No words can bring me solace
Like the stillness of the night;
Save your breath
And just take mine away.

How many times a day do people  love
How many times a day do people  hate

How many times a day do people smile
How many times a day do people hurt

How many times a day do people laugh
How many times a day do people cry

How many times a day do people help
How many times a day do people rage

How many times a day do people smile
How many times a day do people hurt

How many times a day do people give
How many times a day do people take

How many times a day do people live
How many times a day do people die

**Love
         Hate
                   Smile
                             Hurt
                                      Laugh
                                                   Cry
                                                            Help
                                                                       Rage
                                                                                  Give
                                                                                            Take
                                                                                                      Live
                                                                                                                Die

Destroy me.
Take what you can from the middle.
Take that golden yellow moon-
that sherbert sunset in the center of how I exist,
**** it, take it!
And Stubbornly I'll be.
When all that is left is bones for the jackal to
satiate on
when all that is heard is bubbles popping
and the jaw creaking
from
the overuse of what was inside me-
When that dark and silken predator
lies lazy on it's back
with my contents fuming in its distention...
destroy me, do.
***** my remains
with huge heaving gusts of your gluttony.
Because you will.
Because I am too heavy to carry, I am too light to settle.
Oh, yes I'll be your posion,
and into every cell I will invade
marching with my army, marching with my anger
I will wiggle in your ear and chew through the pictures in your mind,
eating at the corners of everyone you covet most.
I'll call you in a singsong voice that does not end.
In every room you'll look to hear-
in every corner your try to hide from it.
I will flood your soul with my wrongdoings so you
carry mine as well as yours.
Yes, destroy me-
dust.
And you will perish from my digestion
and you will carry my heavy sins.
Oh, what is left? What is left?
Just the eternal weight of light
and you cannot eat that,
On light you can feast
but not thrive.
It will not still the noise
of the rotting wood
that sits solid and solitary
in the place
where someone stole
your exclusive rights
to feel
joy.


Sahn 3/26/2015

They crossed the sea
in hope for answers to their plea
for a better life they, could not see.
From Ireland they came
in their hundreds and thousands.
Whilst thousand more died back home.
Not knowing their future,
but not forgetting their past.
From the shores they spread,
past the mountains and to the plains.
We are still here
We who listened to the stories told by our grandfathers and grandmothers.
We who heard about Ireland since we were young
We who have not set foot on our long lost home,
Yet we, are Irish
We left not by choice,
some were kicked out, some were forced out, some couldn't get out.
Yet we have survived here,
But nothing, changes the fact that we are Irish.
We are the Irish Americans.
We are Irish in our blood but the green, white, and orange has been painted over with a coat of red, white, and blue

'Tis true what they say,
May your glass be half-full,
I discovered the same
In a quaint Irish pub.

On leaving that evening
I pulled on my mac,
The wind was wet
And pushing my back.

Pushing surely
An understatement,
It pushed so hard
My face met the pavement.
And I could hear Molly singing:
And the road rose up to meet me.

There was no sun
To blame for my face,
The burn on my skin
Was a shameless disgrace.

The road home that night
Was all downhill,
But the hard rain that night
Made it all seem uphill.

There's plenty
Of work
For this man's hands,
For the luck of the Irish
Is a tourism scam.

As for being in heaven
A half hour ahead
Of Ole Lucifer knowing
That I'm ten minutes dead;
I'm sure he'll be keening
At the foot of my bed.

Dad always said
Being Irish was grand,
If you're in North America
And not Ireland.

Hundreds of words ago,
I made art.

Hundreds of art ago,
I made you up.

In colours, I hung you with a nail.
In words, I sprang you to life.

But now you look better in my erased sentences
And my now looks even better than ago.

you toss my feelings back and forth like a tennis ball.
It was so asinine to think you cared at all.
you make it out like you wanna meight, but end up stealing
my heart, which isn't condusev in my healing.
You make me six. With me, you didn't have a rival.
I used to think you were necessary for my surfivel.
therefour, from here on, I won't allow you to crush me,
no more threel seeing my reaction when you touch me.
I don't understand people who just get together
to make you think you won and blow you off like a feather.
I half had enough and this topic's not moot,
I have zeroed in on my target and i am ready to shoot.

When you're happy,its hard to write Poetry
Other then, Hallmark Greeting Card Sappy
Thoughts drift Slowly through your mind
But after it all, There is nothing to Find
Coffee! that's what's missing, what you need
But you only get nothing done, at a faster Speed
Nothing to write comes to mind, nothing to say
Oh well, so much for that, maybe again another Day*


All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack