Tag: death

A Soldier’s Destiny

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Poetry, Rhyming6 Comments
Photo coutesy of https://pixabay.com/users/giselafotografie

Nothing marks the day
He left this world
No pomp, no glory
No flags unfurled
No marching parade
To fill the streets
No tears to run down
Crimson hued cheeks
No one to hold him
No one to care
Just blood stained dirt in
A war somewhere
Left to remind us
Of what he gave
So we could live free
In his land of the brave

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Quick to Forget

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Non Fiction, Short Stories8 Comments


For a couple of weeks the phone calls and cards expressed sympathies. Then as suddenly as death itself, they stopped. For the next year, things reminded me of her; a favorite song on the radio or someone would cook a dish she liked. Now, I only remember her twice a year. On her birthday I tweet she would’ve been 104. I wish her a happy birthday in Heaven. As if they had birthdays in Heaven. On the anniversary of her death I post on Facebook how I miss her and quickly scroll on to the next newsfeed.
Oh look…tiny goats.

Giving Up

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Poetry, Rhyming9 Comments

If it was trendy, he followed it

If it was a new pill, he swallowed it

But a man can only try again

So many times ‘til he just gives in

Can I Play…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Non Fiction, Short StoriesLeave a comment

I moved down the stairs and through the kitchen where I saw my mother slicing potatoes into a pan of hot grease. I passed my brother, setting on the front step, gently strumming his guitar. My sister pranced about the yard in make believe games. I reached out to touch her shoulder. She shivered and quickly turned toward me.

“Can I play too”, I asked. But as she opened her mouth to speak, the only sound that came out was of a man I did not recognize.

“107 degrees,” it said. “I have no idea how he is still alive.

Thelma

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Non Fiction, Short Stories14 Comments

S.I.D.S. left you cold and motionless. I wondered where you went to in the night. You left your warm dry bed where hours ago you and your sister cooed and played with your toes. You gave us no warning. No crying or gasping for final breath. I heard that you just floated away to heaven, without saying goodbye. They hurried us into the back room as if we were to believe nothing was wrong. But we saw your mother’s tears rolling down her cheeks. They put you in the cold earth and no one ever spoke to us about you.