How tired he is Minding children that are not his own
And his as well
Clearly he loves her as he admires the great mother she is
Yet he yearns for ‘quality time’ with her
Beer has loosened his tongue
He tells them way more than he should
More than anything he longs to be heard
He pours it all out
His loneliness screams
Not doubting his goodness I see his prison
Choice yes, and perhaps he would choose no other
He will be rough enough in seeking some respite from the pain
That is going nowhere



I am fifty-six years old today
Happy, healthy and burdened
The past, its legacy and yes
The physical struggle

I had no expectation about you today
Yet I should have no surprise
At your arrival
Clock in hand, handbag and drink for bed,
The bed I was on began to change
Clatter and swoosh

Is this a collapse or take off
A folding up or expansion
And then I saw you

Then I caught you
Peeking from round the changing wood
And the laughs

Yes the laughs
The laughs of you
Deep and shaking

Gradually I woke
Shaking and deep
The laughs of me

Yes the laughs of me
What the hell are you laughing at Ma?
My going, my coming
My coming, to you. Home


NOTE: Many of you know that I dabble a little in creative writing and poetry. I have explained that whilst the ‘poems’ do not deserve the term poetry I prefer to playfully call them ‘joems’, that is, poems written by Joe. My general feeling is that they do not belong in a parish newsletter. However, by way of exception, I have decided to include these two examples because of the subject matter, namely grief/loss and relationship strain.

1 Comment

Brendan · 01/02/2018 at 23:08

Joe your last poem is really beautiful. Keep up the writing

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