In honor of Memorial Day 2011, I offer you a poem from my dad’s first book, Irish Coffee…
De Profundis
I was young at Gettysburg,
And though Spring has come and gone a hundred times,
I am not old.
I am still thirst-quenched by Summer’s rain,
and laughter, wind-borne, nourishes me.
Beside me, my Captain sleeps,
and often, in the cool silence of the tombs,
when lilacs bloom, I hear him sigh.
I need no granite monolith,
pillowed in the dust of a century,
to mark my name.
It is graven in the ridge above me,
and in the quiet valley that slopes toward the sea.
Jack Mahoney ©1974
Here’s to my dad, and to all who have fallen in defense of this great nation.
Amen.
Now, on a lighter note…
Jayman and I are doing another award winning installment of I’m With Stupid on Blog Talk Radio for you today at 11 AM EDT.
As you may know…
On our Monday show, we like to just spontaneously jump into the news headlines that are rocking our world.
Today we will be talking about Sarah Palin, Michele Bachmann and the 2012 GOP Presidential Primary field, but mainly we will be making topical jokes about dicks. Y’know…penises, dorks, wanks.
Evidently, one of I’m With Stupid’s fave congressmen, Rep. Anthony Weiner (D-NY) allegedly showed his manhood over the internets recently, and well…we are going to make a thousand and one jokes about it come to his defense.
We want to salvage this man’s good name and be his reputation prophylactic of sorts.
So there you have it.
Join Jayman and me at 11 AM EDT on I’m With Stupid on Blog Talk Radio by clicking HERE. And/or…
You can call us at 661.244.9852
Happy Memorial Day all, and as always…
Cheers!!
It’s going to be some kind of day weather wise on this Sabbath in Bagwine, Ohio.
I say “some kind”, because I haven’t checked the weather forecast. Eh, I’m off anyway so no big deal.
For today’s Sunday Morning Church Disservice, I once again, invoke the soul and the words of my dad…‘cause well, I need them right now…
Why?
Why do you seek to destroy
all that I build,
knowing full well
that time alone
would serve instead,
and once the pillars rot
and the castles fall,
you would not be burdened
with a sense of guilt?
Why do you taunt me
with practical things
nor realize that all dreams
must someday be shattered,
and falling to earth,
awake each man
with the thunder of mediocrity?
Could it be that deep inside
you cannot watch me suffer
the pain of one
who strives for the stars,
and struggles,
day by sad day,
up a ladder without rungs?
Jack Mahoney ©1974
Amen, and Amen…
Off to see Ryno this morning and then after that, who the fuck knows?
Have a wonderful Sunday, all.
Cheers!!
It’s going to be some kind of day weather wise on this Sabbath in Bagwine, Ohio.
I say “some kind”, because I haven’t checked the weather forecast. Eh, I’m off anyway so no big deal.
For today’s Sunday Morning Church Disservice, I once again, invoke the soul and the words of my dad…‘cause well, I need them right now…
Why?
Why do you seek to destroy
all that I build,
knowing full well
that time alone
would serve instead,
and once the pillars rot
and the castles fall,
you would not be burdened
with a sense of guilt?
Why do you taunt me
with practical things
nor realize that all dreams
must someday be shattered,
and falling to earth,
awake each man
with the thunder of mediocrity?
Could it be that deep inside
you cannot watch me suffer
the pain of one
who strives for the stars,
and struggles,
day by sad day,
up a ladder without rungs?
Jack Mahoney ©1974
Amen, and Amen…
Off to see Ryno this morning and then after that, who the fuck knows?
Have a wonderful Sunday, all.
Cheers!!
My dad would have been hitting ninety about now, so that is kinda unreal, but I miss the guy at times. I talk about my mom from time to time but rarely mention my dad.
My dad was great and he had a way with words. He was the stereotypical, smooth talking Irishman...just like the last of his sons.
Here is a poem from his first book, Irish Coffee, entitled Dinner in a New Neighborhood:
On the terrace we waited,
not knowing what to say.
We neck-bowed like penguins
and made guttural sounds
that reverberated in crescendo.
We swept the air with our wings
but obesity rendered us earthbound.
Panic-stricken, we iced our faces,
and grew silent.
Suddenly, our host appeared
and introduced us, each by name
The metamorphosis unmasked us.
Our sounds became words,
and words became sentences.
The wax melted from our arms,
and in earnest jubilation we rushed to clasp the hands
of our neighbors.
black skin,
white skin,
yellow skin,
and red.
brown eyes,
blue eyes,
roast beef,
and bread.
Jack Mahoney (C)1974
Cheers!!
Those in my family take pride in their love of poetry and we all take pride in our ability to be wordsmiths.
But yesterday, I posted a poem titled, “Colors” that I had written back in 1983 and I became a bit alarmed. I could see that from my dad, to me, and now onto my son, Ryan, our poetic ability has actually devolved.
Let me show you…
Here’s a poem that my dad wrote for his second book, Credo.
The Silent Earth
From this silent earth,
I take a handful of dust…
Whose sacred ashes do I hold?
Whose wind-kissed lips are in this mold?
Does Helen’s beauty slumber here,
Beneath the dust of Sappho’s bier?
Are David’s lyric sonnets pressed,
Against Bathsheba’s fertile breast?
My lovely one, we have the key;
the fields of earth are you and me.
A century hence, this dust will bear,
your bright-eyed laughter in the air.
And someone else will lift the sand,
and toast your beauty in his hand.
Embrace this dust, the wind, the sea,
they hold the heartbeats of eternity.
Jack Mahoney ©1981
Ahhhhh, very nicely done, Dad. Let’s see the poetic genes that you passed on to me, shall we?
When I was at Bowling Green State University the campus newspaper did a story on me because I put up all of the poetry I was writing up on my dorm room door. Here’s a couple of examples:
The Sun
The Sun is hot.
Hot, Hot, Hot.
The Sun is yellow.
Yellow, Yellow, Yellow.
Well, not exactly yellow.
The Final Spring Break
The car went down the mountain road
Down the road it sped.
The car went off the mountain pass
Everyone was dead.
Unreelquited Love
The tuna swam for miles
In search of his one true sole mate
He trudged and plodded all the while
For a chance to boink and procreate
He met her at the sandbar
Her eyes and his did lock
But she swished her tail, and turned around
And said, “Sorry Charlie, I have a haddock.”
Matt-Man ©1983
I recently came across a book of poetry that my son Ryno wrote in school when he was 10 years old. Let’s look at his work.
Couplets
I went to a kid and said, “Do you rhyme?”
He said, “Not all the time.”
The kid is a kid named, Dude.
He’s pretty crude.
Practicing Kung Fu---
It makes me have to poo.
Triplets
Indians had a house
They called it a wigwam.
They did not have pom poms.
Haiku
A frog hung on
To a stick in the harbor
As the sun comes up.
Do ya see what I mean? Our poetic gene pool may be wide but it ain’t deep. Oh dear God, what hath been wrought?
You know the saddest thing about all of this is? Both my dad and my son have had books published, and me?
I appeared in the November 8, 1983 issue of the BG News. Life ain’t fair.
Cheers!!
The skies will be gray, wet, and cold on this Sabbath in Bagwine, Ohio. However, I have a new schedule at work and will not be manning the Beer Mine today as usual.
But, in spite of the day off it is not a day to rejoice.
Early Saturday morning, forty-four years to the day on which she gave birth to Schmoop, Schmoop’s mom passed away.
While her passing saddens us all, she now rests in a world of crystal clear clarity, something which she hasn’t had for some time.
So to Schmoop, Dave, Rick, Jeff, Steve, and Schmoop’s sister, may you find comfort in the fact, that good ol’ Patty Ann is roaming above you in high definition and with a smile upon her face.
Maybe this excerpt from a poem my dad wrote over 35 years ago will help…
Her skin was fair like the lily’s bloom,
and her hair was gold from the Nature’s loom.
I yearned to grasp her hands in mine,
but I was bound in forest vine.
As gentle night and morning kissed
she vanished full in swirling mist.
I hope and pray her star will rise
beyond the earth and Heaven’s skies.
I’ll watch it where no mortals weep
when I walk again in the forest deep.
JJM ©1974
Amen, and Amen…
On this day more than usual, I do wish Schmoop's family,
Cheers!!
I have a couple of things on my mind.
First…I was dissed by a long time friend. I was deleted from her life. NO, not physically, but emotionally.
It’s kinda weird because I usually wouldn't give a rat’s ass, but we had been friends for years, and her casting me aside because “it doesn’t look good” sucks. I know…I am using great English today….Fuck it.
It’s absolute bullshit. If this chick has to “hide” me from her man, that is just silly. On her part and on his. We were friends. For a long damn time.
Does anyone get that? I have lots of friends that I used to go out with. Does Schmoop care? And Schmoop? Hell, she's hosed the entire city. Do I care? NO, she knows I love her.
When do people stop being 14 year olds? Oh, I know…they don’t!!
Holy Cow!!
Anyhoo…My brother Vince, found a copy of my dad’s first book. And from this book, Irish Coffee, I give you a poem titled, “Why”.
Why
Why do you seek to destroy
all that I build
knowing full well
that time alone would serve instead.
and once the pillars rot
and the castles fall,
you would not be burdened
with a sense of guilt?
Why do you taunt me
with practical things
nor realize that all dreams
must someday be shattered,
and falling to earth
awake each man
with the thunder of mediocrity?
Could it be that deep inside
you cannot watch me suffer
the pain of one
who strives for stars
and struggles,
day by sad day,
up a ladder without rungs?
Jack Mahoney ©1974
Yeah…my dad had a way with words, and he passed it on. I just hope I don’t let him down.
Working 11-4 so wish me a good day. We’re having some snow, Bitches!!
Cheers!!
And though Spring has come and gone a hundred times,
