Author Mike OConnor: Silence

Author Mike OConnor: Silence:      “Silence” she shouted at thin air as she began to dance without a partner or for that matter, music. Round and round she went slidin...

Silence

     “Silence” she shouted at thin air as she began to dance without a partner or for that matter, music. Round and round she went sliding her bare feet across the frozen ground of February, yet she showed no sign of feeling anything but the song in her head that moved her feet. I took my coat off and wrapped it around her as she now stood frozen in another personal moment only she could feel. “It’s ok now “I assured her as we began the walk back to the house on the same worn path I use to take as a child on my way to make believe and fantasy.

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Author Mike OConnor: Spirit flight

Author Mike OConnor: Spirit flight:       They come to me in my sleep, these spirits of my past. Like home invaders they stop in un announced ready to take me places I may or...

Spirit flight

     They come to me in my sleep, these spirits of my past. Like home invaders they stop in un announced ready to take me places I may or may not want to see. At times they are playful as I hold onto one who laughs as she drops me only to be caught before hitting the ground by another laughing just as hard. At times two will take hold of me soaring at great heights and speeds darting between buildings and mountains so quickly I am forced to close my eyes in fear of a not so pretty landing. We dart between memories, me trying to say hello to friends and family that have been gone for so long now, but they maintain their crazy flying habits only allowing me very brief moments of joy. Sometimes we are so high above the earth everything appears as if being seen by a hawk, circling caught up in a thermal. The movements below are so small I can’t see a thing and that’s usually when they start laughing again and drop me to their sick delight. Down and down I plummet towards certain death screaming to deaf ears. Then like a cartoon character I stop inches from the ground and hover for a second before gently touching down. This continues throughout the night even though I beg for it to stop. I guess I just drew the short straw this time and got a couple of real smart-ass spirits.

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Author Mike OConnor: Escape

Author Mike OConnor: Escape:       Her mind shut down they said ]   . Somewhere along the way she gave in to the demon's  demands.She was always kind to me as I ...

Escape

     Her mind shut down they said] . Somewhere along the way she gave in to the demon's  demands.She was always kind to me as I remember, and to see her like that so alone and someplace only she could visit, was beyond sad. I tried a few times to reach her, sitting beside her whispering things I remembered from my youth. I hoped maybe, just maybe she would give me a little sign that she heard me, but she never did. Where did she go? Is she alone?, Can she see me? Does she want to come back or is she happy where she is? I think all of us find an escape at times, but they are conscious escapes, was hers? I wonder if she asked God to shut things off, that she had enough of the curveballs being thrown at her? Were her prayers answered? I make sure she is cared for, comfortable and my visits are spent whispering to her, so I don't wake the demons she escaped from. 

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Author Mike OConnor: Vivid memories

Author Mike OConnor: Vivid memories:        It doesn’t matter how old you become, the closeness   of a parent and a child is an eternal bond of everlasting love. I have be...

Vivid memories

     It doesn’t matter how old you become, the closeness  of a parent and a child is an eternal bond of everlasting love. I have been so blessed by my ability to recall times and events throughout my six-plus decades roaming this world. I can remember in vivid details such things as learning how to fish by my dad, or how to throw a football. I don't just remember the time, but I can clearly see what clothes we were wearing and what the temperature was outside. I can smell the cigarette my dad always had hanging out of his mouth, as well as the river and trees. When I think of my mom, I go back to her kitchen and the scent of apple pie baking in the oven, I can taste the jelly roll up she made me with the extra pie crust.I feel my hand in hers as we cross the street to the bus stop heading into town. I smell her hair when the wind blows, and I see her smile as I tell her I'm  a big boy now and don’t need to hold her hand. All of us remember times past and how life was growing up. I think we tend to remember the better times leaving the bad moments locked away where they belong. You won't realize how important these memories are until you understand how quickly they became just  that. Age is a blessing in many ways but can also be a cruel reminder of having lived a life where the people in it are mostly gone, leaving you with yellowed letters and faded pictures of a time when holding your mom's hand or tossing a ball with your dad would become the way you stay close to them forever. 

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Author Mike OConnor: Keeping faith

Author Mike OConnor: Keeping faith:        He pulled into the empty church parking lot, not turning the car off just yet. He sat there thinking about his youth and his yea...

Keeping faith

     He pulled into the empty church parking lot, not turning the car off just yet. He sat there thinking about his youth and his years attending Catholic school. He wasn’t molested by any priests nor was he abused by the nuns except for an occasional whap on the hand by a wooden ruler they all seemed to carry around with them. He had fond memories of those days it was a time in his life when God was a scary importance. Nothing was done without first asking for Gods blessings. The priests in our parish were strict but kind, they would smile and pat you on the head sometimes offering a blessing in passing which always made the rest of the day seem more  important. When someone became ill, the priest would come and visit offering hope and absolution for those nearing the end of time in this world. Priests were invited to every occasion, birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Sunday dinners and summer picnics. They were a big part of our  lives and to think that some, many, were working in sync  with satan himself destroying the futures of hundreds, even thousands of innocent children who succumbed to the priest's demands in fear of spending eternity in  hell. Now decades  later and countless victims the pope writes a letter asking for forgiveness. I think it's a little late for that to keep such a tragedy locked behind closed doors for so long is wrong. I will always have my faith. I don't believe It will ever be as pure as it was when I sat in a school classroom and waited with great admiration and anticipation for a priest to bless me and pat my head with a smile made in heaven. He put the car in gear never getting  out. Maybe next week?

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Author Mike OConnor: Smile

Author Mike OConnor: Smile:       When it seems the weight of the world rests upon your shoulders close your eyes and travel back to a happy time in your life. It can...

Smile

     When it seems the weight of the world rests upon your shoulders close your eyes and travel back to a happy time in your life. It can be as easy as eating an ice cream cone from the ice-cream man who stopped in front of your house. Maybe it was the moment you first got to hold your new baby sister, or helped dad mow the lawn with your very own toy lawnmower that even made noise like dads did. We all have so many happy memories surely you can find one locked away for years until this very moment when you need it.That weight you carry around with you can easily be lifted with a memory of your first boy, girl dance when you asked the prettiest girl in school for a dance and she said “yes” All of us experience the burdens of life some more than others. It’s how we get through it that defines us and keeps us moving forward. The next time you feel that weight bearing down on you remember the funniest prank you ever pulled on someone and see if you’re not smiling a smile you’ve been missing.

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Author Mike OConnor: The same mold

Author Mike OConnor: The same mold:      As I sit here in my writing room I am reminded of those gone before me. The men and woman who put pen to paper conjuring up the belov...

The same mold

     As I sit here in my writing room I am reminded of those gone before me. The men and woman who put pen to paper conjuring up the beloved stories most of us grew up reading, and I can’t help but wonder if they to think the way I think? Did Mark Twain stare off into space a blank sheet of paper in front of him and then out of the blue he somehow thinks about a guy being swallowed up by a huge white whale? Maybe old Mark made himself a cup of special tea before he sat down at his writing desk? How about Edgar Allan Poe? Alfred Hitchcock, these men wrote the most amazing stories but where did they get the inspiration? Did they walk alone through the woods at midnight scaring themselves with a tale spinning in their heads then running home to quickly write it down? I certainly don’t put myself in the company of such great writers, but I do think we were cut from the same mold. I don’t understand why everybody doesn’t write, who doesn’t have vivid thoughts in a dream they can remember or stroll through a park and think of something from your past that you hope you will remember once you have access to pen and paper. My latest book titled ‘Raw emotions” is full of tales that I did conjure up while walking in the forest or the park, they are tales I tell of days past and memories good and not so good but each with a bit of fact and a dose of fiction to keep the reader wanting to read more. I am sometimes asked if I read my own books? The answer is yes, I do. I reach for “Raw emotions” several times throughout the week and just pick a tale at random from the dozens inside letting the words paint a picture which stays with me throughout the day. I don’t believe I will ever become a best-selling author, but I do think if some of those authors I mentioned read my work they would crack a smile or maybe even shed a tear for another fellow writer who sits down at his writing desk and stares at a blank sheet of paper, but not for long.

"Raw emotions" may be purchased in paper back or as an E book through Amazon books.com

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Author Mike OConnor: The woods

Author Mike OConnor: The woods:      When I walk through the forest of winter I am captured by the stillness and solitude of what I believe to be one of Gods greatest wor...

The woods

     When I walk through the forest of winter I am captured by the stillness and solitude of what I believe to be one of Gods greatest works. The snow acting as a blanket keeping the grasses and saplings insulated against the angry blasts of cold, the stillness of morning only broken by the songs of birds brave enough to call this forest home year-round. I search for a word to describe the smell and “clean” was my choice. The winter woods will cast a spell on you as the trees stripped of their leaves, naked branches bending to each traveling breeze. As I walk deeper into the woods silence waits for me just up ahead where nature made a shelter of fallen branches. Its here I will take out my writing pad and try and compose my feelings and my deep love for all that lives and dies in these woods.

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Author Mike OConnor: Waiting

Author Mike OConnor: Waiting:       I would rope a star for you and give it your name. I believe you would keep that star in your pocket forever shining on. I would wri...

Waiting

     I would rope a star for you and give it your name. I believe you would keep that star in your pocket forever shining on. I would write a song for you that you would soon learn to sing. I would paint a picture of wildflowers in a springtime meadow, so you could look at it and feel at peace with your day. I would bake cookies so when you came home the warmth and love put into them would welcome you. I would write you a love poem that brought a tear to your eye as you read it time and again and always the tear. I would do so many things if only I could find you. I believe you are out there somewhere waiting for me just as I wait for you.

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Author Mike OConnor: Knowledge

Author Mike OConnor: Knowledge:       You watch their little faces as they try to learn something new. You softly correct them when they make mistakes. A child wants to ...

Knowledge

     You watch their little faces as they try to learn something new. You softly correct them when they make mistakes. A child wants to absorb as much as possible like a sponge holds water. We sometimes forget their minds are in a constant growing state and must be nurchered for proper  growth. It's easy to find fault with them if we don't think they are learning quick enough and its then we need to stop and remember our brains are so much bigger and filled with decades of knowledge we can't expect them to understand everything we say. I get such joy watching a child learn something knowing they learned it by themselves. Simple tasks like tieing a shoe, or counting to one hundred is a giant step and should be treated as such. Those first drawings that adorn our refrigerators and walls are an indicator of imagination that should also be praised and talked about. A child's life is one big puzzle that they will eventually understand and put all the pieces where they belong but we as adults have to be their guides with both patience and constant attention so they won't do half the puzzle and walk away from it. Today a twelve-year-old boy can stand six foot tall weighing over two hundred pounds with a size twelve shoe, but his brain is still only filled with twelve years of knowledge. As we send our children and grandchildren off to a new school year lets remember those big feet can only carry him so far before he turns to you for answers.

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Author Mike OConnor: Day tripper

Author Mike OConnor: Day tripper:       I don’t need music playing when I write because the songs are forever etched in MY mind. I don’t need to watch old videos of rock co...

Day tripper

     I don’t need music playing when I write because the songs are forever etched in MY mind. I don’t need to watch old videos of rock concerts and music fests because I was there in the crowd stoned completely out of my mind and singing along with thousands of others who knew every word to every song. I don’t need reminders of the best times in my life because he I still live them with memories. Melted candles on an old wooden coffee table, incense so thick you wore it on your clothes for days. Constant songs from Zeppelin, Jethro tull, Cream, Dylan, deep purple, Hendrix, and all the other groups who stole our minds and we never gave them back. Road trips to the forest where the clothes came off and we danced into the early morning hours holding jars filled with firefly’s. Day tripping and venturing deep into the woods recreating the wizard of oz and totally freaking out at flying monkeys, tin men, and trees with grabbing arms. We tripped for days then crashed into a dream like state with the smell of camp fires all around us and reefer clouds being sucked into our lungs by just breathing. Time got away from us and some sort of reality kicked in without us knowing. Friends who we swore would last forever drifted off to places and journeys unknown and time inched forward. I write now, mostly stories that only my mind could create causing me to believe my past days and the magic pills were the reasons I compose like I do. Some would argue but they are the ones who never let all of it inside, they wouldn’t welcome change like we did, and they never wanted to experience the mind-altering feelings that took us to a whole different level. I don’t blame them because that life wasn’t for everybody but for those of us who lived it, I believe we are a bit different these days as I open the door to my mind welcoming all my memories to come out and play.

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Author Mike OConnor: Granma

Author Mike OConnor: Granma:       She would have been well over one hundred years now, the lady I called “Granma”. In my childhood she was my favorite person in the w...

Granma

     She would have been well over one hundred years now, the lady I called “Granma”. In my childhood she was my favorite person in the whole world. She had a hard life as the stories say but she never showed me anything but love and kindness, hiding the pain and hurt she felt inside. If I close my eyes I can see her in the kitchen baking my favorite cookies or waving goodbye as she walked the couple of miles to work in a local factory. She had a quiet way about her never yelling but getting her point across with spoken words that both soothed and taught. I miss her holding me and telling me stories of her days as a child growing up in the turn of the century. Her time on the farm tending to the chickens and milking cows for the fresh milk she would have for breakfast. She told me of her days traveling with the circus and falling in love with the leader of the band who would become my grandfather. I can still smell the perfume she wore and feel the softness of her dress as I cuddled in her lap to hear her tell the tales of her life. She was a gentle soul full of love to give and I drank in every bit I could. She was one hundred and two when she left this world with a house full of her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren by her side. I loved that lady with so much of my heart that I wondered if there would be room enough to love others? I think of her often and see her in my dreams just like she told me she would see me every night she tucked me into bed. Someday we will meet again and walk among the angels, holding hands and telling stories that will never end. Happy birthday Granma

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Author Mike OConnor: Straight razor

Author Mike OConnor: Straight razor:       He stopped shaving for a moment to look at the man in the mirror. He touched his face now so full of wrinkles the razor has a hard ...

Straight razor

     He stopped shaving for a moment to look at the man in the mirror. He touched his face now so full of wrinkles the razor has a hard time trying to find a clean spot to shave. He still used his fathers’ straight razor which he kept after his death. It took some real skill to shave and not slice your throat open with a straight razor. He also had the leather strap for sharpening the long blade which he had hung on a hook decades ago where it remains today. Next to that strap sits a bowl and in it a pair of scissors that his mom used to cut everybody in the family’s hair. She just put the bowl on your head and used the scissors to cut the hair that hung out of the bowl. It’s the way things were done back then when money was very tight, and vanity wasn’t heard of. He recalls getting his first proper haircut when he was eighteen years old and going off to find work in the city. That didn’t work out to well and he came back home to mom and her bowl. As he looked into that mirror with the old man looking back he knew where his heart was, and it wasn’t in no big city. He was a country boy doing country boy things. Can’t count the bales of hay he pitched off the fork or the endless rows of corn he gathered for winter feed. He can’t and probably never will understand why the prettiest gal in town agreed to be his wife, but she did and gave him three children that bore their way into his heart and soul. He wasn’t a very religious man, but he knew God was real and that on more than one occasion he heard him praying for a sick child or a damaged crop. He knew if he lived a good life he would be rewarded that was in cement. He went back to shaving his wrinkled face not caring about the places he missed his grandson would let him know and both would get a good laugh holding onto each other as they headed for the family meal.

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Author Mike OConnor: Aches and pains

Author Mike OConnor: Aches and pains:       He didn’t pay much mind to the aches and stiffness in his tired body, he knew it was coming decades ago. True some of his present co...

Aches and pains

     He didn’t pay much mind to the aches and stiffness in his tired body, he knew it was coming decades ago. True some of his present condition was from hard work always taking on more than he should have. Why carry one log when with a little struggle he could manage three. In his younger days chopping down trees was good exercise, little did he know at the time swinging that ax would take its toll. He smiled as he remembered how he would carry his kids on his shoulders each taking turns until worn out with happiness he had to quit. So many hot summer days of tire swings into the pond doing flips and testing every muscle in your body but always time for just one more. Shoveling snow that had no end until your arms would surely come right out of the sockets, but you kept on because you promised the biggest snow fort on the planet. He never expected he would help carry six coffins in his lifetime the weight of sorrow almost too much to bear. He didn’t pay much mind to all his aches and pains because each one was a memory of the life he lived and the people he loved. "Yep," he said as he slowly got up from his chair knowing in the deepest part of his heart that he would do it all again if given a chance but that's not the way it works is it? "Nope," he said to himself as he flexed his bicep laughing out loud like any old man would. 

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