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I should have said I loved you
a whole lot more,
knowing now the hemorrhage
of time.
Yes, you were really the one, see,
and you had such a beautiful mind,
so level headed in all my lunacy.
I can’t believe that I didn’t do
absolutely everything much more with you,
not to mention letting loose
with more books and travel and
ice cream at the beach together
and lots and lots of conversations
and more of absolutely everything
before the grave grasped you forever.
And forever.
It haunts me that it’s too late now
and you’ve gone so far away.
But your gift is this.
Yes, love and poetry, kindness
and finally, omniscience
about you, your incandescence,
and the enormity
of all I’ve lost.

Mike T Minehan
The reason we’re here is…
well, silly question, really,
the reason we’re here is simply
to love and procreate.
Very uncomplicated stuff.
Mostly.


Mike T Minehan
Mike T Minehan Dec 2020
I thought about death and religion last night,
but not for too long, because both are a bit
spooky, with apocalyptic visions of the abyss
and all the other eschatological stuff
that makes me downright dizzy.
Not to mention all the pandemonium
involved in prophets, punishment and the
tricky process of getting
my ticket for admission through
the turnstiles of the Pearly Gates.
I really don’t like those ticket sellers and their
conflicting claims of heaven and everlasting pain.  
Nope, I’d rather think of temporal things
like children, friendship love and creativity.
Oh yes, ***, too, and everything else profane.
I’m a bit of a ruffian, really, maybe even
Rabelaisian. Pleasure, laughter, loving.
That’s it.
This is my refrain.

Mike T Minehan
Mike T Minehan Feb 2019
Oh I wish you were here,
in my arms again
like the night you breathed
your last.
Yes, so close to me
and yet so infinitely far away.
So far away, that
I finally knew the meaning of
forever.
Oh my little baby.
I’m reaching out to you again tonight.

Mike T Minehan
Mike T Minehan Aug 2018
At the risk of sounding sexist
I’d like to pay my highest respects today
to the girl at my accountant’s
with the beautiful *******.
Usually the only things that jiggle there
are the numbers on the ledger,
but today a couple of numbers
stuck out for me to admire.
She knew it all added up spectacularly well
as she bent down obligingly
and pointed out where I should sign
and showed me what I needed to see.
She knew and I knew that
capital gains and expenses
were comparatively insignificant here.
Saucy insouciance was the obvious upside.
Of course, I shouldn’t have noticed,
but then I'm afraid that's what happens
when you’re more
of a ******
than an entrepreneur.

Mike T Minehan
Mike T Minehan May 2018
When I was casting about
for the title of my autobiography,
Innocent Bystander was one of them
until I thought that, well,
none of us are all that innocent, really.
We can’t blame everyone else. Can we?
That would have been almost as bad as
Not Entirely My Fault.
Then I thought of
In the Thick Of It,
even What the ****, or
Jeez, That Was Close.
But I started to think that Completely By Accident
would be best because, well, everything did sort of happen
Completely By Accident. More or Less,
Even though I suspect I also had
Some Role in Their Execution,
which was another title I thought of.
Dismissed Out of Hand was yet another possibility.
I also decided not to use Completely ******* Weird and
Diving for Deep Cover.
Outrageous Fortune didn’t make the cut, either.
But do you get the feeling sometimes that we're
dealing with Outrageous Fortune
and Forces Outside Our Control?
Just a teensy-weensy bit?
So then I wondered What Are They Going to Say At My Funeral?
Which is why I thought I should start with
Get Your Say In First.
But You Can’t Get Away From the Truth,
which is why I haven’t decided on a title yet.
I Need More Time.
Which is probably the best title of them all.
When You Think About It.

Mike T Minehan
Mike T Minehan Jan 2018
If only I could write a poem
as brazen as an orange autumn leaf
tumbling along the street,
or sounds like rain
drumming of on an iron roof
or the rich, deep smell of earth
after the rain squall passes,
even the murmur of breeze in trees
and the song of cicadas
on soft summer evenings.
Yes, the single call of birds that thrill me,
or the magnificence of the setting sun
saluting the end of day.
The spin of sycamores
like little helicopters in the wind
and then, of course,
the dragonfly that darts and pauses
so impossibly along the lazy rivers.
And what about the lotus blossom
and the flowers that bloom in billions,
every day unseen?
The hulk of mountains holding up the sky.
The effervescence of the Milky Way
wheeling across forever.
Then there’s the kaleidoscope of colors
caused by a single drop of oil on water.
Smudged mascara after tears.
The majesty of self.
A child’s hand holding yours.
The gift of love.
A smile.
If only I could write these poems.
If only I could write.

Mike T Minehan
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