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irinia Mar 2016
I like to stroke your hair
till my hands get electric
free in between the echoes, desires
your touch so easy that
I start biting all the half truths
and stop dreaming about the other side
of the moon
your hot soles without breaks:
I feel like a woman
blessed with
love-days
Oh Savoir faire,
the emotions you share
with your heart and your mind
let me know we are truly two of a kind.
This woman you speak of, the love of your life
is a destination you seek when she is your wife.
A goal set in motion by your mother and me
from a memory you have, age two perhaps three
lights the path of your journey
so you're not traveling blind
oh Savoir fair we must be
two of a kind.
Love you Son keep on writing

-Patrick D. O'Connor SR.-
My father wrote this to me in response to stroke story
After a few days in bed
And finally reaching help
Upon hearing the news
I've decided that this is how it will be

This is my life
Unable to talk
Unable to move
I am to be worthless

But fate, it seems,
would have something very different to say on the matter
Because fate stepped in,
in the form of a Father.

My family was sad, but my dad knew what i needed
He found an orange, he knew we could beat it
He would hit me with the orange
Trying to **** me off

Telling me to catch it
In my head i would scoff
He said "Use your right hand"
I though he was a bit off

Angrily I worked
Just to get him to stop
Until finally one day
The orange had been caught

-Brian Patrick O'Connor SR.-
Thanks to Patrick D. O'Connor SR. for saving this mans life.
there is more to come. we are fare from over.
I feel fine, I feel normal.
Then, I feel numb and weak.
I feel panic and confusion
Sleeping alone in my bed for three days
Unable to process life, unable to stay awake
Fighting to even gather my thoughts.

Knowing I need help but not knowing how to get it.
I have forgotten "911"
I have forgotten my brother and my friends.
I have forgotten how to use a phone.
I try to drink water, but that falls out of my mouth
I can barely move myself around the house.

Then a knock at the door.
My friend! I know I should know him.
He knows me, but I don't know him.
He asks me how I am
My reply is only a moan and random sounds.

He carries me to my truck
He carries me to the ER
I am only 19, who would have ever thought.
The doctor comes in and simply tells me
I have had a stroke.

What is a man to do?

-Brian Patrick O'Connor SR-
True Story
PrttyBrd Jan 2016
Darkness glides over snow stars disappear behind invisible clouds
012416
AmberLynne Sep 2015
She looks at me and I know in that
                                     quickest
                               of
                           seconds
             something is wrong.
                                 "Mom?
                                        Mom?!"

And she
              crumples
       against my sister.
I saw the
                            confusion
       in my mom's eyes
and now I see the
                            panic
       in my sister's.
My mom, limp on the ground,
       isn't responding
       to my repeated pleas.
"She's having a stroke!
            She's having a stroke!"

Panic makes my sister's voice
                            frantic.
                   We've been here before.

All around people are crowding
       waytooclose,
but the shouts for EMS can't
              drown out the
                                          burst
of silence suddenly in my head.
My sister and I lock eyes,
                                   transported
to when this happened before,
              wondering...
                            wo­rrying...
09.04.2015

This was written the day after my mom collapsed at a concert my sister and I took her to for her birthday.  She's okay now, but we're both very worried because last time she had a couple "mini strokes" (I think they're called TIAs?), they led to a severe stroke that almost killed her (the past one alluded to in the poem). So while she's brushing it off as no big deal, it really impacted me, and this is my attempt to deal with those feelings.
Poetic T Dec 2014
We write, create, for the art to tell us
What it is to be made in to.
It moulds us,
Then with the final
Brushstroke,
Ink,
Bolt,
It then tells us the secret
Which was hidden
It created us too breath life
Where there was none
But know it is seen where eyes didn't *see..
Luna Lynn Apr 2015
of all the days
and timing too
you're no longer
the man i knew
it takes a while
they it's true
to process life
to pass it through
the brain is such
a funny thing
forgotten song
but tries to sing
you do not cease
to inspire me
your needs will
never tire me
although different
and sad to see
you'll always be
Dad to me
My father just recently had a stroke. I wrote this for him.
(C) Maxwell 2015
You make a tent of
blanket
to cover my face
from the morning sun
and watch me breathe

When I move or growl
you kiss me with a smile
All this time
while I am still dreaming
you already know
what you are making
for breakfast

You gently stroke my body
With the feeling of a new touch
You don’t wake me up
but arouse me from my sleep
Caressing gently all over
you hug me close to your
heart
We make love
Even before we wake up
for the day
#tent #blanket #morning #sun #watch #breathe #growl #breakfast stroke #wake #arouse #hug #day
PrttyBrd Nov 2014
I live in a heart that is not broken
But is always breaking
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