my mom hours away might have only made me stranger than a stranger. Crossing several lanes of traffic in search of dinner felt like a level of Frogger (Seinfeld reference). I wasn’t expecting dinner and a show, but apparently the show came first when a man named Dan intercepted my path to a McDonald’s corner restaurant. It was no surprise that a fellow loitering the streets would turn out asking me for money. I hypnotically scoured my pants pocket and unfurled an Alexander Hamilton bill for Dan to confiscate. Surprisingly, Dan refused a quick grab-n-go. Coolly, and I kid you not, He wanted to perform a service Before compensation. Dan apparently wanted to earn his money By singing a song. All I remember from Dan’s singing Was how he sounded pitch-perfect, Like a sincere American Idol audition. The glitz, government, and grub of DC Will never beat the day Dan and I met on a backstreet sidewalk.

47

Bonjourno, paisanos! Didn’t think I could say actual words, right? Most of us virtual protagonists like Pac Man and Crash Bandicoot don’t talk much since we are systematically required to listen to enemy plans and damsel-in-distress gratitudes, to actively work to stay alive, making it hard to breathe and cough up a sentence or two. Now that I momentarily have the freedom of [legitimate] speech, I’ll let you in on my thoughts about comrades, enemies, and my abilities… Most days I can’t stand how a princess like Toadstool keeps falling into the wrong hands. Even us characters have a life when gaming systems power off. Most days I’m not the only hero but the co-hero. Though most times my friend Toad and brother Luigi are scared of warding off intrusions, they’re my only reinforcements. My archnemesis Bowser and his army of koopa-turtles and armless goombas aren’t too bright. When Bowser acquires power-ups beyond my virtual abilities as an inner-city plumber, I scurry to find others who know Bowser’s vulnerable spots and who help me gain acrobatic abilities. The food I eat Provides strength and focus-- like mushrooms that make me grow taller, smaller, and lengthen my lifespan. I’m sure some of you wish you could hop across wide crevices or defeat troublesome figures. Thanks to gamers and patrons who adventure through space and evolving scenery with me. I hope in the midst of Rockwell-style art in motion, you all take away real-life lessons. Wahoo!

0

Jun 27, 2020

Jun 27, 2020 at 6:35 PM UTC

It's A Me, [Super] Mario!

Bonjourno, paisanos! Didn’t think I could say actual words, right? Most of us virtual protagonists like Pac Man and Crash Bandicoot don’t talk much since we are systematically required to listen to enemy plans and damsel-in-distress gratitudes, to actively work to stay alive, making it hard to breathe and cough up a sentence or two. Now that I momentarily have the freedom of [legitimate] speech, I’ll let you in on my thoughts about comrades, enemies, and my abilities… Most days I can’t stand how a princess like Toadstool keeps falling into the wrong hands. Even us characters have a life when gaming systems power off. Most days I’m not the only hero but the co-hero. Though most times my friend Toad and brother Luigi are scared of warding off intrusions, they’re my only reinforcements. My archnemesis Bowser and his army of koopa-turtles and armless goombas aren’t too bright. When Bowser acquires power-ups beyond my virtual abilities as an inner-city plumber, I scurry to find others who know Bowser’s vulnerable spots and who help me gain acrobatic abilities. The food I eat Provides strength and focus-- like mushrooms that make me grow taller, smaller, and lengthen my lifespan. I’m sure some of you wish you could hop across wide crevices or defeat troublesome figures. Thanks to gamers and patrons who adventure through space and evolving scenery with me. I hope in the midst of Rockwell-style art in motion, you all take away real-life lessons. Wahoo!

45

Parties, sleepovers, and making it to the weekend were and are familial excuses to pull out foods I drool[ed] over such as fried chicken in the evening and donuts in the mornings. Another special fun-food excuse I recall was a time my Granny and Pappy (maternally related) patiently endured a three-hour car ride to visit my family in West Virginia. [The mystery of their visits Is how my dad successfully shrouds himself the majority of the time his in-laws so lodge.] Something as simple as a supper felt like a Cold War: My dad and Pappy seated at either end of the table. The sour taste of the evening wasn’t the skim milk I almost drank. with saucy spaghetti, But how my grandfather offered me a disproportionate beverage (I had a harder time rejecting offers, then) and how my dad softly yet sternly shook his head to my left with a frowned mouth and anger-stirred eyebrows. My dad would have been louder about saving my stomach the trouble had I not been fearful of loud voices other than my own, Whether with sarcastic laughter included or loud with revealing words. Caught in the middle as always, I listened to my dad, mentally recalling my last comsumable experiment: When I swallowed rigatoni pasta without giving the due mechanical digestion. My stomach acid was angry with my pathetic transition from eating pasta and feeling fine to constant flushing behind closed doors. My dad and Pappy don’t get along. Years ago I asked my mom privately why they only say hi and bye at family gatherings. My mom could only shrug, saying how Pappy and Dad simply had different views of life that somehow can’t overlap in harmony. I’m not a peacemaker, but I’d prefer not to be a sitcom family of disconnection. Suppose there’s a reason why most grandparents and their adult children don’t constantly interact: If they can’t homogenize their realities, they don’t mix.

0

Jun 27, 2020

Jun 27, 2020 at 6:34 PM UTC

They Don't Mix

Parties, sleepovers, and making it to the weekend were and are familial excuses to pull out foods I drool[ed] over such as fried chicken in the evening and donuts in the mornings. Another special fun-food excuse I recall was a time my Granny and Pappy (maternally related) patiently endured a three-hour car ride to visit my family in West Virginia. [The mystery of their visits Is how my dad successfully shrouds himself the majority of the time his in-laws so lodge.] Something as simple as a supper felt like a Cold War: My dad and Pappy seated at either end of the table. The sour taste of the evening wasn’t the skim milk I almost drank. with saucy spaghetti, But how my grandfather offered me a disproportionate beverage (I had a harder time rejecting offers, then) and how my dad softly yet sternly shook his head to my left with a frowned mouth and anger-stirred eyebrows. My dad would have been louder about saving my stomach the trouble had I not been fearful of loud voices other than my own, Whether with sarcastic laughter included or loud with revealing words. Caught in the middle as always, I listened to my dad, mentally recalling my last comsumable experiment: When I swallowed rigatoni pasta without giving the due mechanical digestion. My stomach acid was angry with my pathetic transition from eating pasta and feeling fine to constant flushing behind closed doors. My dad and Pappy don’t get along. Years ago I asked my mom privately why they only say hi and bye at family gatherings. My mom could only shrug, saying how Pappy and Dad simply had different views of life that somehow can’t overlap in harmony. I’m not a peacemaker, but I’d prefer not to be a sitcom family of disconnection. Suppose there’s a reason why most grandparents and their adult children don’t constantly interact: If they can’t homogenize their realities, they don’t mix.

58

This is just a brief commentary that these next six poems I post are from taking an online corresponding poetry lesson with a poet named Dawn Leas. She's a poet of the times and has contemporary empathy for the writers of this millennium. I mention this as well as these poems are based on her edits as well. Enjoy.

0

Jun 27, 2020

Jun 27, 2020 at 6:32 PM UTC

Six Poems from Course: NOT A POEM

This is just a brief commentary that these next six poems I post are from taking an online corresponding poetry lesson with a poet named Dawn Leas. She's a poet of the times and has contemporary empathy for the writers of this millennium. I mention this as well as these poems are based on her edits as well. Enjoy.

1

...A city here That now bears ruins. ...A renowned ship That has fallen asunder. ...Creatures so ginormous And dominant Not even today's technology Could de-populate such wonders. ...A slave plantation Along this grass, Romping the dirt, Doing much of the work for historically Acclaimed inventor names of the time. Where blood spurt and rationality Could not be found across persons Because of the rods and cones That see different hues Instead of similar traits. ...A person who walked here That made a beneficial change, Forwarding freedom, living and brotherhood. Now where I sit and write Will soon be a place Where there was once A home.

0

Apr 18, 2020

Apr 18, 2020 at 9:01 PM UTC

There Was Once...

...A city here That now bears ruins. ...A renowned ship That has fallen asunder. ...Creatures so ginormous And dominant Not even today's technology Could de-populate such wonders. ...A slave plantation Along this grass, Romping the dirt, Doing much of the work for historically Acclaimed inventor names of the time. Where blood spurt and rationality Could not be found across persons Because of the rods and cones That see different hues Instead of similar traits. ...A person who walked here That made a beneficial change, Forwarding freedom, living and brotherhood. Now where I sit and write Will soon be a place Where there was once A home.

25

I wonder how people Would get along (Myself too) If religious icons and statues Didn't exist And were never made (Like thinking if technology shut down suddenly, to reference a friend). Would that challenge minds To dig up more imagination? Or panic About an afterlife being no life Without post-apocalyptic relief Through pictorial prognostication? There's no cost to death, Only a cost for living. Death is an open-door, Anytime and anywhere Policy. No charge. No refund. Does hope die Out from a dying person? I know a little about solely Learning a job on the spot Or opening a college textbook Right before an assignment is due, But conversion at death? Doing anything for another breath Is like wanting more water When no longer parched.

0

Apr 18, 2020

Apr 18, 2020 at 6:05 PM UTC

Death Toll

I wonder how people Would get along (Myself too) If religious icons and statues Didn't exist And were never made (Like thinking if technology shut down suddenly, to reference a friend). Would that challenge minds To dig up more imagination? Or panic About an afterlife being no life Without post-apocalyptic relief Through pictorial prognostication? There's no cost to death, Only a cost for living. Death is an open-door, Anytime and anywhere Policy. No charge. No refund. Does hope die Out from a dying person? I know a little about solely Learning a job on the spot Or opening a college textbook Right before an assignment is due, But conversion at death? Doing anything for another breath Is like wanting more water When no longer parched.

30