Irish Soup

Poems-Art Work-Short Stories-notes-Ramblings

Home is not just about where we are born, or where we grew up, fell in love. not just where our hearts are. It is where we'll die and be buried. It is the centre of gravity, heart and soul beginning and end. It is the ones we love, the ones who love us. The ones who will never leave us, and maybe, just maybe will say a good word about us when we're gone.

Saudade (portugese):ie a strong feeling of missing someone you love. "you bury[?] me"

Last semester of college and I love intermediate algebra I promise I will never use any of this [smiley emoticon]

The gift of your heart makes my world go round [heart drawings/infinity sign]

I know my brothers Jamie and Jim are fighting over something dumb by now [smiley emoticon]they both like a good fight, I miss you both,

Hi Jimmy read the to your Grandma for me. I love you Aunt Alice and I think about you everyday.

I've often wondered if anyone ever gets my letters or if I just forgot to address them-sometimes[?]

The overcrowded prison problem calls for an [illegible] strength.

There are days where words flow like wine from as barrel- then there are days like today when the cork is in the bottle and all the words are lost.

Baby sis when I don't hear from you I worry, address [underlined]

Not long ago I was only a small child chasing butterflies, now I am an old man with butterflies in my stomach.

Steve Burchetl was a young poet singing his way to the Hasben dump- he grew old on his trip so he was left there with all the other disbands. That's the way I feel right now.

The requirements to make any relationships work is just to keep putting it out there. My love is forever. You are my heart. I could sure use a hug right about now [eye/heart/u/~/infinity doodles]

You can leave a comment anywhere among my writings blog- it would be nice to hear from someone so I would at least know the blog is still up and running.