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Tommy Randell Nov 2014
The music was spilling out of us
The Guinness was going in
Terry’s octave mandolin
Was riding out in front of him

Like a boat tethered in a tidal surge
Like a young colt backing off the rein
And for each unexamined wreck of a song
He’d let out a little more sail

We were flying

Upstairs in The Taffes Inn
Was an oven of chords
Songs about the famine and
Ireland’s tragedy of wars

And I answered
With an ash-pit tongue of a poem
Showing our Yorkshire wounds
Made by London’s bonds

We were crying

Telling of Fishing, mining and grief
That having no say was having no meat
Coming stumbling and shaking to our common regard
To a Dublin breakfast, a mixed grill of the heart

Where we agreed to our passions
And our histories’ concepts
Where we sat and said nothing when saying nothing was best
That one sausage alone is a very deep subject

We were frying.
One sausage etc is a quote from Ciaran Carson's book on Irish Music and culture 'Last Night's Fun' - A must must read!
Hg Dec 2018
rapunkzel, rapunkzel
shaved off her hair
goldie locks chopped off
long with her cares

rapunkzel, rapunkzel
takes every dare
hits on death
as if it’s a snare

rapunkzel, rapunkzel
black bra and sheer
self poked tatts
and new ****** pierce

rapunkzel, rapunkzel
immune to fear
once upon a crime
grew up with it near

they held her captive
kept up the stairs
with no parents
put in foster care

never had a youth
or someone to care
dragged down the hall
by her curly hair

rapunkzel, rapunkzel
got out of there
got her own flat
and full length mirror

rapunkzel, rapunkzel
smiled and stared
at her buzzcut
at last feeling fair
©Hg
Daisy Marrow May 2014
We've been running with blistered feet
and weak knees for centuries.
Yes, we've come so far
but no one ever said it would be this hard.

Just lay your head to rest
you have run enough.
I've got your hand and I'm holding it tight.
You're all I have in this world
so I won't ever let go.

Don't you cry no more
because you gave your all.
It's just this time god wasn't so kind.
You put up a good fight and I'm so proud of you.

You'll finally be at peace
when these dark days are behind you.
You slayed your demons and monsters.
You did your job and you did it well.

Don't worry too much, brother,
because I won't be able to live in this world too long without you.
I'll follow you down the path and into the dark.
I won't let you die alone.
On the other side we'll just drive down the endless road back home, or god knows where.
We would always dream of tomorrow
but this time tomorrow never came.

We gave our live's to protect others.
We've come so far up the mountain
just this time got caught in the landslide
and fell all the way back down.
But look how far we got.
Look how much we've done.
Look at how many lives we've saved.
We're just two brothers born from the fire
but this is where our lives end.

I look back and see all decay,
but I won't apologize
I did my job.
We saved lives and protected the land.
We always stood tall
no matter how hard we'd fall.
I'm proud of you.
I'm proud of us.
Dean & Sam Winchester
Supernatural
Daisy Marrow Aug 2013
Pick yourself up and dust off your shoulders
because you're a soldier and have no time to rest.
You can't escape this life because you sold your soul for this
and in the next year, you'll be buried right under your feet, six feet deep.

Will it be your ****?
******* alone surrounded by nothing but chains
for years and years.
Calling out to empty shadows and swallowing dust over these times.

Will it be your heaven?
In the summer of ninety-six
with the night lite up with fireworks on the fourth.
Chasing the sparks because you're a child again.

Pick your feet up and march to the drums of your family.
You promised to always protect your family
and this is all you know to do.
Giving up your life for your brother's
is what you were trained to do.

Your heart is weak but warm.
But you will not be needing it for long.
You find peace in the night
but always keep a candle lit,
to keep an eye on your brother
because he is all there is.

Things can't be rewritten or reversed.
You've just got a confused mind
and acted out of grief.
But you're always able to rewind to the night
a bullet took your brother.

These lifeforms made a deal for you, that they knew you'd take.
They could care less about your feelings.
They could **** without warning,
but you trust them with your brother's life on this one.

So now you stand a man with a deal to die
but it's all worth it because now your brother can live.
Selling your life so he can have his back was the best birthday present
you could give.
Supernatural
Dean Winchester
ISSAI MASHINGO Jul 2014
When brothers go to war there are no captives/
When brothers go to war we find only casualties/
The in explicable war between Palestine and Israel,/
In this poem i hope that peace would prevail/
Countries at the crossroads of heaven and ****/
Their war has lasted for ages/
Pain and revenge bitterness and hate/
When brothers go to war who dares to mediate/
Who knows of their fate who knows whose right/
Its bee like this for so many years/
Who will be there to wipe their tears/
Who will be there to give hope to those in fear/
Who will dare to go and interfere/
When brothers go to war know that the end is near/
Hold on and sanctify your soul in prayer/
When brothers go to war who is the villain who is the saint/
The war of Israel and Palestine stained in red paint/
A revelation to the faint hearted/
A lesson to the boastful and egocentric/
Innocent lives lost when brothers go to war/
A gentle answer turns away wrath/
But a harsh word stirs up anger/
A hot tempered man stirs up dissension/
But a patient man calms a quarrel/
When brothers go to war who dares mediate
(c) ISSAI
for the war within!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jerry Vital Aug 2018
Can I have a little bit whisky?
Just so I can feel a little bit tipsy
In a jiffy

Can I lean on your shoulder?
Like a frightened puppy at the shelter
So I can feel a little bit safer

Can I count on you?
When things in life are feeling so blue
Because I know you will always come through

Can I ask you to be patient with me
When my world is raging sea
And draining all your energy like a flea

Can you be my paragon?
With you around, I could go on.
Without falling off the wagon

Can I be your bro forever?
So we can grow old together
Reminiscing on life wonders we both had to discover
Daisy Marrow May 2014
I'm bleeding out
and all you do is watch me drain.
I gave you my heart
but you've got the devil in your soul,
so you tore it apart,
piece by piece.
I'm left with nothing but the stars
So I drink to wash away the pain it brings.

I'm your **** of the night,
but not if this drink does it first.
I'm already half drained.
All I ever gave you was everything
from the very beginning
and now you've thrown it all away.

You were once my brother
and I still believe underneath that skin,
and all your sins you're still human.
You were once holy and sane
but it's hidden somewhere lost in the dark.

All I do is drink your poison.
I let it consume me.
Every inch of my body
until I'm finally able to feel nothing.
Only then will my heart stop aching
and my body stops bleeding.
I greet the dark like it's a friend
that helped me escape.
I'm no longer here to see what happens next.
I'm gone and buried away.
My last drink was the most bitter
but it was such a relief.
Dean Winchester & Soulless!Sam Winchester
Supernatural
Sara Kellie Oct 2018
I'm here.
You lost your way kid
and I can't see you no more.
Did the lights go out?
Did the mist decend?
You lost your way kid
and I can't see you no more.

The light's back on
and the mist has gone
. . . and I'm here,
so I can see you once more.
I'm here kid.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Inspiration from 'Leave a Light On' by Tom Watson.
Daisy Marrow Nov 2013
And right before your eyes I'm dying
and breaking,
falling to pieces.
You try to pick them up but they turn to dust in your hands.
You find yourself gripping your hair and turning to tears
not quite sure you're fully letting this sink in.
You've been in this hospital chair for so many years
but you never thought that one day it'll actually come to an end.
This is the last time you find yourself here
This is the last time you'll hear me say your name.

I'm you're little brother, not a soldier.
I wasn't built for a life on the line.
I did what you told me and I'm drained out.
You regret it
I know, you told me so many times over.
But that doesn't fix it,
It won't make me better this time.

I'm lying here, breathless.
And I want you to know
That I'm okay with letting go.
I'll finally get to rest
After all these years.

Tell me what you have to say
and I'll carry it to my grave
to think of all the time.
You'll still be my brother
even when I'll be on the other side,
and you're left here to create fresh tracks
on your own without someone as your guide.
Dean and Sam Winchester
Supernatural
Matthew Feb 4
It's
not moving

"it would have
only led a life
   of pain."

"stop
crying
it didn't
matter to
us!"

It's only
the rain      

why do Things  
die

"to cause
pain."
.
.
.

I want
to   remember This
Can we build a grave  
The rain makes Her cry  
"it is only just the rain.."  
  Please we need to  
  remember
Her
How I see this poem.  It's about two people with two conflicting ideas about death.  The little one feels that death should be remembered, and older one feels that we should forget death as it only causes pain.  The main feelings of this poem for me is to remember death.


I put that in how their speech is written.  the little one capitalizes what he feels he feels are important like the beginning of a sentence and a words like her.  He also doesn't feel the need for periods.  The older one on the other hand feels that everything is useless.  so he doesn't capitalize and he always puts periods to remember that things should end.
Steve Page Nov 2018
Ezra James isn't the first
and certainly won't be the last
to go to sleep to the wonderful sound
of family having a laugh

Ezra James isn't alone
and will never have it be said
that he resents having to share
a bath before going to bed

Ezra James isn't afraid
of the darkness after lights out
he knows for sure his brothers are there
of that he's never in doubt

Ezra James is safe and sound
he's certain of where he belongs -
loved by brothers, loved by God
in the heart of family Sibuns
For Ezra James Sibuns. Welcome to the world.
Terry Jordan Oct 2018
I used to have 4 brothers
And loved them all the same
The eldest used us siblings
For where to lay the blame

Hoping reincarnation
Proves true after a while
Dan said his fondest wish was
Return an only child

Soon I arrived, his sister
Right after Dan turned 2
He fed me peanut butter
Until my face turned blue

Dan denied that he loved me
As kids did, once or twice
But he jumped in to save me
When I fell through the ice

Surviving eighteen months then
My baby crib moved on
I moved to the bottom bunk
My next brother was born

Named for our dad’s Commander
World War II not fearing
Ted was sent to Vietnam
Where he would lose his hearing

Neighbors once thought we were twins
Blond hair and Dad’s blue eyes
Family strife split us apart
Though close in age and size

He can’t hear but does read lips
That bomb, it took its toll
Seems no single moment’s joy
PTSD took hold

Next came Bill when I was 6
AKA “Sweet William”
Boundless joy and endless love
His broad smiles worth millions

When I loved chocolate ice-cream
That was his favorite, too
He is my son’s Godfather
His wise words helped me through

I have no clue what ended
Brotherly affection
Before 2 brothers died he
Cut off real connection

Sam was born prematurely
When I was twelve years old
Spent 5 months incubating
Before we took him home

Our father’s disappointment
Sam never went to college
Didn’t want to play football
Was seeking other knowledge

Sam learned how engines functioned
By disassembling cars
Made candles in the basement
An Eagle Scout-golf star

A heart of gold he suffered
Much doggerel and strife
Alcohol’s what dogged him till
Tragically took his life

Divided family members
I’m actor and spectator
Seeking to forge connections
Reunion instigator

Some gather for funerals
A wedding now and then
I mourn, alone, Dan and Sam
Lament what might have been

Hadn’t been able to finish this piece until I took a long vacation. I still have 2 living brothers, but neither responds to my overtures. One can't hear me, and the other is not speaking.  New Englanders are known for denial and take-it- to-the-grave-grudges.  I guess I really don't want to know why.
mismatched furniture
a few dishes in the cupboards
a couple random blankets and lamps
a pan and a mug or two in the sink
a broken clock above the fake fireplace
a fake jackalope head on the fireplace

a couple college kids' apartment
my brother and his roommate
it isn't much but it feels like home
Francie Lynch Jan 30
That's me in the picture,
A collage of brothers and sisters;
I'm held high in my Mammy's arms,
Days before leaving Ireland.

Six months later, in our new home,
On a couch in our front room,
We pose again.
(See the console in our romper room?
It's testament to our boom and boons)

There's thousands of miles between those shoots,
And four million loved ones left behind
In a life and land we won't have again.
(That's the way life was back then)
No Face Time, #MeTime,
Sometimes a landline,
But always a letter in a card at the right time.

Brothers and sisters are missing.
In neglected churchyards,
And yet my mother smiles,
All the while.

Sixty years on, we pose again,
Sharing four hundred years here,
With seven hundred left behind:
Years of Famine and Hedge Schools,
Foreign invasions and Imperial Rule.

We stand *****, shoulders touching,
Between them loved ones missing;
Gone before the shutter opened,
A partial story as pictures go.

We're Irish proud,
Some of Canada's best;
An Irish-Canadian
When laid to rest.
Brothers and sisters died before we left Ireland, and brothers and sisters died after we arrived in Canada. But the six sibs that left Ireland are still alive and well.
Edit and re-post.
CK Baker Jan 2017
cedar planks line the dim lit hall
morning snow begins to fall
sepia print in a chip wood frame
embers spark from the franklin flame

rustling sounds from bunks below
records play in a tight alcove
bacon grills on the iron sheet
gloves are warmed by baseboard heat

bean bags tossed on colored ****
papka placed as a punching bag
red brick wall with mounted poles
windows filled with glacier bowls

whiskey jack on the southern rail
a frozen patch of wine and ale
pine cones fall in gathering white
brothers bathed in firelight

sleighs are on the table top
canyon road is at a stop
northern winds that bite the face
lines are up the gondola base

cornice clipped on gully goat
the rubber man appears to float
alpine depths are on the rise
peaking sun through parting skies

triple ropes and nordic luge
honored guests from baton rouge
gelande jumps on rainbow drive
nostalgia’s light and warm reply
There the merry hologram glowing blue purple blue
Cactus human cherry on a stool
Beyond the window he would not look
Inside the sky made of wood.

The barber talks to his ferns
The flowers he understood
The living they earn
Sparkling its rough nails of your barber.
The breath and life he will spruce with apple-pie order.
He listens to
Each one story
Always about a time
A time which was cheery.

He looks piercingly to all their prickly
What he touches intently
To turn the time that latches onto your head which started feeling heavy.
Lifted into glee so jolly and carefree.

A man
Or the boys
They finally stand up easily.
Capes dusted
Top hat powdered
Their voice of fears collected as tips
For pricking up his ears.

The door that opens in the end
The swirling light that beckons
Hair became a way to lighten ---
When times get rough and belligerent
Cut it off, rugged and ruffian.

The barber hears him and all
The others like soldiers
They share their laughs
Troubles leaving shoulders
Leaving like a waterfall.
The barber knows everything
The barber knows all.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Rhymes are better heard than seen.
I feel like that is what makes poetry...
hart Nov 2018
one of my brothers is careful no matter what,

the other one acts like hes against a clock.

one of my brothers is drowning in *****,

he believes he has nothing to loose.

one of my brother loves to read,

i told him that he should lead.

one of my brothers believe our story has no end,

the other one believes it will change us till we bend.

one of my brothers acts like i’m still ten,

the other one used to tuck me into bed.

one of my brothers gave me a knife,

the other one tried to shield me from this life.

one of my brothers is in love with an angel,

the other one can see it from every angle.

one of my brothers has a strong disguise,

the other one thinks he shouldn’t be alive.

one of my brothers gave me a gun,

the other one wishes i didn’t have to hunt.

one of my brothers taught me how to fight,

the other one sang me too sleep at night.

one of my brothers raised me my whole life,

the other one taught me to read and write.

one of my brothers says ‘*******’,

the other one says ‘so get this’.

me and my brothers our closer than one’

so when our time is finally done.

i hope people remember me,

as well as my heroes Sam and Dean.
On his Screen the Three Milk Brothers display
Decision his only motive for Heart
But which the Upturned Hero gives away
That Love which Matters; And never Apart
Now see, where all this Comedy began
And Brothers the Trine Unity bepraise
This a Great Deed; No High-Chins in demand
That shows you are now but Human in base
Friend. If Fashion un-nominates you as one
Since Form the only thing they advertise
True Offer is Substance. Then I am done
And Motive the only Imposter precise.
Those Memories return. And now they Heal
That is Joy for you. That is Joy you Feel.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Smoke Scribe Aug 2018
Imagine that
I could write a salve,
compose an ointment of verbal herbs to heal,
even mere protect the already-torn-so-easy mental flesh,
just to disguise/hide the multi-colored bruising our
fickle mistress-in-common provides when you are down so far
another bruise joining the cast like a  floodplain subsuming one more feeding creek bed into the shapelessness of indistinguishability

imagine that

where atoms hide eternal between creation and destruction,
borrow brief the set exact you require to restore the taken years
from fathers/mothers/brothers/sisters,
children,
return that which went unused by the uninvited, unseemly human whim of war and lies for no gain

imagine that

the deep sinkhole of despair that ***** one in, years in the formation, appearing in instance, and worse does not drowns but leaves helpless, unable to climb out, and all our scratching digs us in deeper until we cannot be, seen or heard or just be

imagine that

a check comes in the mail, payable left open for filling-in,
in the amount of full restoration, with no additional fees of guilt needed for deposit and cashing/caching out: and you wake up
and the stony chest is breathing lungs free

imagine that

and I do; for I am the smoke of return and rest, sky inscribing,
knowing precise needs and the screams and the years unfair taken,
they are screened through the five perceptions, and the word weaver
sets the loom for each peculiar requisition, no imagination needed

imagine that

you lament and anger demand verifiable proofs mathematical,
cursing the knights of false hopes with untethered regret

I do not imagine that; hear it and accept; my task, imagine that, making you imagine that, thus commencement of repair begins
when

we imagine that

for this how new healthy cells  are born

quiet-now,  go, imagine-that, now
if you recognize yourself within, it is no accident!
thank u all for the love and appreciation. one writes many poems in many disguises, so it is hard to believe  that an 8 month old poem, sent to you for safekeeping, is shortly thereafter barely recalled.
and then is rebirthed, and wouldn’t change a word...
imagine that!
I stood and I watched as a mother cried,

when she had heard that her son had died.

He didn't die because he was sick,

or he didn't die because he was in a wreck.

He died doing what he felt was right.


I watched a father trying to hold back his tears,

His son had lived only a scant 19 years.

His son had died nine thousand miles away,

And what was there left for a father to say?

He got down on his knees and said a prayer,

His brave son knows his father did care.


I stood and watched as a little girl cried.

She didn't understand why her brother had died;

Why he never again played with her on the lawn.

Looking at the little girl's tears I knew,

That her big brother died fighting for you and me.
Emrullah Apr 14
what do i love...?

everytime someone asks me that,
i think of my family. my parents, brother and sister,
niece and nephews, but...

that would be a lie. would i die for them? yes. but only because they are family, there are a few persons among them whom i cannot stand.
if some of them were not my kin, i wouldnt even consider putting my hand into a fire for them.

its hard to admit but its the truth.

the real things that you love are,
things which shouldnt mean anything to you. but they still do.
for example;
friends.
its hard to admit but its the truth.
Suzy Berlinsky Dec 2018
The Polish things, they emanate from Poland. These
backward leanings, they’re aft from center. These brackish
waters, they foul my disregard for things clearly.
   I trust my brothers not, they **** my sweet nature. My  sisters
wait to be waited upon. One punch to the throat away from
incapacity they are. These Scandinavian things are
from the Benelux countries baby.
   Once March goes down the tubes I won’t be too sure of winter. The ties that bind me to Polish things are rotting back. My bros. are due for a hand-out, their self-supporting natures have evaporated. If ever there was a time for turtle neck ware that time has passed. My belled bottoms are pinned up following 2 amputations. My terror-cell sympathies during niggardly repasts elude pursuers.
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2018
Too long this rot has run its course, too much the damage done
When men deflect acknowledged glance, they know that wrong has won.
Across this land and far afield the wrongness seeps within
And pride becomes a memory through distant halls of spin.
How can we bow to tyranny, how can we shy away
From that which causes  eyes to slide.... and coaxes will to sway?
To tolerate the bombast, the bullying, the lies
Succumbing to a hopelessness, which, both we despise.
Division in the nation, uproar in between
A man and wife’s contention-ness beyond what should be seen
Brothers loathing brothers, silence in the room
Where a word  uttered wrongly can erupt to screaming soon.
Allies left in tatters, trust is cut to shards
Tariffs injudiciously, imposed to **** the cards.
International uproar, industry in strife
Teetering disastrously when NATO flees the knife.

Putin sits and rubs his hands, hilarious the show
Disorder and disharmony to lubricate his glow.
Beijing sits inscrutably, always opportune
Manoeuvring judiciously, in place, to call the tune.

America, the isolate, sails away to sea
Blondini, at the helm, wears smirk indulgently.

M.
The White House
HAMILTON NZ
12th July 2018
Daisy Marrow May 2014
Lay down your burden.
Lay down your arms.
Hardship is over and all is numb.
You finally get to rest.
You finally get to let go.
Fall down in the snow and let nature take you.
You are not alone, never.
Thousands of bodies are scattered on the battlefield.
They all had lives.
They all had futures.
They all ended too soon.
Go ahead and turn the snow strawberry red.
Your song will be played.
Your name will live on.
We will remember you forever more.
So rest now, my soldier.
Your brothers shall bring the peace.
2014
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