Author Mike OConnor: Pen to paper

Author Mike OConnor: Pen to paper:       I squinted by the flickering candlelight bent on finishing the story I was writing. I began this piece months ago never realizing ho...

Pen to paper

     I squinted by the flickering candlelight bent on finishing the story I was writing. I began this piece months ago never realizing how much I had to say. Day after day and into the darkness I toiled with words that sometimes came easily, while other times I just sat and tried to capture anything. I had a million words that formed sentences which meant something to me but would someone else get my meanings? Or would I be called a want to be a  writer? I had to dig deep at times coaxing the words and characters to come alive on the paper begging to be read. Other times I just guided the pen as it raced across the endless sheets of paper not certain of where they came from? I suppose all writers experience moments of great achievement and great disappointment as they strive to tell their stories to a group of readers who can make or break them with one bad review. I don't write for the reader as much as I write for myself. With each story, I tell I read it many times trying to figure out how all these words got into my head and then onto paper? Is it some magical connection between me and a writer from my past, or is it just an ability to unscramble mere thoughts into something clear and with meaning? Whatever the reasons I am glad it has happened to me allowing me to open doors I never knew existed until I sat down in flickering candlelight and put pen to paper.
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Author Mike OConnor: Broken things

Author Mike OConnor: Broken things:      His body ached with the pains of his past, his mind on constant alert for newcomers. He shouldn’t work so hard but being lazy is rese...

Broken things

     His body ached with the pains of his past, his mind on constant alert for newcomers. He shouldn’t work so hard but being lazy is reserved for the few times he gets sick. Being old is a choice and he chooses not to get that label. When there is a job to do he rises early giving enough time for a good breakfast and packing a simple lunch consisting of one raw onion, a chunk of hard bread and a small flask of red wine. With his tools stored in an old burlap bag slung over his shoulder, he walks to the bus stop and waits. Reaching his destination, a school for troubled boys he heads for the entrance and is ready for the day. Not all kids are destined for collage and bright futures. Some are much like himself and choices are few in life. For decades he made a good living fixing broken things and now he teaches his craft hoping to pass it along to a few that have the desire to learn. To date he has helped so many young people he has lost count, but he knows that if he does get to old someday and can’t do the work himself all he has to do is go on that computer thing and look up “Fixing broken things”

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Author Mike OConnor: Balance

Author Mike OConnor: Balance:         There is a place I know of its not so far away. I go there to let my mind and body reclaim a state of balance that truly is me. ...

Balance

     There is a place I know of its not so far away. I go there to let my mind and body reclaim a state of balance that truly is me. I let go of the negative things that haunt me, knowing I can’t fix them. I reach deeply into my past to align it with the present riding myself of everything I consider poison. I do this drug free unlike the older times when a hit of acid would Transend me to whatever came into my mind. I don’t condone drug use even though I believe they did open a pathway into my soul that never could have been reached without them. The carefree days of music, free love and peace were the times in my life I remember the most and always will. Camping in the forest, swimming in the quarry naked as the day we were born into this world. Walking from campsite to campsite sharing whatever we had and always that feeling of being loved by all those around us. I can still smell the air filled with incense and weed blowing across the meadow watching as people caught fireflies in mason jars. Those times were unique to those of us who were there. Some try to recreate it today but fall short I think because their life’s leading up to today are just to different from ours. So now I go to a not so far away place and go back in time letting my mind and soul become balanced once again like it use to be when a gathering of people was a loving, peaceful place to be

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Author Mike OConnor: Miles

Author Mike OConnor: Miles:       Miles are all that separate and prevent us from being all we can be for each other. Asphalt and rest stops, gas stations and fast fo...

Miles

     Miles are all that separate and prevent us from being all we can be for each other. Asphalt and rest stops, gas stations and fast food is all that keeps me from you. My truck is old but dependable and if it should break down time is all that keeps me away. I will fix the problem like I usually do, except for that heart of yours that you said couldn’t be mended. I decided we needed space to try and figure out if our love was a true and lasting love, or if we needed miles of asphalt and rest stops, gas stations and fast foods between us? The late-night phone calls when not much was said but the silence wasn’t a hang up, it was just two hearts trying to say the right things. Time went on as did we living counted miles alone and deeply in love saying “I love you” across the many miles of wire realizing today would be the day I came home. You will hear me driving up as that old dependable truck of mine went through some very temporary repairs somewhere between a gas station and a fast food joint.

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Author Mike OConnor: The "Shoots"

Author Mike OConnor: The "Shoots":      The ice had barely moved down the river on its way over the mighty Niagara Falls when swimming fever hit us hard. Our parents did the...

The "Shoots"

     The ice had barely moved down the river on its way over the mighty Niagara Falls when swimming fever hit us hard. Our parents did the same thing when they were our age, so they couldn’t say much. We would ride our bikes to a place called the “Shoots” which was a part of the river that got narrow then opened wider quickly causing a rapids affect that could be a real danger and a challenge for even the best swimmers. There was a railroad trestle above the shoots where we would sit or stand getting up the nerve to jump in. It was a kind of right of passage with big bragging rights for all that succeeded. I remember my first time like it was yesterday. My buddies egged me on and after a few frightening minutes I just dropped off the trestle and into the churning ice cold water below. It was like getting the wind knocked out of you, but the battle was only half over. Getting back out of the rapids was tricky and more than one kid ended up down in the main part of the river and got out there having a long walk back to the shoots. The trick was to come up as fast as possible and grab onto one of four heavy ropes dangling close to the surface then pull yourself back up to the trestle. I made it on my first try grabbing the first rope and coming up out of breath but smiling all the way. We would spend hours at that place jumping in and getting out, it’s a wonder nobody drowned but that was how we rolled back then, and the shoots was just one of the things we did when finding things to do meant more than choosing a video game.
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Author Mike OConnor: Lesson learned

Author Mike OConnor: Lesson learned:      He was a giant of a man to a small boy looking up at him. He was a policeman as well which made his appearance even more frightening....

Lesson learned

     He was a giant of a man to a small boy looking up at him. He was a policeman as well which made his appearance even more frightening. The boy would see officer Striker walking his beat in town tipping his hat to the ladies as he swung his night stick around and around. Back in the late fifties the town had only four police officers and they took turns walking the downtown beat checking for locked doors and any signs of a problem which usually only meant a shop keeper had left the lights on. Officer Striker took his time walking around town making sure everything and everybody was safe and secure. One evening during the holidays when the stores stayed open longer for the holiday shoppers, the boy and his mom were out doing some shopping in the big department store on the corner of main street. It had two floors of anything you could ever want., including a huge candy display right smack dab in the middle of the floor. His mom was looking at ties for dad and wasn’t paying to much attention to what he was doing and before he knew what he was doing he took a pack of chewing gum and put it in his coat pocket all that is except for the sweet, sweet juicy piece he put into his mouth. “What are you chewing”? his mom asked. The boy said nothing as she held out her hand and told him to spit it out. Not knowing what to do he did the most logical thing and swallowed it.” I know the smell of Juicy fruit chewing gum young man, and I know it comes in a pack so where is the rest of it? The boy knew when to say when, so he retrieved the pack from his pocket and just as he was handing it to her he turned to his right and there stood all six feet seven of officer Striker. The rest of this story is short and to the point. The boy’s mom told the officer what he had done which led him to believe he was going to jail or at the very least a home for troubled boys. But as luck and good fortune would have it all he had to do was walk the beat with officer Striker for a solid week. During that longest week of his young life he was told countless stories of boys who took the wrong path in life and by the end of that week he swore he would always walk on the right side of the law. The boy is a man now and whenever he goes home he takes a walk around officer Strikers beat hearing the stories of a giant of a man with a heart just as big.
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Author Mike OConnor: Reality

Author Mike OConnor: Reality: A black bird came to rest on a tree limb just a few feet from where I sat resting my weary bones. I’ve been on this old dirt road for what...

Reality

A black bird came to rest on a tree limb just a few feet from where I sat resting my weary bones. I’ve been on this old dirt road for what seems like weeks but, I’ve been moving at a snail’s pace for just a few hours. Had a blowout in my left boot and had to tie it together with some twine I carried around for what seemed weeks but in reality, it was just a few days That I found it and put it in my pocket. You never know what you might need in this life. My old bones ached a lot more lately, but I suppose they been hurting for as far back as I can recall. I was a cowboy in my younger years, yes sir I rode em and roped em and even took a shot at the bulls but in reality, that only lasted four seconds. I traveled by horse or by rail but in reality, I seemed to have sold the horse and drank that money away in no time at all. I followed the tracks hoping I could jump on one and just go along with it to the end of the line, but, If I tried jumping on a moving train I would probably be trying to walk down this old dirt road with a stub instead of a good walking leg. Time didn’t matter to me anymore, didn’t have any place special to be, nobody to see and in reality I was just walking so I knew I was still sucking air.Gettin old aint a pretty thing I tell you and in reality if you really must know, well it down right stinks, I would give a shiny gold piece to be that young cowboy again but in reality I will walk down this country road and try to remember what all that reality really meant.

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Author Mike OConnor: Tears

Author Mike OConnor: Tears:       A tear rolled down her cheek as she waited for her time on earth to be complete. She didn’t fear death as she knew her life was a go...

Tears

     A tear rolled down her cheek as she waited for her time on earth to be complete. She didn’t fear death as she knew her life was a good life in the eyes of god. She loved her husband of sixty-two years and she knew he loved her too. She raised four children that lived as she had hoped and prayed they would. She wasn’t crying for them but for the thousands of lost souls who may never see the wonder of heaven and the eternal joy it brings. How did the world she lived in become so hateful, so un-caring and so hard to understand? Why were children killing other children? Why are people hating others just because their beliefs are different? Why are we fighting wars and losing our soldiers in a place where only money seems to be important? She wonders about these and other things that she never dreamed possible in her lifetime. She cry’s because she can’t do anything about the world and the future it will bring to her grandchildren and great grandchildren. She cry’s her last teardrop, takes her final breath and leaves behind a tear-soaked pillow filled with happiness and sorrow all mixed together as one life.

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Author Mike OConnor: Saturday dreams

Author Mike OConnor: Saturday dreams:      Saturday morning and you lay in bed for a few more precious minutes of sleep. Even though you’ve been awake for an hour. Its hard to ...

Saturday dreams

     Saturday morning and you lay in bed for a few more precious minutes of sleep. Even though you’ve been awake for an hour. Its hard to break sleep patterns. In the background a tv plays a video game on low volume which makes you wonder if your teenage son stayed up all night? The other child ended up in bed with you sometime during the night and now enjoys the safety of nightmare free slumber. You stare at the ceiling letting go of the sleep and thinking about what this day will bring? A trip to the beach maybe, a picnic at the park? You thank God for giving you this day as you plan breakfast in your mind. Flap jacks, waffles, maybe some sausage with home made jam? You wonder if there is any orange juice left but think probably not as your teenage son surely made several tripe to the fridge during the night. You notice your husband has been up and gone for some time now he always was an early riser. Just thinking about him and the kids brings a smile to your face as you slowly get out of your bed and reach for the walker that will lead you into another Saturday. You smile some more as you remember all those Saturdays that were real and not just pleasant dreams.

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Author Mike OConnor: Snapshots

Author Mike OConnor: Snapshots:       Small wisps of smoke move out of my mouth into the stagnant air in a room marked as the place I tell my tales. The walls are covered...

Snapshots

     Small wisps of smoke move out of my mouth into the stagnant air in a room marked as the place I tell my tales. The walls are covered with pictures in dusty frames with shadowed figures of times gone by but hardly forgotten. I often get close to one and reach back in my memories re-living the moment the picture was snapped and frozen for all time. I hear the voices and smile knowing someday I will hear them again. Their mostly gone now and those remaining are old with only a few smiles left. These are the pictures of my life and the people that made lasting memories for me to look at whenever I chose to. I often wonder if at the time they were posing they were thinking who would see this in sixty years? I have an entire house to put my stories on paper, but I write in a small add on room with low ceilings and poor lighting, a room where every inch of wall space is covered with my memories, my life, my snapshots of happiness.

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Author Mike OConnor: My way

Author Mike OConnor: My way: I did it the only way I knew. Trial and error. I fell off the proverbial horse many times and climbed back up only to be thrown again. I w...

My way

I did it the only way I knew. Trial and error. I fell off the proverbial horse many times and climbed back up only to be thrown again. I walked in the rain and got wet but dried off and continued my journey. I scraped my knees more than once and winced for a moment before finishing the job. Life threw me many a curve ball, but I swung anyway and sometimes hit a home run and other times struck out. I am at a stage of my life now when I have so many memories spilling out of my head I sometimes find it impossible to make sense of them, but I try…

Years didn’t go by quickly when I was younger. It seemed there was more time to enjoy the “moments” the “special times” whereas now I find myself scrambling to make more memories before I forget them. I picture the faces of old friends before I cannot. I pay more attention to things I once took for granted, sunsets, thunder storms, and the wind blowing the trees. The smells of my life that always pleased me like an apple pie baking, fresh cut grass, lilacs and roses.

It isn’t over yet or at least I hope not. There are still things to do, place to see, people to love. I have been around the world and was too young to realize what a gift that was, but I do have some memories that managed to sneak out occasionally. I still want a cabin in the forest to spend time at.one with a big fireplace made of field stone with a huge hearth, and a big window so I can look out at the beauty of the trees and the seasons. Not a big cabin just big enough for me and an occasional visitor.

With age they say comes wisdom. I have always had wisdom I just didn’t use it properly all the time. I learned a lot from the “ancients” and their old school beliefs that to this day I cherish and believe in strongly. I also learned from god whom without I am certain I would be six feet under a long time ago. I am not a religious man per say but I believe in god and speak to him every day. I don’t attend church with others but visit every so often when the building is empty.

I am a proud father and grandfather. I am a proud man with few regrets and many thanks. I am the caretaker of my life and the master of my fate. I will ride the waves until there are no more to ride and the winds no longer blow across the bow.

MO.

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Author Mike OConnor: One sweet breath

Author Mike OConnor: One sweet breath: Long before I was blessed with the gift of life a plan was made. One that I was to carry out without question or doubt. The only problem...

One sweet breath

Long before I was blessed with the gift of life a plan was made. One that I was to carry out without question or doubt. The only problem being I had no idea what that plan was? Riding my first bicycle with baseball cards in the spokes was that my prelude to a Harley? Instructing a third-grade class about the teachings of god. Was that my introduction to a life time of belief in all that I believe to this day? My first girlfriend that also was my best friend. One with whom I discovered love and trust and a deep feeling of loss and mourning when she was called to god at such an early age. Was that my introduction to future relationships that ended in sorrow and pain minus the mourning?

Learning to work for what I wanted rather than have it just handed to me was that a taste of all the hard work I did over the course of so many years? Eating what was on my plate if I liked it or not, was that a sample of what I would endure trying to keep my children fed when times were hard?

Walking through the frozen winter woods, the quiet surrounding me with a peaceful whisper. Was that my introduction to a walk-through life where I had to listen more than I spoke?

Reflecting every chance, I got on the past was that or is that a slide show I am to remember for all time or at least until I can’t see the pictures as clear as I once could?

I will forever believe it was all drawn out while I was seated beside my god who with one sweet breath sent me on my journey.

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Author Mike OConnor: Smiles and a smoke ring

Author Mike OConnor: Smiles and a smoke ring:      I closed my eyes and remembered you. Your pants were baggy and the white undershirt with sleeves rolled up was the look I remember. Y...

Smiles and a smoke ring

    I closed my eyes and remembered you. Your pants were baggy and the white undershirt with sleeves rolled up was the look I remember. Your shoes were always shined and your hair neatly combed. There was more often than not a camel dangling from your lips and you delighted me by blowing smoke rings until I laughed and laughed that made you laugh. You weren’t a tall man but the biggest man I had ever known as I always was looking up to you. At the town parade you would set me on your shoulders, so I could see everything, you showed me how to salute the flag as it passed us by. Your hands were rough, and your heart was big and true. Your other favorite clothes to wear were all green with many shiny medals, you explained to me what they all meant and sometimes you would get sad and be quiet for a little while. I grew up and wore a uniform to that made you proud of me in ways only a father could know. I think of you everyday of my life dad, but today I close my eyes and reach deeply into my memories hoping my thoughts reach you and bring a smile on a smoke ring
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Author Mike OConnor: Broken treasures

Author Mike OConnor: Broken treasures: I suppose I was a typical kid who loved collecting things I found along my travels through the neighborhood and surrounding area. While ot...

Broken treasures

I suppose I was a typical kid who loved collecting things I found along my travels through the neighborhood and surrounding area. While others were looking up, I was looking down always being aware of any treasure that was just waiting to be picked up. There was of course quite a few pennies, nickels and dimes but there was also the rare find of paper money, cash, mula. I once found a twenty-dollar bill stuck to a branch that was flowing down the street after a big rainfall.

     As I grew up my quest for the rare and bazar continued right along with me. Living near the beach I would spend countless hours slowly combing through the sea grass and usually found at least one treasure to take home. I’m sure I got noticed walking back from the shore dragging a ten-foot piece of rope or half a surfboard. I carried a bag with me for the small stuff like one flip flop, a colorful pail, sea glass and unique seashells just to name a few. My garage was piling up with all my finds and that didn’t go over to well with my wife.

     One day as I was sitting on the back patio watching my kids in the pool I was struck with an idea. My entire back yard was fenced in. It was a wooden privacy fence that for lack of a better word was “naked” The perfect place to display my years of beach combing. It took a while, but I carefully mounted my finds on that fence adding to it every time I took a walk. Cheap sunglasses, beach toys, a lobster trap, old signs, netting, fishing poles and tackle, it was endless, and the fence took on a whole new meaning. My neighbors would stop by to have a look and some even donated things they had found so within a few months the fence was full and quite a sight to see.

     The local newspaper did a story on my fence and people came from all around to see it, taking pictures and marveling at my treasures. Time passed, and we sold that house. The new owners took everything down and discarded it like trash which I suppose it was to them. To me it was years of walking the beach with my kids and my friends who all became a part of my quest for broken treasures

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Author Mike OConnor: Feel the words

Author Mike OConnor: Feel the words:      My life was molded by her sight. It was she who showed me the wonders of the world in my own backyard. We would sit on the grass ben...

Feel the words

     My life was molded by her sight. It was she who showed me the wonders of the world in my own backyard. We would sit on the grass beneath a plum tree and she would point out all the wonderful things nature provides for us. I stared into her beautiful eyes that even way back then bothered her. I grew and with her help I learned to read never knowing at that time someday I would read to her. I became a man and she grew older, yet always showing me something she felt I should see. She is up in years now, as am I although she laughs at me saying that. We sit, and I hold her frail hand in mine helping her to see what my eyes are seeing. I often take her outside where the cool wind brushes across her face as she smiles at what are now just sweet memories. I ask her if she wants to go back inside and she says, “Not quite yet, I want to feel the sunset.”

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Author Mike OConnor: A collector of "Stuff"

Author Mike OConnor: A collector of "Stuff": He was a collector of stuff, wasn’t he? I know look at all of this. She wiped tears from her face as she held onto his hairbrush, was i...

A collector of "Stuff"

He was a collector of stuff, wasn’t he? I know look at all of this. She wiped tears from her face as she held onto his hairbrush, was it wrong to touch his things? She held one of his shirts smelling his scent not caring anymore if the tears fell in buckets. He put on one of his favorite hats and didn’t take it off for a long time., it went in the keeper box. They sat together on the floor going through picture albums seeing him in his youth when their life was just beginning. Shots at the beach and favorite fishing holes, his rods standing in the corner next to his tackle box that showed the scars of so many years of use. Wish we had gone more. Going through the drawers and finding secrets of his life that they felt they shouldn’t be seeing because they were his secrets not theirs. An old folding knife, two ace of spades playing cards, why two? A selection of keys that went to who knows what? Assorted tools and boxes of picture hooks, just one mans stuff. They went through his clothes and remembered he wasn’t much of a fashion type guy just a lot of t-shirts, jeans and a couple of worn leather jackets. He loved to ride. The old Harley was in the shed and the boy said they would sell it. His old pick up truck was well kept but to many memories so it to would be sold. He was a simple man with his own story like all of us have. He was a good man who kept to himself but always there when called on. Where is he now? Is he looking down at them, his children crying for him, his whole life in front of them with more to be found as they sort it all out on a cloudy October day. He was looking down at them he will always be watching them and waiting with an endless smile upon his face.

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Author Mike OConnor: Aged tears

Author Mike OConnor: Aged tears: The old rocking chair squeaked to the rhythm of my knees. Slowly and with reason. looking down upon the sleeping face of my great grandc...

Aged tears

The old rocking chair squeaked to the rhythm of my knees. Slowly and with reason. looking down upon the sleeping face of my great grandchild as she slept in a cocoon of warmth and contentment. A soft breeze swept through the open porch tiny whirlpools of autumn leaves dancing across the wooden floor. One of my aged tears fell onto her cheek and she moved ever so slightly but didn’t wake.

Why did I cry? Maybe it was my knowledge of impending departure and not being able to see her grow into a fine lady that would fulfill a dream. Maybe the one she was having at this moment? My dreams now seemed to revolve around the years past and not so much those yet to be. The breeze was getting cooler and I pulled her closer to me. My wisps of white hair danced across her face and made her smile. Her eyes opened, and we met for the first time. She looked puzzled but not scared. My bearded face and long white hair certainly wasn’t that of her mother. My weathered skin she touched with her tiny hands wasn’t that of the smoothness she was accustomed to.

I looked deep into her blue eyes and all my hopes and dreams for her seemed to filter through to her as she held my finger and smiled. A child is such a perfect gift we sometimes forget how lucky and blessed we truly are. Darkness found us both asleep on the old wooden porch until the softness of my granddaughter’s hand on my cheek woke me. Just another minute sweetie. Just another minute.

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Author Mike OConnor: At peace

Author Mike OConnor: At peace:       He shuffled his feet across the bedroom and into the kitchen. He didn’t know what day it was, didn’t much care. Almost robotic he op...

At peace

     He shuffled his feet across the bedroom and into the kitchen. He didn’t know what day it was, didn’t much care. Almost robotic he opened the cabinet and got the can of coffee letting the sink water run and get cooler. Soon the smell began to wake him up as he stood looking out the window to his lawn that needed mowing, maybe later. He rinsed out the mug he uses daily, the one that says?” World’s best grandpa” Every time he sees it he remembers the Christmas now many years ago when his oldest grandson gave it to him, he made the little guy believe it was the best gift he had ever received. In some ways it was. He remembered now it was Sunday that’s probably why it was so quiet outside, no lawn mowers. He took a sip of coffee from his favorite mug and thought to himself, there’s always tomorrow.

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Author Mike OConnor: A million and one

Author Mike OConnor: A million and one:      A wisp of her hair was touched by the breeze gently sending it across her aging face. Her slender hand pushed it back in place, her g...

A million and one

     A wisp of her hair was touched by the breeze gently sending it across her aging face. Her slender hand pushed it back in place, her gaze never faltering as the sunset in the distant sky. “How many of these have we seen," she asked her man sitting next to her on the old wooden steps. He answered by shrugging his shoulders never taking his gaze off her. “Now why in Sam hill are you looking at me?” she asked him wrapping her arm around his resting her head on his shoulder. “Well, he said, When the sun sets it gives off a golden glow that seems to shoot sparkles out of your eyes and I never do get tired of seeing that. Sometimes the glow is a beautiful red kind of like your lips when you paint your face so pretty to go dancing. And when the sun is all but gone you have this little pout like a kid taking the last lick of an ice cream cone. You know I can see a million sunsets, but I hope I see a million and one sitting next to you.”

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Author Mike OConnor: Lunch date

Author Mike OConnor: Lunch date:      She sat by the window looking down at the street below, watching for her lunch date to arrive. She had spent the morning getting re...

Lunch date

     She sat by the window looking down at the street below, watching for her lunch date to arrive. She had spent the morning getting ready, she thought she had made the perfect choice in dresses and painted her nails to match. It was hot outside so she put her hair up which she thought made her look older but that was o.k. She sat looking twirling the multi colored bracelet he had given her on her last birthday, his last visit. She understood he was a busy man with important things to do all she wanted was to spend a little time with him as she loved him so very much. She ran downstairs as she saw his car coming up the driveway almost tripping in the high heel shoes she seldom wore. He got out of his car opening his arms as she jumped into them kissing his cheek leaving her small lipstick mark that would stay on him the rest of their day, and what a wonderful day it was. She felt like a princess and he a king as every eight-year-old should feel when daddy asks them out for a date.

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Author Mike OConnor: Two lifetimes

Author Mike OConnor: Two lifetimes:       He always wore one strap down on his faded overalls and the soles on his favorite work boots had been re-souled more times than even...

Two lifetimes

     He always wore one strap down on his faded overalls and the soles on his favorite work boots had been re-souled more times than even he knew. He said he never could figure out why somebody didn’t just sell the soles because you never wear out the top part. His John Deer ball cap set a wee bit crooked on his sun weathered head and God only knows what the stains are? He told time by looking at the sun because it was always right and didn’t need no battery. In his hip pocket was a bag of chew that gave him great pleasure he once told me, and he isn’t giving it up not at his age. His teeth were all but gone but he could still eat a steak says his gums are like iron after so long a time without them. He had a set of store bought teeth his daughter insisted he get, only wore them one time and then hid them someplace nobody would ever find. All the kids and grandkids liked coming to see them at the old farm, hell all of them worked it at one time or another. They learned with their hands and back what hard work was and to his recollection not a one of them died from it. Today he was walking slowly to the barn where he would climb on his tractor that was probably about as old as he was, a real gem he would say and get the work done right the first time. His wife of seventy years sat on the front porch waving as he passed by the house like he has been doing for more years than either can really remember. “I’ll bring you some tomatoes” he shouted to her, she smiled and waved again knowing the tomatoes had long since been gone and the only thing still standing were corn stalks left to die with everything else on the farm. He rode his tractor down the dirt road and around the barn then back to the house where he would wave to her and ride some more. Come twilight she would ring the bell he had mounted on the wooden porch wall well over sixty years ago, it told him supper was on the table and to come on in. They sat at the same table in the same kitchen in the same house where they had been for two lifetimes. She smiled at him as he told her the tomatoes weren’t quite ready yet maybe tomorrow. With supper finished he would have a seat in his favorite chair usually falling asleep before the dishes were done. She would cover him with one of her many quilts she had made over time and then climb into bed praying they had one more day together. Sometime in the night she felt him climb in beside her whispering he couldn’t sleep without her. They held hands and life became silent for two caring, loving hearts.

Author Mike OConnor: The old hotel

Author Mike OConnor: The old hotel:      its late and sleep stays an arm’s length away. I stare at the ceiling of the old hotel by the river counting the shapes and patterns ...

The old hotel

     its late and sleep stays an arm’s length away. I stare at the ceiling of the old hotel by the river counting the shapes and patterns that could use an update. The bed is soft and creaks with every move my restless body makes. I try to let the music coming through a window sooth me, but it only brings back memories of dancing with you to our song. Getting up and moving around the room with its out of date furnishings and a collection of smells that won’t let me remember your scent. One dim light on the nightstand is all that glows casting shadows that keep me company in a place I don’t want to be alone. I reached for the bottle of scotch I brought with me, and took a long drink hoping to ease my pain or at least dull it for a moment or two. You wanted to come back here to be laid to rest. It was your home town where the rest of your family was and side by side you would all be together. I did this for you because it’s what you wanted and because I loved you more than life. Tomorrow I will put on the suit you bought me five years ago and place a single red rose on your coffin saying good bye to you and hello to many more bottles of scotch. Life isn’t always fare, you got the short straw, I got the pain and the memory of our first night together in this dark, out of date, smelly room with dancing shadows and music flowing through an open window. We thought it was heaven.
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Author Mike OConnor: Sitting alone

Author Mike OConnor: Sitting alone:       I sat alone in the church today. The silence took over my mind as I started praying for those I love. I asked God to guide them du...

Sitting alone

     I sat alone in the church today. The silence took over my mind as I started praying for those I love. I asked God to guide them during trying times and un-certainty, I allowed time for him to answer me which he did with the silence. I lit a candle for my mother who keeps such a special place in my heart asking that she find peace and comfort until she sits beside him for all eternity. I spoke softly at times wanting to be sure I was being heard as my eyes filled with tears and my heart swelled with belief and comfort. I come here often when I feel the need for a personal conversation with God and the saints that I know hear my voice even in a whisper.

M.O.

Author Mike OConnor: His walk was slowand carefully planned, he h...

Author Mike OConnor:
     His walk was slowand carefully planned, he h...:      His walk was slow and carefully planned, he had fallen once, and it landed him in the hospital and rehab for what he thought an ete...

     His walk was slow and carefully planned, he had fallen once, and it landed him in the hospital and rehab for what he thought an eternity. The doctors told him to use a cane, but it made him feel old and for Gods sake he was only eighty-eight. He entered the public library a place he loved going to walk the isles and look at the sheer magnitude of people’s writings. Billions of words that came out of people’s minds and hearts put on paper and preserved for time unknown. He saved the last isle for last as he did every visit. Carefully he scanned the shelves even though he knew exactly where it was, after all hadn’t he reached for it a hundred times or more? As he held the book in his hands the memories began to flood back, some didn’t as his mind was sharp but not like it was when he wrote the book over fifty years ago. The pages were worn and a little faded much like himself, but he sat and read it from cover to cover like he had done so many times before. The card on the inside said seventy-six people had checked the book out and he wondered if they enjoyed reading it? He smiled a crooked little smile and imagined some probably thought he was a bit on the crazy side. He finished reading until the next time, slowly walking outside into the brightness of a summer day he smiled again passing by people on their way in. He wondered if one of them was number seventy-seven?

Author Mike OConnor: The voice

Author Mike OConnor: The voice:      She loved to sing, she said it helped her feel good about herself. Our house was always filled with her angelic voice and without i...

The voice

     She loved to sing, she said it helped her feel good about herself. Our house was always filled with her angelic voice and without it home was just a house. As a child I learned to love the songs and most got planted firmly in my memory. When she passed a part of my world was silenced. I felt a loss, a void I never thought I could fill. As a young man I discovered my own voice and often sang the songs she once did bringing back my memories and the great love I had for her. Now in my golden years I still find the words and the melodies, some a bit forgotten but all a beautiful blessing of song and love from the lady with the angelic voice

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Author Mike OConnor: I believe in you

Author Mike OConnor: I believe in you:       They look up at you and the trust and love is overwhelming. A Small package craving everything you have to offer. Their desire for l...

I believe in you

     They look up at you and the trust and love is overwhelming. A Small package craving everything you have to offer. Their desire for learning is only matched by your desire to mold them into a good person. You feed and clothe them, teach and love them for countless hours, months and years. Then one day they are gone, finding their path to a life you can only hope will be one of happiness and compassion. Along the way they got lost choosing the wrong pathway and becoming the one person you prayed they never would, but you stood by them and forgave their mistakes again trying to teach and guide them back to the life you knew they could achieve. It looked good for awhile and your faith proved to be true and just. But it happened again and again until you reached so deep inside of yourself but found only emptiness, yet you carried on believing they could change. A parent’s love has no boundaries, no time limits and no giving up but it does have a breaking point like all hearts you pray and ask God for help, to give him strength and guidance and to understand that to fall is ok but you must get back up and be the adult that you have come so close to becoming. Look in the looking glass and promise yourself that you have made wrong choices and poisoned your body with nothing but evil and you quit now, this very instant and no turning back. I gave you life and love and an understanding of what life can be if only you clear your mind and listen to voices of reason, not addiction. I believe in you and always will, but you must break the looking glass and never see that reflection again

Author Mike OConnor: Summer heat

Author Mike OConnor: Summer heat:      The sun was relentless as I tried to get some outside work done. Each breath was like inhaling steam from hell itself. My movements w...

Summer heat

     The sun was relentless as I tried to get some outside work done. Each breath was like inhaling steam from hell itself. My movements were paced so I didn’t pass out, as I have done before. Constantly drinking water before it starts to boil in the bottle. This isn’t fit weather for man or beast as my dog who usually jumps with excitement at the mere mention of going outside, now hides from me under the safety of the kitchen table. I believe I’m going to mount headlights on my lawnmower and wait until darkness creeps down with the temperature to attempt cutting the grass. The neighbors will love that. Summer in Florida is a place most don’t want to be which is evident with the flow of traffic heading north on ninety-five escaping the months of living hell, only to return in November when the living is bearable. I have grown to hate the summer here I feel like a prisoner trapped in my house only going out when the sky is dark, and I can breathe. Choice I made many years ago now except for a few blessings a decision I wish someone would have talked me out of. I believe my writing suffers in the summer as my only thoughts are staying cool and hoping my air conditioner doesn’t take its last breath. I don’t ask God for a winning lottery ticket as he has more important things to address, but if I did win I would say goodbye to this swamp and head north on ninety-five to a mountain somewhere where the air is crisp and cool and being outside would be the norm. But I won’t win the lottery and doubt my books will ever be best sellers. I will exist here until my ashes are scattered and I am but a memory and a picture hanging on a few walls. Sweet lord please don’t let them scatter me in hot water, wait until December.
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Author Mike OConnor: No trade

Author Mike OConnor: No trade: I slip on the old leather jacket pausing a moment to reflect on all the battle scars it has endured over thousands of miles where the rubb...

No trade

I slip on the old leather jacket pausing a moment to reflect on all the battle scars it has endured over thousands of miles where the rubber meets the road. Yea it’s been a trusted friend for a long time. The sleeves have stretched about as far as they can, and the sheen has been replaced with road rash scars and neglect from the elements. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything….

The horse hair boot brush slowly goes back and forth across the surface of my old boots trying to bring up a shine, but my days of endless brushing have been replaced with a few good swipes to get the road dust off. They have been re-soled a few times, but they fit like a glove and I wouldn’t trade them for anything….

My trusted steel pony awaits me like it has for forty-five years. She’s a bit tired like I am but will start most every time and take me to places only we can go. I have to carry a tool kit now and some extra parts because every so often it has to break something. yea kind of like me. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything….

I stay on the back roads now to crazy on the super slabs everybody in such a damn hurry to get nowhere. My idea of a nice ride isn’t almost getting killed by a texter. So, I cruise the country side sharing my time with the trees and cows behind fences. I smell the air and feel the warmth against my face. When I need a break, I pull off to the side and have a smoke. Yea I know but I’ve been sucking on these sticks for fifty some years and I guess I wouldn’t trade it for anything….

Got a picture of her on my windshield, been there a little while now. I took the sissy pad off the back because once she was gone no one else would ever ride behind me. She’s up in heaven now looking down on this old biker. Smiling I hope knowing I still carry her with me on every ride. I feel her with me, I smell her scent and feel her hands on my waist. I talk to her during my rides and I always will. I wouldn’t trade that for anything….

A silent soul

     Life as I see it belongs to the silent souls with the loudest hearts. In a time of so much hate when most news is sad news there must be room in our lives to take a closer look at those special people who think only of others putting their own happiness and needs a very distant last. They are out there giving of themselves never wanting anything in return except an occasional thank you or a smile that brightens so many days in such a simple way. The silent souls may just be angels, whose to say? As I travel around I look for the silent souls going about their days so filled with giving and sharing and spreading kindness where kindness doesn’t dwell. I will make eye contact with them and instantly feel a connection in that oh so brief glance into endless and kind eyes. Age has allowed me to stop and stare if I want to, who thinks twice about an old man or even bothers to ask how is day is going? What do they care if I look lost in an almost lost world? With age comes wisdom and wisdom is meant to be shared and taught from older folks like me and anybody else who can see into the eyes of a silent soul

M.OConnor
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