Life

I stand on the bridge that spans the chasm between who I was; and

That which I am yet to be

I hear the echoes of the past and the whispers from the future

Distracting me

Shaking off the siren’s song of that which was and that which may never be

I stand on unsteady legs and take the next step in my journey

Just trying to keep pace with the now

Posted in Barbara Mulvey-Welsh, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Conversations

I hear your messages, loud and clear

Still though I don’t heed them all

Some things it seems will never change

Don’t stop trying though

It’s good to know I’m not alone

Cardinals and pennies and whispers and feathers

Some people think I’m crazy, but that don’t make me wrong

Keep on talking maybe someday they’ll hear you too

Posted in Barbara Mulvey-Welsh, Poetry | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Out of time

In the quiet moments as I slowly wake
I’m aware of a sound that plays faintly
On the doorstep of my consciousness

Straining I struggle; and
I hear the clock underneath us all
Tick tock it slowly mocks
Time is winding down

I feel the fear of lives unlived lingering in the core of me
Gnawing and grasping it grows larger
As the moments of my life pass into memory

Straining I struggle; and
I hear the clock underneath us all
Tick tock it slowly mocks
Time is winding down

The echoes of my past get caught in my throat and
I choke on the fragments of prior misery
Wondering if I’ll ever learn

Straining I struggle; and
I hear the clock underneath us all
Tick tock it slowly mocks
Time is winding down

I fear the time that the clock will stop
and I run out of time

Posted in Barbara Mulvey-Welsh, Poetry | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Nightfall 

Charcoal clouds paint the sky; as

Dusk saunters in to claim victory; and

Daylight slowly cedes to its inevitable demise  

Posted in Barbara Mulvey-Welsh, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

jaune

It is the smell of summer rain
that lingers even in winters’ darkest days
warm and cool and laced with summers fragrant blooms
of honeysuckle and lilac and sandy days
steeped in the warming rays of late afternoon sun

It is the setting sun and lightening bugs
the chill of lemonade on a hot summer day
bees and butterflies dancing on the breeze

It is carefree days and the smell of shade
the moment just before a thunderstorm
crisp and clear and filled with promise

It is the color of dusk expanding across the sky
painting the end of another perfect day

Posted in Barbara Mulvey-Welsh, Poetry | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Walking

I saw a man today. He was walking in tandem with the bus I was on.  His collar was pulled against the onslaught of the rain. He leaned slightly into the wind trying to find the sweet spot between being blown over and falling down.

He reminded me of my cousin, Stevie. But it wasn’t because Steven is dead. Sacrificed to the gods of poverty and poor decisions. The drugs and drink of his youth replaced by the health problems that would take him far too young. 

This man — this random stranger — huddled against the cold spring rain made me miss the man Stevie could have been had he made different choices.

So many people I have known are gone. Irretrievably gone and I ache so much for their might-have-beens. For the futures they never had. The love they never shared. The tears they never wept. 

Mostly I weep for the people they should have been. 

Posted in Barbara Mulvey-Welsh, Poetry | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Razor’s Edge

Dancing on the razor’s edge I lost my balance
and hit my head
I slit my throat on the way back up
and choked on the blood of not good enough

Jack and Jill went up the hill
and now the baby’s hungry
Jack mumbled something about loving and forever
Before he stumbled and took a tumble
Jill got stuck with the bill

Like a knick-knack paddy whack, Jack’s a fucking bitch
and the next generation gets born into the void
Crying and lying and wondering why
Not enough love and too little hate
Indifference is the cruelest fate

You don’t cast a shadow if you don’t exist
No one missed what they’ve never known
Mary had a little lamb
It’s fleece the color of the finest ho
She learned fast and she learned early
Hey, diddle diddle ain’t a nursery rhyme

Running away from her step-dad’s folly
she found a friend that she calls Molly
It turned her out and didn’t look back

Life comes hard and life comes fast
Living on the razor’s edge
A thousand tiny cuts bleed you dry
and you don’t have the strength to cry
Before you live, you’ve already died

Posted in Barbara Mulvey-Welsh, Poetry | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment