f-j-mccarthy - Hello Poetry

The sand drenched in blood, sword arm aches. Yet another foe approaches,soon he to shall die. I am the gladiator, battle is my home. Pain is for the weak, I feel it not Cut off my limb I shall grow another. For I am everlasting,I am immortaL Cry no tears for me, I am the hunter. The one you fear and dare not speak my name. Come and vanquish me if you dare I WAIT FOR MY END

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Sep 11, 2011

Sep 11, 2011 at 8:55 PM UTC

GLADIATOR

The sand drenched in blood, sword arm aches. Yet another foe approaches,soon he to shall die. I am the gladiator, battle is my home. Pain is for the weak, I feel it not Cut off my limb I shall grow another. For I am everlasting,I am immortaL Cry no tears for me, I am the hunter. The one you fear and dare not speak my name. Come and vanquish me if you dare I WAIT FOR MY END

10

Empty Inside F J McCarthy on Jun 17, 2009 Empty, hollow, nothing left. The way I feel inside. No substance there I am bereft. With nothing left to hide. Barren,stark, like windblown sand. No purchase to be found. Tossed about like a tumble **** This world has worn me down. Dried out ,hardened,like a stone. I’m ready for the fire. Burn me up till I am gone. My soul can now retire.

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Aug 18, 2010

Aug 18, 2010 at 3:31 PM UTC

Empty Inside

Empty Inside F J McCarthy on Jun 17, 2009 Empty, hollow, nothing left. The way I feel inside. No substance there I am bereft. With nothing left to hide. Barren,stark, like windblown sand. No purchase to be found. Tossed about like a tumble **** This world has worn me down. Dried out ,hardened,like a stone. I’m ready for the fire. Burn me up till I am gone. My soul can now retire.

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So long have I searched, on high and below. Yet the truth that I seek does elude me. I hear hints of it's laughter as the blackbird does crow. In the whispers she sends to delude me. Is my ego that frail to be bought by her voice. When the words are said strickly to please. Am I just her toy puppet without any choice. So easily brought to my knees? **** you truth come and show me what's real. I have waited as long as I might. Shatter the mirrors and take down the veil. I'm no longer afraid of the light. The blinders are off and my soul is laid bare. Judge me for all that you see. The elusive truth is finally here' With the knowledge to set my soul free. Look in the mirror and know who you are. Except all of your faults as they be. You are a being as bright as a star With a soul as deep as the sea. Yes you are the one, you have finally seen. That the truth was inside you so long. And where ever you go ,or wherever you've been. You decide what is right and what's wrong.

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Aug 18, 2010

Aug 18, 2010 at 3:19 PM UTC

The Elusive Truth

So long have I searched, on high and below. Yet the truth that I seek does elude me. I hear hints of it's laughter as the blackbird does crow. In the whispers she sends to delude me. Is my ego that frail to be bought by her voice. When the words are said strickly to please. Am I just her toy puppet without any choice. So easily brought to my knees? **** you truth come and show me what's real. I have waited as long as I might. Shatter the mirrors and take down the veil. I'm no longer afraid of the light. The blinders are off and my soul is laid bare. Judge me for all that you see. The elusive truth is finally here' With the knowledge to set my soul free. Look in the mirror and know who you are. Except all of your faults as they be. You are a being as bright as a star With a soul as deep as the sea. Yes you are the one, you have finally seen. That the truth was inside you so long. And where ever you go ,or wherever you've been. You decide what is right and what's wrong.

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Poetry F J McCarthy on Aug 9, 2010 What poetry means to me. Poetry is the music that plays in my head,it is the beat of my heart when I see beauty. Poetry is two lovers walking hand in hand completely alone as the world rushes by. The wind in the trees ,a bird in flight, a childs first step,these are poetry. Tears of joy at a loved ones safe return, the birth of a child. Every day of our lives are filled with poetry. If we are lucky we can somehow translate the love and the sorrow, the joy and the pain,into words. Words that stir our emotions, words that make us happy or sad, that bring tears to our eyes. Sometimes raw and unpolished,sometimes beautifully balanced and flowing. Words not to be judged as right or wrong,just to be read and perhaps to be felt. We call those words poetry, I call them my heart, my soul, and all the things I long for. All my hopes and my fears locked within the pages of my poetry, just waiting to be found and set free.

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Aug 13, 2010

Aug 13, 2010 at 3:18 PM UTC

Poetry

Poetry F J McCarthy on Aug 9, 2010 What poetry means to me. Poetry is the music that plays in my head,it is the beat of my heart when I see beauty. Poetry is two lovers walking hand in hand completely alone as the world rushes by. The wind in the trees ,a bird in flight, a childs first step,these are poetry. Tears of joy at a loved ones safe return, the birth of a child. Every day of our lives are filled with poetry. If we are lucky we can somehow translate the love and the sorrow, the joy and the pain,into words. Words that stir our emotions, words that make us happy or sad, that bring tears to our eyes. Sometimes raw and unpolished,sometimes beautifully balanced and flowing. Words not to be judged as right or wrong,just to be read and perhaps to be felt. We call those words poetry, I call them my heart, my soul, and all the things I long for. All my hopes and my fears locked within the pages of my poetry, just waiting to be found and set free.

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Meeting Lisa F J McCarthy on Jan 8, 2009 I wrote this to my girlfriend, now my wife. She must have liked it, she still married me. My heart was a deep dark well, And at the bottom only sand. Then you came, and I could tell, That my love could flood the land. Jealous was the morning sun, When he saw you through my eyes. For then he knew, the love in you. Could brighten midnight skies. Fields of roses, perfect all, Could not bear to show it. For in thier midst,you’d pale them all. And the world would always know it.

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Aug 8, 2010

Aug 8, 2010 at 5:32 PM UTC

Meeting Lisa

Meeting Lisa F J McCarthy on Jan 8, 2009 I wrote this to my girlfriend, now my wife. She must have liked it, she still married me. My heart was a deep dark well, And at the bottom only sand. Then you came, and I could tell, That my love could flood the land. Jealous was the morning sun, When he saw you through my eyes. For then he knew, the love in you. Could brighten midnight skies. Fields of roses, perfect all, Could not bear to show it. For in thier midst,you’d pale them all. And the world would always know it.

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The Letter F J McCarthy on Apr 24, 2010 This kind of sung in my head like a country song,I hope you like it. I looked at the letter,turned yellow with time the paper so fragile and old. I couldn’t hold back the tears as I read every line, the words made me lose my control. From the date on the top it was twenty years old, I would have been about ten. That was the year that my father passed , and this letter ,I knew was from him. It said “Son I just don’t know how to tell you, you’re so young and you might not believe. The doctors you see, have found something in me ,and they don’t give me much longer to live. I don’t think it’s fair,to take me from you when there’s so many things left undone. Who will teach you ’bout life,how to drive your first car,I thought I would be the one. So I wrote you this letter,so someday you will know, that your daddy didn’t want to go. I am missing you now as I write down these words,missing the boy and watching him grow. Missing the boy becoming a man, and all of the things you will do. But I’m telling you son as the years roll on by I will always be watching over you. So take care of your mama and make daddy proud, be a good boy and good man I love you so much, and I’m telling you son I would be there if I can. So please don’t be sad cause I had to go, and one more thing I have to say. God has his plan, for this simple man, and I’ll see you in Heaven some day.

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Jul 24, 2010

Jul 24, 2010 at 2:38 PM UTC

The Letter

The Letter F J McCarthy on Apr 24, 2010 This kind of sung in my head like a country song,I hope you like it. I looked at the letter,turned yellow with time the paper so fragile and old. I couldn’t hold back the tears as I read every line, the words made me lose my control. From the date on the top it was twenty years old, I would have been about ten. That was the year that my father passed , and this letter ,I knew was from him. It said “Son I just don’t know how to tell you, you’re so young and you might not believe. The doctors you see, have found something in me ,and they don’t give me much longer to live. I don’t think it’s fair,to take me from you when there’s so many things left undone. Who will teach you ’bout life,how to drive your first car,I thought I would be the one. So I wrote you this letter,so someday you will know, that your daddy didn’t want to go. I am missing you now as I write down these words,missing the boy and watching him grow. Missing the boy becoming a man, and all of the things you will do. But I’m telling you son as the years roll on by I will always be watching over you. So take care of your mama and make daddy proud, be a good boy and good man I love you so much, and I’m telling you son I would be there if I can. So please don’t be sad cause I had to go, and one more thing I have to say. God has his plan, for this simple man, and I’ll see you in Heaven some day.

19

Two in the Morning F J McCarthy on Jan 13, 2009 It’s two in the morning, I should be in bed. But I’m on this computer, with these words in my head. So I pour me some coffee, while the house sleeps away. Guess I’ll get an early start to my day. Can’t say what I’m writing, I’m not really sure. A poem a ditty, An insomniacs cure. My brain thinks the words, and my fingers tap away. Will I remember this tomorrow, I really can’t say. So if your like me, staying up late at night. Type out a few poems, don’t care if there’r right. It helps me to write, clears the dust from my head. But it’s two in the morning, I should get to bed.

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Jul 18, 2010

Jul 18, 2010 at 7:31 AM UTC

Two in the Morning

Two in the Morning F J McCarthy on Jan 13, 2009 It’s two in the morning, I should be in bed. But I’m on this computer, with these words in my head. So I pour me some coffee, while the house sleeps away. Guess I’ll get an early start to my day. Can’t say what I’m writing, I’m not really sure. A poem a ditty, An insomniacs cure. My brain thinks the words, and my fingers tap away. Will I remember this tomorrow, I really can’t say. So if your like me, staying up late at night. Type out a few poems, don’t care if there’r right. It helps me to write, clears the dust from my head. But it’s two in the morning, I should get to bed.

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The Anger Inside Me F J McCarthy on Feb 12, 2009 Where does it come from, this anger inside. It washes over me like a tidal wave. Makes me feel like a caged beast. Ready to strike from out of my cave. Try to control it can get so hard. When people are pushy and mean. Sometime I feel I could rip off their heads. reach down their throats and rip out their spleen. I feel like something has taken me and nothing can calm me down I look for my antagonist, there’s no-one here but me. So I scream yet I can’t hear a sound. Inside I boil from this rage. That Just comes to me like the wind. So I hammer my anger onto this page. Til my sanity comes again.

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Jul 12, 2010

Jul 12, 2010 at 4:43 PM UTC

The Anger Inside Me

The Anger Inside Me F J McCarthy on Feb 12, 2009 Where does it come from, this anger inside. It washes over me like a tidal wave. Makes me feel like a caged beast. Ready to strike from out of my cave. Try to control it can get so hard. When people are pushy and mean. Sometime I feel I could rip off their heads. reach down their throats and rip out their spleen. I feel like something has taken me and nothing can calm me down I look for my antagonist, there’s no-one here but me. So I scream yet I can’t hear a sound. Inside I boil from this rage. That Just comes to me like the wind. So I hammer my anger onto this page. Til my sanity comes again.

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Naked Haiku F J McCarthy on May 14, 2009 A humorous Haiku. Running naked free Across the golden cornfields Stumble could be bad

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Jul 12, 2010

Jul 12, 2010 at 3:21 PM UTC

Naked Haiku

Naked Haiku F J McCarthy on May 14, 2009 A humorous Haiku. Running naked free Across the golden cornfields Stumble could be bad

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Whimsy F J McCarthy on Jan 14, 2000 I can’t , I won”t. I shan’t, I don’t. I might, tonight. Is it right, not quite. How bout later, in the elevator. I could mate her, on the escalator. Should I Try, she might cry. Then I’d die. Too **** shy. I guess I should quit. Before I forget. \Seems a solid bet, Oh to hell with it.

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Jul 11, 2010

Jul 11, 2010 at 8:40 AM UTC

Whimsy

Whimsy F J McCarthy on Jan 14, 2000 I can’t , I won”t. I shan’t, I don’t. I might, tonight. Is it right, not quite. How bout later, in the elevator. I could mate her, on the escalator. Should I Try, she might cry. Then I’d die. Too **** shy. I guess I should quit. Before I forget. \Seems a solid bet, Oh to hell with it.

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