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 Contemporary poetry by Dan Donlan

LIFE AFTER DEATH

I saw the light leading to Eternity
Felt the warmth an orange-red glow
A hand touched inside of me
Voices: "Come with us it's time to go!"
A white lighted tunnel
And there were Angels there
Pleading words: "Come with us who care!"
And I followed my soul
Left my lifeless body far below
Mom was sitting and I felt Jesus
The littlest Angel was at her side
If not tempted would be that I lied
For there were apparitions floating near
and comforted I felt no fear
Far below I could see my unmoving body
Holding me the one I loved did appear
Mortal indecision things not so clear
My soul screamed the words, "But wait!"
and to return within the white light too late.

THE LITTIEST ANGEL


I was ten the first time I saw the littlest Angel she was five.
My drunken Father had for a time taken a cure. It was part
of his promise to be named in his families estate. We owned a car for the first time.
Our transportation had been a ten ton coal truck left over from the only
time he ever had a job. On this day he arrived in a brand new "1948"
Buick. A new "World" bike for me, a doll house for Sis, and for Mom
the promise of no more spousal abuse. He had taken the cure.
I didn't believe him so I was at ten still training for the day
I would take him on to protect Mom.

Dad sober was making promises. We were going to Knox Berry Farm
Disneyland still on drawing board. Our first vacation. delayed
for at the Golden Gate bridge I was sick of travel vomiting. Mom had
friends in San Francisco. She had in her youth been adopted  by a family.
Their daughter she considered a Sister. Had not seen her family in many
years. Her adopted Sister had a five year old daughter. The littlest Angel
I would call "Goldenlocks" Even as young as ten I loved children. I read
her and my sister stories. Some I had written in the Bad Boy closet. Poorly
dressed often in fist fights Danny was considered a bad boy.

But good things had to end and Dad was drinking and arguing.
We were told to leave. We made it to Knox Berry Farm and returned.
Dad was off on another binge. He would be gone for weeks and not missed.
I remember the day Mom came from the mailbox with tears in her eyes.
"Remember the little girl you called Goldenlocks. The Shirley Temple look
alike only with blonde curly hair? We did not want to tell you she was dying.
The hair was a wig. She was very sick. She died last week of leukemia.
In her Mom's letter she said to tell Punky" My nickname in those early days,
"She loves Punky and when she grows up she is waiting in Heaven to marry you."
Goldenlocks as I write sits on my shoulder my special Angel.


Goldenlocks was five. I read her my own stories of Shadow Mountain on Issaquah
hills. The bee bee guns we carried and the black Panther that followed us.
Smokey the Bear who stole our blackberries and fishing with sticks. Stories I made
up in the bad boys closet. My first poetry written at age six. The good girl
Chest given to the best behaved child. Always with girls things inside. Teach
stored it in the bad boy closet with the key. I may be dumb but not stupid.
One day I put a snake and ants and  bugs in the chest, removed the girl things.
and knew it would be opened by girls.Gave all the gum and candy bars to my friends.
I guess Punky was a bad boy.

 







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