"darrell" poems
here's to a package of
Marlboro Reds
in the hands of
someone other than
the Marlboro Man
standing in
for those slack-jawed outlaws
my heroes now lack jaws
tongues
lungs
I swear it's been too long
since I inhaled manhood
The Great Darrell Winfield
rolled
packed
and filtered
into the only thing I know
that makes a man a man
the essence of
cowboy boots and farmer's tan
in every drag
see, I inhale my heroes
all the dusty red-necked
cowboys
Darrell Winfield
and my dad
men whose lives
went up in smoke
to coat my throat
in my own self-righteousness
I'm frightened this
is all that I'll have left
of him
lung cancer
and the lingering stench
of cigarettes
he always smelled
of cigarettes
he'd pull me into these
firm embraces
he held so long
that he'd suffocate me
in tacky business
and cigarette smoke
masked only
faintly
by a poor man's
cologne
still I breathed him in
until I'd start to choke
it was too much man to handle
my grandpa told me
“smoking doesn't send you
straight to Hell,
but it sure does make you smell
like you've already been there”
he was
a grown man
cursing
crying
lying
dying by himself
trying to drown out the inferno
with a case of beer
but sobriety finds you sometime
and I'd rather suffocate in cigarettes
than lose him altogether
and even if he smells like Hell
at least that means he made it back
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
It was 11 o'clock when they told me you were gone. 11 O'clock and I thought my dog had died or my dad's car had broken down or he lost his house maybe gotten sick and was in the hospital but it was at 11 o'clock that they told me you were gone. It's a feeling I'll never forget, one that I hope no one will have to encounter in their life. You were gone for a day before I knew. By a hand so familiar to you. A hand that had rubbed your stomach when it was upset trying to calm it, a hand that had made you soup when your nose was stuffed and sticky, a hand that created beautiful masterpieces no matter the canvas. You wrote a different kind of line, one with pink and purple and blue. They crossed and conjoined and streamlined across the world. You wrote a different kind of story. A story where you had it all together. A story where the main character never lost his smile even though he faced troubles unbeknownst to everyone. You painted a story of strength and virtue and people of all ages (young and old) hoped to be like you when they grew up. It was 11 o'clock and nothing could have prepared me for the news of your departure. All of the pain I've felt, all of the books I've read, news articles with similar stories, NOTHING could have prepared me for this one. Because this time the story was mine. Uncle Darrell, it was at 11 o'clock when they told me you left us. 11 o'clock is no longer a time I wish to be awake. 11 o'clock was on a Friday. I no longer like Friday's. At 11 o'clock I realized I hadn't been awarded the chance to see you one last time before it all came to a halt for you. At 11 O'clock I took in the fact that I will never see you again, nobody will. At 11 O'clock I found out I would not be making it to your wake. 11 O'clock has turned into both a time and a place since then. 11 O'clock is now a time when tears dare to fall from my eyes. 11 O'clock is now a place, it's a world without you in it. A place where people come to commemorate your life; where people come to celebrate the fact that someone as angelic as you once walked this earth. You were a blessing unto every person you have met and you will never be forgotten. I love you Uncle Darrell I hope that one day I will see you again.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
Darrell
Rhymes with barrel
and Christmas carol
and several names
like Cheryl and Meryl
If I was writing a rhyming poem
I'd rhyme your name with "peril"
Not that I'd do it well
But it's better than rhyming it with "sterile"
I could make up nonsense words for rhyming sake
like...larrell and parrell and tarrell
And I could write a poem especially for you
and the impossible to rhyme with "Darrell"
I'll fail miserably at it
But I love you enough to try
Maybe I'll improve on my list of "Darrell" rhymes
and make you as happy as a pie in the sky next to bread made of rye sitting on the plate of a famished guy, tie, buy, cry, lie
Again, I tried.
Sep 30, 2011
Sep 30, 2011 at 9:19 AM UTC
Into the heavens your soul shall soar
An Angel of Gods chosen flight
For from goodness comes eternal life
Peace be with you tonight.
A face that will never be forgotten
His music, from his heart, did play
Such a tragic and overwhelming loss
Of this soulful musician today.
Though life is never what we expect
Lived from day to day
Sometimes we question what God does
Though we should except it come what may.
Through all the trials and tribulations
Even heartache and tears
We must remember that you are an Angel now
Walking home without any fears.
When your thoughts carry you away
Look to the sky and see
The soulful musician looking back at you
An Angel of God, now, is HE.
In loving memory of "Dimebag" Darrell Abbott (Dec. 08 2004)
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 8:08 PM UTC
the writing was on the wall, no real fuss,
it was like a quiet ocean between us,
dried up after a summers intense heat,
this country is so large, amazing we did meet,
in a small town,
in a cadet corps,
fast friends,
spring time,
was it to be love,
I left for the army, and she was to finish school,
letters and words of our days and nights
the ink filled the pages of our thoughts and emotions,
perfume on her pages was a magic potion,
drawing me in, keeping me close, in the end was I a fool?
There was a day, months after I had left,
my dog had died, my mom said they had found
the dog under, the neighbours tree, I cried
my voice cracking on the phone, blamed the
connection
and distance, so far from home.
I dragged my upset and a tissue, back to my room,
where waited a letter, it was on my bed and I was
alone, I smelled the fragrance and saw the cursive
hand, opened IT after all nothing could be worse...
In a few short pages she did explain,
that long distance relationships were
a pain, and though I might come home
by plane, it was plain to her that she was
not right for me or rather as she put it,
could I not see, she had fallen out of love
with me.
That relationship ended and I cried more tears,
I think my naivete was preyed upon by fears,
that I would never find another quite like her,
and wonder what would've happened if ever?
and was she my soul mate who ripped into me
with angry words of hate, that I had left her
for a career.
Such is a soldier's life, she was not meant to
be this army man's wife, or betrothed,
nineteen I felt going on sixteen once more,
and it all started with two words,
Dear Darrell, the first time in all her
letters she had started with my name,
she had much to say my tears stained the pages,
and she signed it Goodbye Chantelle
I may have wrote
back, an angry
mess that I was
in, but I knew it
mattered not, it
was over in
September of 1978.
©DWE102013
I am thankful there was no Facebook in those days...
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
I know this will be the most hated words in print,
Only in the Northern Hemisphere, for a stint,
of two hundred sixty two days till summer, again
graces our shores, our winds measured warmth
there goes that Darrell guy, what a pain,
Fall is still nineteen days away and he is lighting the hearth.
Fan the flame,
Fan the flame,
what a shame,
paid the bill,
we got gas,
the natural kind,
The days the
are numbered
till your birthday
and mine, I'll be
fifty four in...so many days,
Christmas is only
1 1 5 jours
Hanukkah is
eighty seven and
is of course 8
days long
correct me if I am wrong
as the days
come and go,
I will know,
I have less
and less of
the days ahead
unless I live
to be as old as
108!
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
We are all so small,
that is all,
bums in chairs, who cares,
warm bodies, with a pulse.
That pulse
where does it originate,
not your heart, that is the noise maker,
your lungs are the breath taker,
where was that pulse founded?
Have I, you confounded?
Your beating heart was known and
loved before you were born, God
knew what he would do before you knew you.
All your cracks are filled with grace,
All your dents, and brokenness,
bear witness,
of a loving God that has never left your
side but been there with you to
bear, the hurts
bear, the sorrow
bear it all,
that is all,
why we are small,
if we were only talking about the physical
not the physics,
a God who is time,
a God who is love,
a God
who gave you character,
who gave you identity,
so though you are small, and
feel alone or lost in the crowd,
He who gave you individuality,
so you could find and
be a part of a community,
where you fit in,
with other assorted parts small
that is all.
©DWE092013
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 2:04 AM UTC
Good dirt,
Bad dirt,
Bag of dirt,
dirt in a bag, avoided dirt bag, almost,
flowers, herbs
and veggies everywhere,
not a clean spot, all is dirtied,
soiled by my touch,
perfect plants in little pots,
re-planted, by gloved hands,
staying dirt free,
not gentlely,
name is Darrell,
not Mary,
don't you dare ask me how does
my garden grow,
for I will say, with dirt
on my face in my hair,
it is too early to tell so;
you can go look for silver bells
and cockle shells and all those pretty maids
in some body else's row,
cause I moved dirt for what it is worth,
for hanging baskets, on every word,
and herbs to flavor, my tongue,
as I stripped those young plants
from their root bound temporary
prisons,
for reasons unknown,
as I did not inherit my mother's green thumbs,
I did not earn any merit badges nor did I join 4 H,
in the days of my youth, now
I grow weary of faltering crops,
it is to easy to stop to ****
and wet the soil, care for
those things that rise from the dirt,
that were moved, into containers,
with indelicate fingers, gloved,
not loved by any living thing they touched.
Give me dirt,
I can't hurt dirt,
broken stems, ripped leaves,
I grieve for them and that
they may forgive, my clumsy
ways, and be touched by the healing sun's rays.
I understand dirt,
for it is where I came from,
and His breath.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
Fate work in misterious and ironic ways.
The date: December 8th.
The year: 2004.
A date famous (or infamous) for a sad and terrible assassination. Five bullets shot. One legend lost.
Fast forward exactly 24 years. A guitar master, some even would say a guitar god. The man who told us metal wasn't dead back in the 90's.
Four years prior, his band split up. One sickened, twisted fan didn't like the news.
December 8th, 2004. Columbus, Ohio. Damageplan playing a show.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Fifteen shots fired. The killer shot down. Four fatal victims. One more legend lost.
On this night most remember Jonn Lennon. I remeber him too. But let's not forget our other fallen brother. Dimebag Darrell Abbott, we remember you.
Rock in peace.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
He was born July 2, 1925,
son of James and Jesse Evers,
Medgar Evers of Mississippi,
World War II veteran,
fought in the Battle of Normandy,
June 1944,
with his soldier brothers
of same and other races.
He rose a leader,
a Freedom Hero,
Mississippi field secretary of NAACP,
President, Regional Council of
***** Leaders,
husband of Myrlie, her purity
of devotion,
father of Darrell, Reena Denise,
and James,
civil rights leadership of the
highest calling,
of a bravery that persevered
again.
That early morning,
June 12, 1963,
a shot of hate tore
through his heart,
he was fallen in his own driveway,
his family witnessed this
most heinous of murders
committed in the insanity
of human acridity,
the bitterness in our psyches.
June 19, 1963,
full military honors,
Arlington National Cemetery,
for a man of a character so
much more loving
than his assassin's.
We, as a people,
we must obliterate
pre-conceived assumptions,
faulty thoughts of each other.
Medgar Evers of Mississippi,
Medgar Evers of America,
posthumously awarded the
Spingarn Medal,
murdered in a country
he fought for,
merited eternally by God.
Jun 19, 2020
Jun 19, 2020 at 9:53 AM UTC
I could write about many things, imagined or real,
I could tell you of a Dear Darrell letter, not a big deal,
But that was ages ago and much time has and is in the past
I would describe a sunset or sunrise and if I did it right, it might bring tears to our eyes,
I could tell you of my granddaughter and the joy she is in all of our lives, eh?, no surprise,
But that would be assuming many things about our hearts and my writing, in the least or last.
All I really want to do is inspire you to do what you do best,
Recognize that you are talented and a gift, loved and blessed,
Put down in words, get out and from under the load, the ugly, you have surpassed!
The gift you are, open
With your hand, Pen
words forever and ever, and then...
Young poet write
or slam
the world needs to hear what has
been put on your heart, so share,
and when your spent, recharge,
gather peace...repose.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
Hellopoetry has the greatest poets of this time.
I am so bless to know them and to share too.
On the site that has the very best of them all.
There are so many to name on here right now.
Brandon Nagely, TheRaven,CJLove,White Wolf.
Vicki,Bijan Rabiee, Darrell Landstrom, Patty m.
Openworldview,forgotten, samanthax,Arianna, Fawn.
Dennis Willis,Evangeline Ruth Hope,Muzaffer.
Naceur Ben Mesbah, Faizel Farzee, Dan Hess.
Crazy Diamond Kristy, Katja Pullinen, Deb Jones.
M-E, Long Rager,Amulya,Pradip Chattopadhyay.
Madison,Joanna,Sally Bayan, Wendy ,Izzn,Fredrick N.
There are many more praying Blessings upon your works.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 8:55 AM UTC
Groups of words cluster to our conversation like leaves on branches and the trunk of a tree,
Some are full of life, others show the wear and tear of three seasons and land at our rooted feet,
The sunshine streams through your flaxen hair and I begin not to care where and why we are,
Suddenly, as you talk, your soft voice ebbs in my mind, this is goodbye,
I go back to that letter, my eyes glaze over, I see your face, so close, so alive,
you wrote, "Dear Darrell" in an echo of your accent, but ends with au revoir
are you really
sitting in front
of me, after time,
has done it's best
to make me forget,
and not kick all the
dry words into the
wind so they get
carried away and
be dashed across the
now frosty earth,
ending up bruised,
forever, like me.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
Kianna,AS,Harshitha,Mo, Pearl,Jesse, Tina,Avery,Mrunalini, Donna.
Eli, MAM,Ava,Sylph,RSB,Starving,Michael, Sandra,Austin, Nolan.
Pure, May, Benji,Madelle, shez,Black poison,S-zaynab, Sally,Brandon.
Alyssa,Beautifully,netasha,Rob, Mikey, Anthony,Ashly, Tash, Mister,Frey.
Najla,Thomas,Darrell,RBM,Robert,AHarris,TheGirl,Larry,XRhymes,Elizabeth,
Naeema,M,Roumen,Masterchain,Blank,Nylee, Charles,Junior, Sol,Kafka.
Cloud,Danny,Edmund,Melody,Monika,Carrie,Orion,Ronell,Logan,Grace.
BR,Eva,JJ,Bardo,Eleni,Rick,Tia,Godawan,Melan,Xant,Brianna,Botan.
Thank you all very much for being the Special writers that you all are.
I have not forgotten the rest of you I shall do another poem like this soon.
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 2:46 PM UTC