Skip to main content

My Creed

My Creed
Will Maguire
copyright@2019

I don't believe in peddle cars, or air bnbs or songs that sour like milk in a week.

I don't believe in taking two parking spaces cause your mercedes wannabe still has no door dings.

Air conditioning makes me choke...roll down your windows. You're not a rib eye steak waiting out the heat in some refrigerator aisle.

I do believe in that first sip of Friday beer and the kind of song that makes you ache. Cause good and bad both burn.

I believe in the kind of love you dont get to choose, the kind that leaves a bruise but sweeps down on you like the wind.

Its more show than tell
Can't be heard...too big for words

The kind that makes my heart ring 
like a cracked church bell. 

I believe luck always looks a lot like sweat. And you havent lived until you learn to carry your regret.

I don't believe in wearing American flag shirts or pants. But I believe in old men with bad knees, hands on hearts full of jagged memories.

And I think the only tattoos worth having are on the inside, where only you can feel them.

I believe in yessir maam 
And thank you please. 
And I think the best women feel like strong coffee and weak knees. 

I believe most things will ...or they won't. 
I believe in living like love matters 
But the heartache don't.

And I believe every loss 
I've ever suffered thru 
Will someday... somehow make me true

I believe in Can't Say Whys 
And One More Tries but acting like I'll understand before I'm done

And I believe in God...

But old dogs still die too young.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Mother's Day

Mother's Day The last time my mother knew me was a few years ago on Mother's Day. She had started forgetting and remembering in the wrong order. Forgetting the things around her, remembering the distant past...like Time was suddenly dyslexic. They had her in this hospital ward for the elderly on some back street off the main drag called Memory Lane Memory Lane would be funny if it wasn’t so cruel. Sometimes living's the same way. She kept asking for a mirror but didn't recognize herself anymore. She was 17 again but trapped in an 80 year old body. A young girl staring in disbelief at the person she would become. She didn’t know her husband or daughters or sons anymore. Some days she thought I was her long dead uncle or her brother. And near the end she thought I was her father. She pleaded with me again and again to let her see that Irish boy that was just back from the war, the one that got shot in the head and survived and kept knocking on the door...

River Girls

He was a broker, a money guy, and like all money guys he never seemed to quite add up. He was getting in from an office Christmas party just as I was heading out. He had some secretary marching unsteadily on high heels in front of him as we passed on the stairs. There is an army of girls that come from Brooklyn and Bayonne to the city for their first real jobs. They become executive assistants, which means they answer phones, smile till their jaws hurt and grind their teeth at night with worry that they don't belong, and never will, on this side of the river. Inevitably they become entranced by some unhappily married guy. The “she doesn’t understand me” guys that fill every office in every high rise on the island. The girls tell themselves a man’s lingering presence means 'I need you' or 'only you can save me.' It doesn’t of course. It means I’m tired of the boss and the bills and the wife.Or I’m tired of the harangue of living. It means I’m tired of the way...