She woke before him this day watching him in a restless sleep. What was he fighting? He was a quiet man by nature who led a simple life. Together they had climbed many mountains always reaching the top with gratitude and pride. She softly touched his weathered face and for a moment he stopped his fight and gave in to her love. She got up and left him to his demons while she faced her own for another day. Looking out the kitchen window she saw him mending a fence or building something in his workshop. She saw him playing ball with their son and having a tea party with the daughter that they lost so long ago. A tear rolled down her face as she kept looking out and remembering all he had endured while trying so hard to help her forget. He was a quiet man by nature with a broken heart and haunting dreams....

  excerpt from my book “raw emotions” available at www.iuniverse.com or www.amazon.com

https://mikeoconnorauthor.blogspot.com/2018/03/she-woke-before-him-this-day-watching.htm

Elderly fun

I took a slow walk with my elderly neighbor this evening. She doesn’t get out much in this heat so when she does she takes advantage of everything around her. Watching her smile at a bird call or a squirrel running away from us brings me great joy. "it’s the little things " she said as we walked and looked at things most people wouldn’t. "Wonder how long that fence has been there"? I would ask. "Not as long as I’ve been here" she would giggle and clap her hands. "Do you want to know the secret of old age?" she asked "it’s being able to accept life as it has been given to you. Never wish things could have been better". We walked in silence for a bit then she bent down and picked up a rock-throwing it at a neighbor’s garbage can. "Want to run"? She asked me. Tomorrow I’m going to buy her a pair of high top sneakers for our next walk.

So long ago

It seemed so long ago yet it was only a blink since I saw her, the dress she wore blowing in a spring breeze allowing me one look at the softness that was her, my thoughts on fire for that brief moment etched in my eternal memory. There were throngs of people around her at the train station and I had to zig and zag throughout them to keep her in my sight for fear of losing her forever in a crowd of stick figures that meant nothing. She was short in stature but wore heels which allowed me to keep her in view or at least her hat, a red one with a feather on its side a bull’s eye of sorts to where she was. Daylight was fading fast as the people kept moving towards whatever or whoever they were heading to in such a god-awful hurry. Then I realized I was just one of those stick people only the one I was heading to didn’t know I existed as the red feather got further and further away. Night fell, and I slowed my pace letting the sounds and lights of the city suck me in and take me away, but I will never forget her or, so I say now as I roam alone and lonely in a sea of red feathers…….

https://mikeoconnorauthor.blogspot.com/2018/03/so-long-ago.html

Friends

Each evening when the heat of the day is replaced with the soft gentle ocean breezes I walk with my dog to the cadence of the night birds singing their songs of welcome….for me it’s a quiet walk with an occasional remark to my dog about the beauty of the sky or the movements of the trees to the breeze, he just keeps walking waiting for that special place where the collar comes off and he becomes a race horse chasing his own visions and dreams…when the walk has neared its completion he is panting and in need of a drink which I provide, his thankful eyes all I need to remember how special of a friend he is., and how those evening walks are as much a part of us as the sunsets in paradise…

https://mikeoconnorauthor.blogspot.com/2018/03/each-evening-when-heat-of-day-is.html

 The small child caught in between youth and womanhood hid beneath the stairwell curled into a ball tears rolling down her face soaking her favorite nightgown. She tried to block the noise that pierced her ears, but the words were too loud and so full of hate. She tried to get to her “happy place” but she couldn’t reach it she couldn’t even see it was as if her mind a windshield and rain was slamming against it with broken wipers. What seemed a lifetime grew quiet and she began to uncurl herself but very slowly as she had been tricked before. Silence stayed so she crept down the hallway to her room and climbed into her childhood bed continuing to pray the night to end. Morning brought sobriety and stillness. It also brought apologies and downward stares that knew damage had been done. She made her sandwich put it in her pink backpack and walked out the door. “no kiss good by” she turned with a blank expression and replied, “no kiss goodnight”?

Endless Road

My leather jacket and chaps hang on a hook in my back room. Two pairs of riding boots sit on the floor. Layers of dust have gathered on them and I take a rag and wipe them off. Later I will get the saddle soap out and give them a proper cleaning. It’s been just over two years since I wore these things and hung them up more as a memory than anything else. You see I sold my last bike at age 60 something figuring it was time to sit the rest of my miles out, but I was wrong…. the road keeps calling me the wind wants to slap my face and the never-ending desire to ride is like a ticking time bomb. Sometimes just sitting on a bike is enough other times countless miles are needed to sort through the cobwebs and storm clouds of life. Freedom is a word some use to describe riding I tend to think of it as an addiction, one I can’t let go of even though I know with each mile comes the risk of that last fix. So, my time these days is spent looking at Craig’s list and other places hoping that perfect bike will appear, and I know it will because it must be that way.my hat is off to those who choose to play golf, go fishing, work around the house, or whatever they want to do once retiring. After all, they too earned it.me, well ill climb on the steel pony once more and add a few more wrinkles to my ever-aging face locked in a grin only I can feel, the grin of a happy old man riding into a sunset somewhere down that endless road….

Another excerpt from my book "Raw emotions"

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For those of you like me who have sat at countless bars resting your elbows on the rail or on the bar, top was as normal as breathing itself. Everyone had their own unique way of sitting at a bar. Check it out next time you belly up. One thing that separates the real barflies from the occasional stop in for a quickie is the color of the elbows. Yep, the elbows. A seasoned drinker will have elbows usually gray in color and very rough to the touch, a sure bet he or she has logged thousands of hours propped up on either one or sometimes both elbows. A cigarette in one hand elbow firmly planted, while holding the handle of a beer mug in the other, elbow again firmly planted. don’t believe me? try it. There are also the ones who have both elbows firmly rested on top of the bar hands folded, fingers entwined resting on the chin. Obviously in some form of deep thought. Yep, the gray elbows of a committed drinker are earned, well there bought, I wonder how much money a good set of bar elbows is worth? something to think about huh? and I bet each one of you did or is looking at your elbows aren't you? Cheers!

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I was sitting against an old oak tree taking a break from my long journey to the unknown when I spotted a crow atop a branch looking down at me. usually, birds make a lot of noise, but this crow remained as silent as I was. The only sound was me drawing in my smoke. Another thing I noticed about this crow was it didn’t look to the left or to the right but directly at me, kind of creepy. I pulled a flask out of my inner vest pocket and took a slug of Johnny Walker to steady my nerves, all was good except for that crow who remained still and staring directly at me. I snubbed out my smoke in the dirt and quietly picked up a stone concealing it in my hand. waiting for the right moment could take a while as the damn bird wouldn’t look away from me. As a matter of fact I believe he saw me pick up the stone as he shifted his weight just a little which was the first movement he had made since me arriving here.night was approaching and I didn’t care much for riding in the dark as my eyes weren’t what they use to be so I thought I should be on my way. I got up, dusted my backside off and headed for my bike. Just as I was swinging my leg over there was the unmistakable sound of a crow in flight, I turned toward the tree and he was flapping his wings heading straight for me with no slowing in sight. Instinctively I covered my face with my hands and felt the rush of wind as he flew past me ever so close I could smell him. I reached into my vest once more than lit a smoke now laughing at my experience. I fired up the old hog and headed down the dusty road to the unknown. Then without fear, noise or logic on both our parts the crow circled back coming to rest on my shoulder and accompanied me on my final journey

Fade to black

Always looking behind because that’s where the memories are waiting. Tears form with just a mere remembrance of the pain that only gets worse with each backward glance. She did her best or, so she thought, but her best only got cut to pieces that now lay scattered throughout heAlways looking behind because that’s where the memories are waiting. Tears form with just a mere remembrance of the pain that only gets worse with each backward glance. She did her best or, so she thought, but her best only got cut to pieces that now lay scattered throughout her mind like a cord of wood laying on the ground. What did they expect of her, the ones with the wave of a finger that ruin what’s left of your sanity?
There isn’t enough vodka or scripts to dull the constant pounding of confusion that has moved in permanently There is no amount of time spent with a shrink or groups that can make you understand all that has happened because the deepest pain can’t be shared its just to raw and personal. You try but always end up leaving with a half-filled coffee cup.
What lives up ahead? Where do you go now? Will you ever be able to pick up the pieces and somehow mold a new life where the memories grow weaker with each passing day and the need to look back slowly fades to black? I don’t have the answers, I only have the words.
M.O.r mind like a cord of wood laying on the ground. What did they expect of her, the ones with the wave of a finger that ruin what’s left of your sanity?
There isn’t enough vodka or scripts to dull the constant pounding of confusion that has moved in permanently There is no amount of time spent with a shrink or groups that can make you understand all that has happened because the deepest pain can’t be shared it's just too raw and personal. You try but always end up leaving with a half-filled coffee cup.
What lives up ahead? Where do you go now? Will you ever be able to pick up the pieces and somehow mold a new life where the memories grow weaker with each passing day and the need to look back slowly fades to black? I don’t have the answers, I only have the words.
.http://www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author

Eternity

     ETERNITY

A sweet wisp of air sailed past me leaving behind the touch of god on my soul. It was the end of this life and the beginning of eternity which you will never understand the meaning of until you have reached it. There is no bright lights just soft light to guide you along a never-ending story. A story of you and all that you were and all that you learned and achieved and found strength in along your way. The family and family you never knew. The friends you forgot and those remembered. Eternity is a tunnel of life that makes you want to see more it’s like a ride at Disney that you hope never ends. And it doesn’t ever end.it goes on and on until there is no until. There is nothing but soft light guiding you along your way, eternally.

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Darkness

Darkness surrounds what is left of my dreams and the once fearless is now afraid. I don’t take the future for granted by any means but rather I contemplate each second to see if it can be prolonged. I have digested all the garbage I intend to and will view only goodness and kindness with tired eyes that have seen too much. The emptiness in my heart was by my own hand with the weapon of choice being the spoken word. I can’t go back, take back, or walk back into. Mine is now a life of chosen solitude that I face each waking day alone and at a loss for words.
M.O.

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Just A Pondering

DEEP INTO THE MUD OF MY THOUGHTS I PONDER TOMORROW. WILL I SUCCEED AT THIS OR GO DOWN IN FLAMES SINKING UNTIL THE FLAME IS DISTINGUISHED?
DON’T KNOW WHAT AGE I AM DON’T CARE.AS LONG AS THINGS STILL WORK I WILL MOVE FORWARD. WHEN THE PARTS DON’T WORK EVEN WITH OIL ITS THEN I WILL PUT MYSELF IN THE GRASSY GRAVEYARD OF OLD CARS.
I STILL CAN’T FIND THAT ONE PIECE OF THE PUZZLE THAT WILL COMPLETE MY PICTURE. THERE IS A PLAN AND I WILL KNOW IT WHEN IT IS GIVEN TO ME, AND BE THANKFUL.
THERE IS A VOID, A MISSING PIECE, EMPTINESS, AND A QUESTION MARK. THERE IS SOMETHING I MUST DO OR A PLACE I MUST GO. JUST CAN’T FIGURE THAT OUT YET BUT I WILL.
A HAMMOCK SWINGING IN A GENTLE AUTUMN BREEZE MY EVERYTHING BESIDE ME.THE BAGGER LOOKING GOOD IN THE SUNLIGHT. WAITING TO ROAR TO LIFE ONCE MORE AND TAKE US THROUGH SOME TURNS.
SWINGING AND PONDERING, RIDING AND PONDERING, GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS AND PONDERING JUST A PONDERING…….
M.O.

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A SHORT STORY

Every day she woke up her eyes showed fear and uncertainty. The bombs quit for a while, but she knew it wouldn’t be long and they would hide in fear with no place to go. She didn’t ask for this life nor did anyone else who remained in the town long after others had left seeking safety in towns outside the active zone. She was twelve years old and hardened like one of the town’s elders. She let her younger brother sleep as that was a luxury to sleep through a night without the sounds of bombs and mortars raining down upon them with precision like accuracy. It was truly a miracle they hadn’t been hit, yet.
The tiny house was simple with dirt floors and a centrally located stove used both for cooking and warmth. This day was cold, so she put another log in the fire and pulled a ragged blanket over her sleeping brother. As she gazed down upon him a tear fell from her eyes as she imagined the life ahead of him, ahead of all of them. Her mother came in from the cold morning carrying a bag that she imagined was food of some kind, maybe some milk? It had been months since they had any, but all her mother could find on this day were some almost rotten potatoes and a can with no label. She shook the can wondering what it could be?
As her mother went about the business of trying to create a meal she wondered about her father who had left yesterday and had yet to return. She remembered hearing them talk last night in whispers, so she and her brother couldn’t hear but she had a pretty good idea what it was about as she lay in her bed weeping softly. When the meal was ready she woke her brother, who looked like he had aged a lot in just one night. They sat with their mother and gave thanks for the meal and the family gathered today. They prayed for the safe return of their father who they all hoped would walk in right now and join them for this meal.
Two weeks passed and on a Saturday afternoon, her father walked in the door holding two bags of goods and carrying a rifle. He set the rifle down and put the bags on the table where her mother began to unpack and smile at their good fortune. She held her father close as he stroked her long hair and whispered everything was going to be all right. She didn’t believe him, but it was good, and it was comforting to hear his words. They ate like kings that night, some bacon and fresh eggs and biscuits like only her mother could make. When dinner was through her father reached into his jacket pocket and came out with two red suckers, one for her and the other for her brother. This had been the best day she could remember in a very long time.
She and her brother took small licks of their suckers and then wrapped them up to save for another time. She figured they would last a good three weeks. Her father left again late one-night bending over to kiss her cheek and stroke her brothers close-cropped hair. He left without notice and to a place she knew meant he may not return. When sleep came it seemed like only seconds had passed when she heard the sound of a mortar hitting the building just to the left of their house. Rocks the size of melons hit their house dirt and dust coming in their windows making them  cough and gag. Quickly she covered her brothers and mothers faces with a sheet then covered her own waiting for the noises and the dust and the fear to leave.
Seven months have now gone by and the fighting and chaos continued outside her door that she hadn’t been allowed to leave through for time unknown. It was at the first of the next month word came to them that the war was over, and people were starting to come back to their town, but little did they know their town wasn’t here anymore. Just a few standing buildings like theirs but most were reduced to rubble. Any personal belongings they had left behind were either stolen or blown to pieces. She realized this as she stood outside for the first time in what seemed an eternity.
She held her brother close as the residence of the town made their way back. The lines of people stretched as far as she could see some holding small children others being carried with wounds from the bombs and mortars. She heard screams of agony and joyous prayer as reactions were as different as the people themselves. There were familiar faces who passed by and would try to smile but it was as if all their happiness was blown away with the dust of explosions. They stood there for a long time watching as one family after another saw what remained of their once happy homes, now a pile of rubble and shattered dreams. They said they will rebuild that they were home again and their strength in numbers would see them through.
Their father wasn’t in the crowd of those returning home and she openly wept knowing he was never going to return. Just then her brother tugged at her skirts and pointed down the road where a man with a rifle for a crutch walked slowly into town. She rushed to his side and took his arm and wrapped it around her. His face was covered in dried blood, his clothes torn and singed with gunpowder and vomit. He didn’t speak but his smile told her everything would be fine again just like it was before. A camp was set up just outside of town where people gathered to plan and to eat and to stay warm while they rebuilt their life’s.
Five years have passed, and the town was a new town filled with hopes and dreams. There were weddings and funerals, dances and newborn babies. There was happiness again and Sunday picnics. Time had tested them, and they won but she never again had a full night’s sleep as one ear remained alert for the sounds of the bombs and the mortars that could come again at any given time. Just to be prepared and reminded she had kept the unopened can with no label and set it on the top shelf of the pantry where she prayed it would remain for many years to come
M.O.

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