Author Mike OConnor: Oceans of peace

Author Mike OConnor: Oceans of peace: Now that I am well into my golden years, my lust for travel has diminished. Some would argue that now is precisely when discovering new pla...

Oceans of peace

Now that I am well into my golden years, my lust for travel has diminished. Some would argue that now is precisely when discovering new places should be tops on my list of things to do, that seeing new places will only broaden my knowledge of the world and all it has to offer. I think that comes with a cost and not monetary.

     Our world is, unfortunately, a dangerous place. The unrest in many parts of the world makes travels a dangerous proposition. Some would also argue that its always been this way, but I’m here to tell you differently. When I was a lad of seventeen, I joined the Navy to see the world. I was stationed onboard a destroyer that embarked on several goodwill missions both in the mighty Atlantic and the Indian ocean as well.

     We made calls on such places as Greece, France, Italy, Portugal, Sierra Leon, Pakistan, and many other ports where we brought aid and help to those in need. We were ambassadors of the united states, and our mission was one of peace and compassion. We rebuilt an orphanage and constructed a water system for an impoverished village somewhere in South Africa. We brought back life to run down hospitals and schools. We shared meals with village people who didn’t speak our language, but their kindness needed no words. Equipped with boxes of chocolate bars for the children, we taught them how to play baseball and football enriching our hearts with each new player.

     We visited places most people have never been to or even heard of back then. Palm, Lemnos Greece, and my favorite, the rock of Gibraltar. We spent a couple of days there at Christmas time. The small town was lit up with colored lights, and every storefront had Christmas displays all hand made and beautiful. And yes, there are wild monkeys on the rock that will snatch a purse and run.

     After leaving a port of call, we would bring back with us a trinket or two and a box full of memories that would last us forever. So in these golden years of mine when the world isn't such a safe place I often times sit down in my back yard, a cold beer in hand and I wait for a memory to pop into my head taking me once again across the oceans to far away places where kindness and compassion were the mission and smiles the payment for the simple things well done. I like to think that so many decades later, those schools are still teaching, and the water is still running. I hope the kids we taught how to hit a ball have taught their kids and grandkids. Somewhere in a remote village in Africa, I left my name carved into a tree that was copied by every villager. I remain a part of that world in some way forever etched into their culture and memories that stretch across the oceans.

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Author Mike OConnor: Lipstick memories

Author Mike OConnor: Lipstick memories:      She held her head high, walking the main street of the city. Her high heeled shoes hurt a bit but so worth the looks she got. She had...

Lipstick memories

     She held her head high, walking the main street of the city. Her high heeled shoes hurt a bit but so worth the looks she got. She had her hair done yesterday up high on her head the color of lilac. She took extra time this morning choosing the dress she would wear something loose and flowing. One of his favorites she remembered.

     Her hand shook a little as she put on her lipstick and a touch of blush on her cheeks. Looking one last time in the mirror, she gathered her umbrella and light sweater heading out the door and beginning the walk into the city. She so enjoyed looking in the store windows especially at the latest fashions that brought a smile as she realized the dress, she was wearing she had bought thirty years ago and was now the height of fashion. Maybe that’s why she got so many smiles?

     Like every trip into the city, she stopped in at the corner diner where they had shared so many moments together drinking chocolate malts with two straws, laughing and planning their life together. They had always sat in the booth closest to the door, and if it were occupied, she would patiently wait until it was empty.

     Making her way to the city square, she stopped for a minute and freshened up her lipstick before taking a seat on the bench in front of the war memorial. The city had built the monument after world war two and on it were the names of those who gave all including her beloved William. They had married just three weeks before he shipped off taking her lipstick kisses with him telling her in the first and only letter that he never washed it off.

    She sat alongside others who had paused for a moment and paid respect to those who never came home. Most had heads bowed saying a prayer and others like herself putting on fresh lipstick and remembering those few happy weeks sharing a chocolate malt.

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Author Mike OConnor: Shadows

Author Mike OConnor: Shadows:      Alone in a candlelit room, the only sound is melting wax. The flickering light casts shadows across the room, his only real company. A...

Shadows

     Alone in a candlelit room, the only sound is melting wax. The flickering light casts shadows across the room, his only real company. A book lay across his lap, reading glasses somewhere between the seat cushions. He isn't asleep, but as close to it as possible. A loud thud brings him back to life as he scans the shadow-filled room for the cause. A gentle breeze had blown into the room curtains reaching out like beckoning hands, knocking over a family portrait that had been displayed there for as long as he could remember. He smiles and closes his eyes as that gentle wind reaches out again and snuffs the candlelight away, leaving him to dream in darkness with his demons dancing around the shadowless room, unseen.

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Author Mike OConnor: Raw Emotions

Author Mike OConnor: Raw Emotions:      As a writer and author, it has always been my dream to share words that leave a lasting impression. Like other tellers of tales, I h...

Raw Emotions

     As a writer and author, it has always been my dream to share words that leave a lasting impression. Like other tellers of tales, I have labored over the keyboard and scraps of old school paper jotting down thoughts and feelings no matter where I may be. True I have deleted or crinkled up in a ball more than I have saved or tucked away in a desk drawer overflowing with my rejects. I have reached so far into my memories that sometimes I fear I may get stuck there forever.

     Writing is more than a passion its an invitation for my readers to become a part of the story by giving feedback, whether good or bad. When someone tells me, the story left them with a roller coaster of emotions, I am filled with joy as I did my job as a storyteller.

     One of the hardest things for me is having to let go of my characters once the piece is completed. It's like closing the chapters of my own life. When I wrote “Raw Emotions” I spent countless hours looking at scraps of paper where I had scribbled down a memory and put it with the hundreds of others, I have written over the past five decades. I think I was a memory hoarder. It was challenging to say the least trying to separate those pieces I wanted to include in the book and putting the rest back in the old cardboard box that lays dormant in a closet.

     This book is I believe a collection of everybody’s memories that needed a jump start. Forgotten times and events that all of us have had but left them to be hidden away and forgotten with time. I hope some of you will read this book, not because I want to be a huge success but rather so you can rekindle old memories and emotions, we all need from time to time. To those of you who have read it, thank you. I hope it brought you a smile, a tear, and maybe even a moment of reflection into the raw emotions of your life.

Mike



Raw Emotions is available at Amazon books as well at iuniverse.com
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Author Mike OConnor: Memorial day

Author Mike OConnor: Memorial day:      I remember names my father told me about when I was growing up. He spoke of John Burley, a private in the united states army. He men...

Memorial day

     I remember names my father told me about when I was growing up. He spoke of John Burley, a private in the united states army. He mentioned the name William Heely a mess cook at Fort Dix New Jersey, and Sargent Mathew Conley a platoon leader in Korea where all those mentioned served their country. My dad sat me on his knee and told me tales of bravery and undying love for this country and how everyday men just like I would become left everything behind them to fight in a war that needed them.

     He told me one of the highest honors was to fight and maybe even die for a country that is by far the greatest country on earth. He had tears in his eyes as he remembered his days at war and the loss of men he respected and grew to care for. He softly told me he hoped I would never have to experience war of any kind, but if I had the desire to serve, then I should do so and with great pride just like he had done for many years.

     We lost a great man when my father passed on, a great soldier and leader who took his men into battle always in front and always remembering those who fell. He served his country for decades and earned the rank of full bird colonel. He had too many medals and accommodations for me to remember, but the thing I remember the most was how he suffered in silence as the demons of war stayed with him until his final breath.

     On this Memorial Day, I honor those who lost their life's in battle, and I honor those who made it home only to keep fighting with their own demons of war. 

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Author Mike OConnor: Everythings a story

Author Mike OConnor: Everythings a story: The day is more than I require to write. Everything around me is begging to be put into a story of some kind. An early morning phone call o...

Everythings a story

The day is more than I require to write. Everything around me is begging to be put into a story of some kind. An early morning phone call or a text with pictures. Watching as a neighbor tries to carry too much to his car and ends up spilling coffee on his suit. A kid running to catch the school bus, his sneaker falling off as he climbed onto the first step. Everything I see or hear brings my imagination to life and ink to paper.

     My dog scratching himself a never-ending event that drives me as crazy as it does him. I can write about that. Getting some sun at the pool, peace, and quiet until grandkids arrive all smiles and sunscreen. I can write about that too. So many hours in a day and so many words to compliment them. Evening and the last ripple in the pool is gone leaving some floaties whirling around in the filter, a couple of noodles left behind.

     The kids are headed home a little sunburned and full of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I take a seat at the keyboard trying to make words. The silence is to me like a drink of whiskey to a drinker. The day has given me inspiration, but my hands only rest on the keyboard, waiting a few minutes for the day to playback. My dog is scratching himself again as I smile and begin to write. 

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Author Mike OConnor: The smell of home

Author Mike OConnor: The smell of home:      The smell of coffee stirred movement from upstairs. That distinct smell that only happens when you go home. Soon the sizzling of bacon...

The smell of home

     The smell of coffee stirred movement from upstairs. That distinct smell that only happens when you go home. Soon the sizzling of bacon starts your stomach churning as you rise out of the bed you slept in growing up. Pots and pans rattle as if meant to be an alarm clock and you smile at the thought. Looking around your old room, you look at the pictures of your past, and a boy’s life spelled out with trophies, ribbons, and a very old catchers mitt that belonged to your grandfather. You rub your hand along the top of your old desk where many model cars were put together, and years of homework was labored over. There was a carved heart with the initials of your first girlfriend, and yours that you remember doing at the age of fourteen.

     The smell of cinnamon buns brings you back to reality as you descend the steps you fell down too many times to remember. Stopping at the foot of those stairs, you look into the kitchen where your mom is putting the finishing touches on a breakfast fit for a king. She doesn't move as quickly as she once did, but she gets things done and is so very happy to do so. She smiles as you enter the kitchen, telling you to sit as she begins to pile food on your plate, leaving no room for a single thing more. After pouring both of you a cup of coffee, she sits and watches you eat, asking every few minutes if she can get you anything else?

     You know your visits are nearing an end and the house you called home for so long will soon be filled with the voices of a new family beginning their lives in their first home. Mom will be moving into a place where people her age share memories and show pictures of a full life with the ones they loved the most. She decided to move there even though I begged her to come home with me. She smiled and told me no. She wanted to rest now, giving away her pots and pans and keeping only her most treasured possessions, all of which were tucked away neatly into a small steamer trunk that sat by the front door.

     The day arrived that I would drive her to the place she would call home. Before leaving, she took a walk around her yard, stopping to smell the flowers and relive the hundreds of memories that filled her heart. I joined her after a while, asking her once again to come home with me, and she said no. The moving van pulled up, followed by a minivan. The new owners of her house had arrived. She greeted them and told the children there was a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the kitchen counter. Sending them running into their new life. She gave the young couple the keys and wished them nothing but happiness. Then looking one more time at her home, she got into my car and wiped away a tear.

     I visit her often and wonder if she’s happy? She says she is as she shows me art projects she’s working on and a sweater she’s knitting for her neighbor who is always complaining of being cold. We walk the grounds where she stops and smells the flowers holding my arm for balance. It’s about dinner time, and the smell from the kitchen makes her shake her head and mumble something I couldn't quite make out, but I imagine she was saying something about the lack of ingredients. She said she was tired, so we went back to her room where the steamer trunk was open, her memories waiting for her and my heart broke a little more.

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Author Mike OConnor: Time travel

Author Mike OConnor: Time travel:       There’s this place I go in my mind that’s briefly a split second of recognition. It’s a moment in time but not this time, but rather ...

Time travel

     There’s this place I go in my mind that’s briefly a split second of recognition. It’s a moment in time but not this time, but rather mini clips of an event from decades back when I wasn’t even born, yet I was there looking on captured in that exact moment that somehow comes back to my memory like a tease. Could I have been there? I’m not sleeping when these events happen, but I do stop in my tracks for that few seconds as if feeling the time travel

     Who is to say what the mind is capable of? Or maybe we use a small section of our minds to allow us to go anywhere that somehow left an impression so strong we chose to revisit it in living color. I have snippets of familiarity that are as real as the present, vivid, and with movement. Like the time I stood on the running board of a 1932 Packard as it raced through the main street of Chicago. I was firing a Tommy gun at the car chasing me. I wore a dark topcoat and a fedora on my head. There were gold cufflinks on my shirt and my shoes shined like moonlight. The sounds of tires screeching as the Packard tried to lose the cops behind us. All very real, very vivid, very much a part of a life I may have lived back in time.

     Who is to say it couldn't be true? What if life is a series of reruns that we play out during brief moments when we stop for that few seconds, and the present becomes stalled, allowing for a scene from your own movies? The movies of your complete life.

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Author Mike OConnor: Broken

Author Mike OConnor: Broken:       For decades we think we are invincible. We live on the edge, not giving a thought to tomorrow and what it really means. Life is a gam...

Broken

     For decades we think we are invincible. We live on the edge, not giving a thought to tomorrow and what it really means. Life is a game we play believing there will always be time to make more money, save some money, and live a comfortable life in our golden years. We party like animals, abuse our bodies and our minds with moments that mean nothing in the long run. We call drinking buddies friends but forget their names after we sober up. We give only what we must give in our careers thinking we are too valuable and could never be replaced. Until we are.

     We continue down this path until something clicks in our brain, and we wake up one morning with no real friends as they parted ways when they realized all we were was somebody to get wasted with. We look around a messy room in a low rent building where cry’s in the night are common, and others like yourself blame everything and everyone for their bad luck. Now is the time for a change you tell yourself as you drain the last swallow from a bottle of gin.

     You wander the streets looking for old drinking buddies who stand at the front doors of bars that open early, their bodies shaking in need of a drink. “help me out” you tell themJust a couple of bucks so you can function. They don't know you, but they did when you had money. You search the dumpsters in the back ally finding last swallows in several bottles, and your itch is temporally scratched. A piece of broken mirror shows you what you now are, and you smash it with an empty bottle walking out of the ally towards a brighter day. Well, that's what you tell yourself because who knows you better than you?

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Author Mike OConnor: Dry dirt road

Author Mike OConnor: Dry dirt road:      Dust from the dry dirt road wrapped around his ankles as he kicked a can all the way from where the school bus dropped him, to the sma...

Dry dirt road

     Dust from the dry dirt road wrapped around his ankles as he kicked a can all the way from where the school bus dropped him, to the small country house he called home. He counted the times he kicked that can, each day getting a little better and with more distance. Between kicks, he listened to the sounds around him, birds singing and insects buzzing. He looked at the fields on either side of the road, and somedays saw his dad plowing. He would jump up and down waving his arms, but only sometimes did he wave back.

     When he had graduated from high school, he was called to wear the uniform of a United States Marine. He missed his walks down the old country road and thought about it a lot, bringing him a sort of peace in a not so peaceful place. A bullet found him, and as he lied on the dry dirt road, his life seeping into the earth, he closed his eyes and imagined kicking that old tin can. He saw his dad on the tractor and waved. This time he waved back

     The Greyhound bus stopped at the foot of the dry dirt road. A young man stepped off and started the slow walk to that little country house. He kicked a can that went into the field, so he concentrated on the songs of the birds and the buzzing of insects. He watched as his shined boots became dusty and his steps became labor. He heard the sound of his dad’s tractor growing closer and closer until the red metal nose poked out of the field and stopped just a few feet away.

They didn't speak too much on the ride to the house. Some things just don't need saying. “Crops looking good this year” “Yep” “Something sure smells good” “Your mothers been cooking all week” “Going to need your help around here” A light rain began to fall, and the dusty road was just a memory. At least for a little while.

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Author Mike OConnor: The storm

Author Mike OConnor: The storm:      The sky was in turmoil, clouds building and racing in a direction only they could predict. The storm sirens were blaring as people ran...

The storm

     The sky was in turmoil, clouds building and racing in a direction only they could predict. The storm sirens were blaring as people ran outside to take laundry off the line and bring back trash cans. Stray cats sought shelter under trailers whose very existence was now in question. Birds still chirped, cars still passed by and lunch was even being served at the senior center. No one paid much attention to the television on the wall telling people to get off the roads and stay indoors.

     At mid-day the darkness covered everything, and bolts delivered straight from the heavens sought out their targets of destruction. Then the darkness was joined by rain that blanketed everything as far as the eyes could see. The pounding water destroyed dams and levees rushing down streets taking everything in its way. Cars became floating four-wheel boats and tree limbs rushed by a few carrying dogs and cats that couldn’t find shelter.

     It ended quickly but not before the landscape was changed. The general store was gone somewhere down the river I suppose. Houses are broken and scattered about like fallen stick soldiers in a toy war. The sun broke through and the darkness lifted. People came out of their shelters and emerged cautiously listening for the crack/pop of fallen wires. Neighbors helped neighbors; the cries of names being shouted heard throughout the town. Rescue workers showed up in boats and other vehicles assisting those who couldn't help themselves.

     I sat on my front porch a day later, drinking a cold beer. It has been thirty-six hours since darkness came to visit. I was exhausted but couldn’t rest for long as people’s names were still being shouted. The dogs were brought in to search, and every able-bodied man and woman rushed to find someone, anyone, alive beneath the rubble. I took one last swallow as thunder began to rumble in the distance and thought to myself, time wasn't playing nice. 

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Author Mike OConnor: Mothers love

Author Mike OConnor: Mothers love: She fell in love with you from the moment your eyes met. She held you with such feeling that you remember it decades later. She taught yo...

Mothers love

She fell in love with you from the moment your eyes met. She held you with such feeling that you remember it decades later. She taught you how to speak with patience; only a mother could have. She let you learn by yourself how to eat with your chubby little hands never caring that most of it ended up on everything within a five-foot area. She read to you and opened your little mind to beautiful places, often having to read it over and over until one day you were reading with her. You missed a few words, but the stories were planted forever in your heart.

     She let you climb in bed with her when your belly ached and nursed you back to good health more times than you can remember. Your favorite thing in the whole world was laying beside her as she stroked your hair and sang you a soothing melody that you sang to your own children. She waited with you for the school bus telling you to be a big boy or girl, to eat your favorite sandwich and mind your manners. She said she would be right here waiting for you when school was over. Every day for several years she was there to hug goodbye and hello.

     She hurt a little when you grew up and rode your bike to school like the other big kids. She still saw you off in the morning and waited without showing how glad she was when she heard you drop your bike in the front lawn running inside asking for a snack. She helped you with homework and science projects. She pushed you to study hard and go to college but realized one day you had a plan of your own.

     She cried the day you put on the uniform of a marine, but her tears were of pride, not sorrow. You did your time and wrote to her often at first, but the letters and phone calls all but ended when you met someone and fell in love. You have a life now a family, career and many memories of the lady who nurtured you from a tiny sapling to the person you are today. Tomorrow is Mother's Day, and you will pile your family into the car and drive the few hundred miles back to your youth. She will be looking out the kitchen window remembering well the sound of your bike hitting the lawn. A smile forms on her face as she sees you pull into the driveway and she is overcome with love and happiness. Her baby is home. With babies of his own.

     Happy Mother’s Day to every mom out there who left us with memories that are for all eternity

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Author Mike OConnor: First love

Author Mike OConnor: First love:       Her scent appeared after forty years of missing her. It lingered for a moment and took me back in time when all we knew about love wa...

First love

     Her scent appeared after forty years of missing her. It lingered for a moment and took me back in time when all we knew about love was discovered together. She was my first love and I hers. It was a magical time of my life exploring all the beauty she possessed. I can hear her laugh, feel her soft lips and smell her scent that has escaped me for so long.

     I wondered at that moment if she was here? Had she come to me for a reason? I closed my eyes and let that unique scent take me away to times past when we swore nothing would ever come between us. But death did. I mourned her for many years, but I knew in my heart that the time would come when it was meant to come, and we would once again be together.

     The scent is gone now, and my memories of her will climb back into my mind. I will look at her picture for a while longer tonight, her beautiful smile looking back at me like it has for the past forty years. I softly kiss the glass of the picture frame where countless kisses have gone before, and countless more will follow. Good night my love and thanks for this time spent together.

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Author Mike OConnor: Racing heart

Author Mike OConnor: Racing heart:      My racing heart is proof enough that love can come to you more than once. The mere touch of your hand or the taste of your lips weake...

Racing heart

     My racing heart is proof enough that love can come to you more than once. The mere touch of your hand or the taste of your lips weakens my legs and takes me to a place that has remained vacant for a very long time. My life has always had a purpose but also lacking something that you filled with your love.

     The ways of love are timeless and with age grow just as they did the first time. The lovemaking is slower and with a tenderness that was taught and learned. A love that goes past the bedroom and into every day that is shared.

     As we grow old, I will look into your eyes and not just your body. I will hold you until sleep takes over and when the sun rises, I will whisper my love to you with a racing heart that proves love can come to you more than once.

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Author Mike OConnor: Until next time

Author Mike OConnor: Until next time:       Small bags of memories ride in the back seat as the sunshine state slowly disappears making way to hopes for springtime splendor. Y...

Until next time

     Small bags of memories ride in the back seat as the sunshine state slowly disappears making way to hopes for springtime splendor. Your skin is browned, not to well done and you're hoping it won't fade until you proudly show it off to your bleached white friends. A week in the sun, surf and lazy days that define vacations. A' visit for a few hours with a long-distance family that is never long enough but always enjoyed.

     Florida has its perks designed mostly for travelers with cruise ships and themed bars. Seafood restaurants and shops full of Florida treasures. But for some the real treasures are the countless walks on the sandy beaches hoping to find that perfect shell or sea glass. It’s the smell of the sea and the crashing waves that lull you to sleep. It’s the wildlife that visits you for scraps of food and the thrill of seeing a shark or dolphin up close and very personal.

     The mountains take the place of palm trees and surf, and you awe at the beauty of where you call home. The memories are captured with many clicks, and social media allowed friends and family to be right there with you. Nothing but the traveled road behind you now and anticipation of sleeping in your own bed tonight just a few miles ahead. You will unpack the car tomorrow but take the small bag of treasures inside with you where you will empty it and begin to smile as you remember the sounds, smells and good times that must last until you meet again. 

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