How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
I failed to tell you that I loved you,
and let me count how many times
I forgot to say you were
the most beautiful person
in my world.
Oh my darling baby,
when you were dying
in my arms,
you could only just hear
my hoarse, desperate voice, too late,
and now, for all of eternity,
the grave grasps you in silence.
In my hell, I shall but love thee better after death.

Mike T Minehan

Give me succor!
Yes I need a lot of succor because
I went down to my word factory today
and there was no one there.
They just walked off the job!
So how am I supposed
to write anything meaningful?
Eh? Words fail me!

But if nobody gives me succor
and I’ve gotta set up my own Succor Center,
there could be some serious misunderstandings,
like, you better give me some succor
or I fukka you up right now.
Yes. There are people out there like that.
And others who want you to toss their salad
not to mention those who think I said sucker
instead of succor and that I'm asking for
some sloppy top. What?

But hey! I’m not going to stay silent and suffer.
So now I’ve designed a T shirt
with How About Some Succor? on the front
and I’m going to wear this and try to sell these
and see what happens.
I might even get some succor after all.
Or something.


Mike T Minehan

My hometown was rough
because teddy boys and mods and rockers
off the cargo ships from Glasgow and the docks
and slums of England rocked the streets
and knocked the local toughs
out silly with their knuckledusters.
They also slashed them with their razors and their chains.
Yeah, but my friends and I had a revolver
when we were kids
and we used to try and shoot out streetlights
on dark and stormy nights.
We missed, but we could have shot
those boaties close up for all their street frights and
all their ****** peccadilloes like ******* local girls
and leaving a league of nations in their wake.
We didn't pull the trigger there,
but they shouldn’t have got away with snickering
among themselves that they could
pull girls’ knickers down when they wanted,
and scare us with their their flick knives.
We let them get away with thinking
we were easy pickings
in that small town where I was born.
But it’s just as well, really.
I'm glad we didn't take their lives.  

Mike T Minehan

There should be rules
about girls asking “will you marry me?”.
when they’re giving you a *******
and then they wait until just before
the Convulsive Cataclysm,
before they say, “so, will you marry me? Eh?”
Or even worse,
admitting their lover to the voluptuous depths
of their Secret Garden and then
pausing to say “will you marry me?”
just after they’ve peeled the curtains back
to offer the Apple of Omniscience.
I mean, of course a man is humbly grateful,
but he's not thinking clearly
during the calamity of ecstasy
and the drowning pools of pleasure.
There should be rules.

Mike T Minehan

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

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

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

Now the cuttlefish
is a curious little critter,
not above shenanigans
because these naughty little things
indulge in oral ***.
What? Well, yes,
the male pops his hectocotylus
into the female’s mouth
and halleluja, does his thing
right there, without shame
or any ignobleness.
And the female?
Well, she doesn’t waste or swallow this
although she goes round other males
and solicits more deposits
for her clutch. Yes, her little clutch!
Eh? Such wantonness!
Really. But this precociousness
is just the way they like it
and shows us
there are many different ways
to indulge in coitus.
Yeah, just simply liking lots of hectocotylus
right down to, but properly,
stopping short of her esophagus.
Without any further apophasis
Obviously, nature thinks that this is efficacious,

Mike T Minehan

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,
your innocence,
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

Of course,
the answer is everything.
Compassion, cordite, celebrity
and self fulfillment.
Immortality in children,
and love.
Then what about hate?
Ah, just embrace it.
It’s everywhere.
You can’t change it.
And anyway,
who can understand love without hate?

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

I don't have a trumpeter playing the Last Post
and my words forked no lightning. Nope.
Ya know, Prospero could boast that graves ope'd
at his command and yawned forth their dead.
But hey, I never tried that Jesus thing with Lazarus.
And the wine? well, I turned that inta ****.

But I'll tell ya what! I lived. I loved.
And yeah, I hadda few friends. Some even called them bums.
But friendship and laughter and a few beers
are better than all the flim flam of any fly past
or marching bands with drums.

I gave it all away, see?
My soul, and all my being, to kids
and little people. To those in need.
That's all.
I know it's not mighty. And nope, it's not magnificent.
But that's all I had. It was me.

So all I hope now is that just a little glimmer or a glow
might still go on and warm a hand or heart.
I know. You might think it's not much.
But that's OK. I don't expect you to remember me.
Just the warmth and love.
It's yours, too.
It's everything I've set free.

Mike T Minehan