First Kiss

First nervous gaze into your eyes. Always awkward like...
Never knowing what to expect, never knowing how you'll react, never knowing why. Always awkward like...
The anticipation growing, the closer we get,
The tingles down my body, as I see your moist lips part,
My hand gently caressing your cheek.
Coming closer, still unsure, I'm still feeling awkward like... am I doing OK?
Closer still, I feel your soft fingers on my neck, your breath on my lips.
Is this long wait going to be worth it?
We touch, your lips on mine, sending sparks to my forever & beyond.
Your lips on mine are more than I ever dreamed.
Lingering softly, it seems we're both unsure, but unable to resist.
I pull away & again gaze into your eyes,
Still shocked by the sparks surprise.
Closer again, with hunger this time.
Moist lips parting, hot with desire.
All awkwardness vanished along with all nervousness, banished.
We part again, breathless, desire still burning.
First kiss, first touch, first intimate  impression.

Now what? What next? Is there more to be expected?
I don't think I'm prepared for the possibility of next… feeling awkward like

John Flanagan 3/1/2017

My Jigsaws Missing Piece


Dad?
I still remember.
I was just 5 when you left us.
I asked every day for a week when you'd be home.
I missed you, I hurt, I ached...


...But you never came home.


I missed your voice Dad, your smile and your laugh.


Dad?
I still remember the fun that we had.
Before you left, we had our one family holiday.
Me, perched on your shoulder.
I was invincible and happy. Carried on the shoulders of a giant.
My Giant.
My Dad.


But Then something happened Dad.


Dad?
I don't know what happened.
I was too young to notice, too young to understand.
One day we were family,
The next you were gone.


Dad?
Can you help me?
How do I recall that jigsaw piece that happened so long ago?
It's the only piece I'm missing from my old broken home.




All the things that I recall during every waking hour,
They're all pieces, of a part of me, they're pieces I hold dear.
I close my eyes and hold you there,
You're still my shield and my guide.
You help me through my darkest hours, when I feel I'm most in need.
Your laughter and your smile and the funny names you gave,
They are all pieces of my broken jigsaw.
They're my memories of you, my Dad.


Dad?


John Flanagan 4/1/2017

THE ART OF PROCRASTINATION

I have often wondered, and I have often thought,
That I have often delayed without there being any cause.
I often over think and I often codgitate,
Procrastinating over my procrastinations of the day.

Over thinking needlessly, postponed imagined pain.
Second guessing everything. Oh why must I delay?
I know that it's important so why do I delay?
I know that it's my only chance.
Hold on... I'm running away.

And what will happen if I fail?
Oh and what will people think?
And what if I have got it wrong?
... Maybe I'll rethink.

The point of all this pondering, is to try to tell myself
To never let a moment pass without giving me a chance.

"So what!" If people laugh.
"So what!" If I lay dashed.
At least I'll know within myself that I've given me a chance.

For now I'll live on with regret, every day,
And think about those who seem so far away.
What would have happened & where would I be?
Oh if only I'd...

If only indeed.

John Flanagan 21/11/2016

A FIGURE OF HATE



At barely 8 years I was introduced to a man.

How little I knew what my life would become.

It started ok back in '76,

When the long hot days came rolling in.

With him came holidays, gifts & new cars,

New places to visit, each one with a bar.



'77 came and it was all still OK,

Still not aware but of things of the day.

The bunting was stretched from house to house in the street,

All in celebration of our Queens Jubilee.

There was Punk on the radio and games on the green.

Street parties galore beneath the red, white & blue scene.



When the bunting came down later on that same year,

All things seemed to change, now there was nothing to cheer.

I'd sit all alone on the front step to my home,

My arm round my dog, just us all alone.

We'd sit there & wait for a man to walk past,

It's my dad going home, his day finished at last.

Sometimes he'd wave with a smile on his face,

On other days we'd miss him...

He's already gone past.



So, back to the man who'd been settling in,

A home for his kids with my mum & her kid.

He soon set about moving my whole world around.

Everything I knew was turning upside down.

Gone were the days of long walks with the dog,

Along valleys, through trees, along rivers & streams.

It was all so good with just me & my mum.



While surrounded by "family", I never felt more alone.

Now a 9 year old isolated through no fault of his own.

Bullied & tortured through words and not deeds.

Words  never leave scars, so who would believe?

Every long day would blur into the next,

I'd wear my smile into school and hope for the best.



From '78 to '84 his abuse was never ending,

I was constantly blamed for, well, constantly breathing.

Coming home from school wondering if I'd done wrong,

... How could I have done anything wrong? I hadn't even been home!



No my mum she never knew, he said she wouldn't care,

"You'd better keep it shut cuz no one wants to hear you whine!"

"You're nothing but a selfish..! Is there anything in that head?!"

"I've tidied your room, you'll find everything in the bin!"

"I've booked our holiday. Spain. You'll stay here to look after the dog..."



Endless days turned into years, his constant barrage lasted 9 long years.

Who could I tell? Would anyone listen? There's surely someone to release me from prison

That figure of hate who had held me so tight throughout each year of my miserable life,

Now he has gone and the scars still remain,

I can still smile on, even through the rain.





John Flanagan 24/11/16