It’s Elementary Really (a particle physics haiku)

Baryon, Meson
they both like to carryon

with their good chum, Quark.

© Michael Joseph Donnelly 2016

Jameson’s Gold Label

Jameson’s gold label is what I sip

When relaxing at the end of my day,
It is precious nectar, worth every drip,
Pure magnificence, the best I dare say. 

The way it shines like sunlight liquefied

Brings a smile as I dispense two fingers, 

And in focused manner most dignified; 

This perfection on my tongue, it lingers. 

Deeply breathing in I savor the taste,

And imagine the first batch that was brewed 

By an ardent man with mind truly graced; 

I would love to shake the hand of that dude. 

To those who enjoy good whiskey I say:
“Jameson’s Gold Label, try it today.”

© Michael Joseph Donnelly 2016

Heartbreak At Last Call

A bartender listens with false concern
As a jukebox and jilted young man cry,
“Yeah, sometimes truth can be hard to discern
Even though it looks you dead in the eye. ”

“When the heart takes over then it’s too late,
You’re committed, like you’ve jumped from a plane,
You hope for the best, but it’s up to fate,
As all these thoughts start to race through your brain. ”

The bartender nodded then yelled, “Last call!”
And patrons responded like thirsty sheep,
The dejected young man began to scrawl,
As someone with a broom, began to sweep.

“I don’t know if love’s real anymore,
It’s failed me so much; I’ve quit keeping score. ”

© Michael Joseph Donnelly 2016

Like Wind, I Know Not From Where the Words Start

Many years ago, a strong hunger stirred
Like romance in young hearts, I was smitten,
I was deeply drawn to arranging word,
By the poetic bug I was bitten.

At first I did struggle with temper high!
Frustrated because I just could not grasp,
At times I would cry, ‘why can’t I, God why?’
And so I prayed, and my hands I did clasp.

So the Holy Spirit became my muse,
Through whispered appeals it now guides my hand,
I no longer have the writer’s block blues,
And my inspiration; is divinely grand.

Like wind, I know not from where the words start,
Only that they now, are sown in my heart.

Copyright Michael J. Donnelly 2016

Love Is a Flame Burning Long In the Dark.

The tenderness we share is wholly true, 

Nowise have the years sullied how I feel

Despite the trials that we have been through, 

I yet possess that original zeal.

There are many things that money can buy, 

Worthless belongings that soon fade away

But priceless is love twinkling in an eye, 

As well, said love, which will never betray.

I live for the moments to hear your sigh, 

When our souls meld and the passion burns bright, 

And I have never felt a higher high; 

You are the muse that inspires me to write.

A soul’s hungry yearning is the great spark, 

Love is a flame, burning long in the dark.

Michael J. Donnelly ©2016

The Deathbed Confession

The monitor chirped an eerie refrain,
Echoing through the dim hospital room,
There was a morphine drip to dull the pain
Of an impending insidious doom.

An elderly man tried to stay awake
Desperately wanting to cling to life,
In his hand he held a precious keepsake;
Rosary beads from his now long dead wife.

He contemplated his life full of sin
As he sensed that his time was drawing near,
The foul things he’d done, the places he’d been,
He dreaded the end with a guilty fear.

He believed in God, but was never close
Not like his wife who had passed long ago,
As the morphine pump gave another dose,
He felt his troubled spirit sinking low.

Everyone he called family or friend
Turned their backs because of his Godless ways,
He was truly alone facing the end,
He wished he could right the wrongs of his days.

The old man recalled what his wife once said,
“You’re never alone, God is always there,”
But he feared the end with terrible dread,
Lying there alone with no one to care.

So with little remaining strength he had
He lifted his shaking hands and did pray,
“Please forgive me God for a life lived bad,
For all of the sin, for years thrown away.”

“I believe that you Jesus, died for me,
That you are the true living Son of God,
I give you my heart and honestly plea
For your forgiveness and approving nod.”

Closing tear-filled eyes he let out a breath,
He reached for the light and began to cry,
Assured of forgiveness he welcomed death;
As he journeyed to the sweet by and by.

Copyright Michael J. Donnelly 2016

Between Golden Poppy Dawns And Rose Blushed Sunsets

I will interpret runes of my soul
in worsted wool, curling the ends
of bristled grayed mustache, I will
fight the ache of bones and blur
of ravaged corneas to spite years.

Wrinkles will feel like canyons
and lesser ravines as tears slide,
trickling to corners of my mouth,
salty taste will tease my dry lips,
muse will whisper, “let us write.”

Between stanzas, I will pause to
breathe in and out, with a moan
enough to oscillate vocal cords,
lung’s fog will veil gifted day,
icy November will coax a poem.

And I will pen what spirit yields,
I will reckon a life’s summation,
a heart’s soliloquy gently shared
with only furtive winds to hear,
as trembling lips, mouth cantos.

Copyright Michael J. Donnelly 2016

Aurora’s Gleam: an epic poem

I. A Legend is Born

“A warrior’s worst enemy is fear
Giving great credence to knowing one’s foe,
Keeping a sharp eye with equal keen ear
Means the difference tween glory and woe.”

In a time long ago when air was pure
And the earth readily gave much reward,
There was a land, mysterious with lure
With forests, high mountains and deepest fjord.

And on the edge of a dark forest vast,
Lived a small group of farmers and vendor
Happy to serve all wayfarers who passed,
They were simple folk happy to render.

The legend goes that on a rainy night
At an inn, dark travelers drank their fill,
Killing the owner, murdering with spite,
Seems, these monsters simply killed for a thrill.

But there was a small boy, who did survive,
Under the body of his brave father,
Missed by the murderers, he was alive,
Protected from the evil men’s slaughter.

This horrendous night stayed in the boy’s mind
For all of his troubled formative years,
And so many times he swore he would find
And kill these animals, plaguing with fears.

The boy became man called, “Michael the Just,”
Growing strong and impressive in stature
And for his features, the women did lust,
But never this man’s heart did they capture.

He swore to devote his whole life to fight
Injustice, as mercenary for hire,
For pieces of gold he met any plight,
With a valiant heart and soul full of fire!

Clad in garments made from finest leather
Of a ferocious mystical Greek bull,
Shielded from most all weapons and weather,
He was a great fighter vital and full!

His sword, ‘Aurora’ an enchanted blade
Created by Celtic mystics with care,
Painstakingly forged, in secret was made,
One thousand times folded blest with their prayer.

Upon a steed more than twenty hands high!
He rode swiftly with much pride and glory,
His legend of prowess, none could deny!
Thus began, this adventurous story.


II. First Blood

It was on the Great Plains known as ‘Teufhar,’
Michael and his steed, Quake were first tested
As they met two men each toting a jar,
Complaining of kin and wealth divested.

For there was a dark Lord who had indeed
Forced this man, and his clan into labor,
He and his son carried two pots of mead,
For a drunken gluttonous Lord’s savor.

To the man’s estate Michael and Quake rode,
With large pots of mead they did swiftly ride,
And two grateful men, with much lighter load,
Would very soon regain their hard-earned pride.

Michael and Quake stood before a large gate
Of the old man’s proud sumptuous abode,
And with a booming voice he did berate,
Busting in door and in their midst he strode!

The enemy, drunk was caught by surprise,
They knew not what to make of this great brute!
Although, the dark Lord did keenly surmise
As, he pondered with a brain most astute.

But this was not a peaceful parley, no,
As Michael bellowed, “Be gone you foul thieves!”
And Aurora gave off a bright red glow,
As the blade began to cruelly cleave!


III. Aurora’s Telling Light

With dried pork and a goat-skin flask of wine
And a large bag of oats for Quake as well,
Michael’s brave countenance did indeed shine
Knowing he sent that dark Lord straight to hell.

Off they rode as the old man bid farewell,
Thanking him for a courageous, kind deed,
Ever they’d recall and this story tell,
Of a brave man, his sword and mighty steed.

The two set off across fertile expanse
To pursue further challenge and crusades,
Eager to quell all evil circumstance
With strength, priests blessings and enchanted blade!

Seven days they traveled, camping each night
Under myriads of bright stars that shone,
Dreaming of adventure or perhaps fight,
As vast country they did leisurely roam.

Till they happened upon stone monoliths,
With odd symbols quite foreign and arcane,
They looked to be story in chiseled glyphs,
Strange to Michael, they held evil and pain!

Michael caressed one of the dusty stones,
Then heard a sound like a great ringing bell!
And voices of many dead souls with moans,
As sunny midday became black as hell!

Quake, instantly drew closer to defend,
Then whinnied and stomped at the cold dead ground
As, a fiery portal blazed and opened,
Displaying a spirit disturbed and crowned!

This soul, distressed did fervently implore,
As if to ask in a blood-curdling scream,
“Please, release us from torture we abhor,
And we will give you anything you dream!”

Just then, Aurora glowed red and rang out!
In its sheath that hung long Michael’s left thigh,
Drawing the blade quickly, Michael did shout,
“Foul evil I am aware of your lie!

Michael stepped back as Aurora changed glow,
This time, as bright as white beacon at night,
Aurora had told him, it’s time to go,
So mounting Quake, he rode off in bright light!

Later that eve, miles away by a fire,
Michael and Quake ate and tried to make sense
Of the day’s kerfuffle, that was quite dire,
Musing and just glad that it was all hence.


IV. The Elf Alliance

“While one may stand for a brief time and fight,
Many can fend for much longer with might!”

They finally crossed the great open plain,
Standing before hills, great mountains yet shown,
A distant thunder signaled coming rain,
He leaned and caressed Quake’s fine coat of roan.

Towards the verdant foothills and mountains high
They set adventurous wandering sight,
But first they would rest weary souls with sigh,
Relaxed for one very well deserved night.

And as the morning broke, they rode due west
With the bright sunrise squarely at their back,
With a warm embrace and a renewed zest,
Their thrill-seeking spirits were right on track.

As they rode through hills of purple heather,
They met a caravan on the same road,
Wagons decked out in fine wood and leather,
Olive-skinned men with raven hair that flowed.

To his surprise, in a blink of an eye!
Seven swift horses with riders appeared,
They were, Elven warriors swift and spry,
Michael had heard of these beings revered.

They kept a short distance with their bows drawn,
Peering intently at Michael and Quake,
Looking him over, they noticed his brawn,
Tense was the moment, no chance would they take.

Then, Aurora, Michael’s enchanted blade,
Started humming with a most brilliant glow,
With golden aura the weapon conveyed,
They could be trusted, and were not a foe.

As Michael raised his right hand to his heart,
To give clear signal that he meant no harm,
A regal voice from ornate covered cart,
Signaled the men with a feminine charm.

From the carriage a stunning woman stepped,
And at first, Michael thought she was a teen,
She looked so young, yet refined and well kept,
Her name was, Amera, an Elven Queen.

Queen Amera bid that Michael would pause,
As she sensed he was a man of renown,
She also felt he was strong, with few flaws,
A trustworthy ally to have around.

Michael accepted, and first meal they ate,
Poached quail eggs and a, sweet Revindale bread
Served on a gleaming gold and crystal plate,
For Michael, this breakfast was quite a spread.

For what seemed hours, Michael and the Queen talked,
About a Queen’s needs and how he may aid,
Through a field of purple heather they walked,
Michael sensed real work, and gold to be paid.

Michael was paid a, retainer of sorts,
Should Queen Amera have need of his craft,
A silver necklace with clear piece of quartz,
At its center, was a pulsing bright shaft.

Michael agreed sensing duty and wealth,
Then bid Queen Amera respectful leave,
And she in turn, gave blessing to their health,
Quake bid her the same with neigh and hoof heave.

Copyright Michael J. Donnelly 2016

The Old Poet In The Park

In a city park, an elderly man in a navy blue worsted wool coat and scarf, breathed a warm breath into winter air as he sat motionless on a bench. With silvery hair and thick eyebrows, he lo…

Source: The Old Poet In The Park

Beyond Sentience

It pleases me to please you,
to hear your utterings that only
angels understand and
I marvel at the gossamer
golden line between
pain and pleasure…

what are you reaching for in thin air?
at arm’s reach, in that miraculous,
near breathless instant when;
you speak in tongues.

Copyright Michael J. Donnelly 2016

Sometimes, the Solitude Answers

I inquire to the gaunt trees,
“What is your musing
in the deepest winter?”
“A song for hope, a dream of spring’s
waking caress,”
is a lone sparrow’s reply.

Copyright Michael J. Donnelly 2016

Something That Never Goes Without Saying

On a daily basis a dozen times,
I repeat a phrase that bolsters my soul,
Often in a way that gleefully chimes
And without these words, I would not feel whole.

I can remember when I did not know,
How very vital this saying could be,
Not only its meaning, but how to show,
Became a great epiphany to me.

Divine intervention softened my shell,
Yes, eventually I saw the light,
On three simple words I began to dwell
And saying them often just seemed so right.

Granted they are uttered to just a few,
I never neglect the words, “I love you.”

Copyright Michael J Donnelly 2016