by Jim O'Leary
What feels like, is a heaven bed
Where noone, nothing
Or adversity can touch
And squinting windows
Have no place,
Where touching stars
Can find escape to dream;
Tide at one end
And the other of the day
Leave in between a life-span
It seems for lovers
Safe within a rock-wall
And a sea-embrace;
The sand-bed grows
As the high tide ebbs
And the water grows again
To sink the sand-quilt
Where two lovers lie in one,
A moment of eternity,
And the sea will leave
No place for them
Except the certainty
That their cycle will endure;
As the waters grow
From the sea-belly
The two spirits
Must part and leave,
The ocean swells
Toward the narrow cove,
A waiting haven,
And drives impassioned,
Engorged to a sea-penis,
It presses and penetrates
The vulval walls in rhythm
Again
Again
Again ‘til spent
And recedes
Then calmly fulfilled
Leaving behind
A sated glistening;
Two spirits
Watch from the cliff-top
Wanting waiting
And then again
They take back
Their special space.
THE KISS
Deadwood drifted in a bog alone
And it was lost for years;
Drag the waters for a life-line
Search for a wild flower bed
Seek the sea-washed sand for feeling
And find tomorrow every day;
Dig the trenches for protection
Find the cover of their earthen warmth
Call the Gods to make a heaven-spread
Discrete screen for love;
Deadwood in a simple life-form
Singled out by a hand-caress
Found the soulmate of a lifetime,
Embraced its finding hands,
And kissed all the pain goodbye.
AT LAST
Snow freckles
Flirting in a merry dance
A thousand-fold
Mesmerise the wind
As they fall in playful flight
Flitting here and there
Until they touch
Where they belong;
Alone each flake is nothing
In a pale-consuming world
Together once they touch
They are fulfilled...
...they are enough.
THE STRAND
A sea of sand stretches
From the Galley Head
Washed day by day
Into a plaster-board;
Glistening here and there
It throws a wall
Of no avail
Against the throb of rising tide;
At night a shaft of light
Spans countryside
And flickers in phase
From a quartz-mix
Sending a tidal message
A despatch of cosmic influence;
It stretches for a mile or more,
A long strand edged by a frame
Of mile-long reed-held dunes
And children paddle
In its salt-drenched table
Picking fancy stones to treasure;
I watch and know
That long strand will endure
But I will not.
WAITING FOR CLIONA
A fin cleaves through the waves
Cutting a shimmering path
In nature’s endless dream,
A dorsal, maybe a shark
Intent on prey of fish or flesh
The vicious circle of the sea or mystery?
Is it real or a mirage
Or is it Cliona come to visit
Her rock-bed in moist-weld draped
Seeking, perhaps, a scaled embrace?
I wait and watch
Bent on a fatal prospect
She takes young men they say
But none she took came back to tell;
Who will she take
This time and when
Noone perhaps this century
And still I wait
Maybe this time she’ll lay
On her love-rock with an older man
And, finished, take him, me,
Into her sea of dreams,...
...That’s why I wait!
IN THE JERVIS CENTRE, DUBLIN
Pacing wondering
Thoughts fucked up
By savage words
And fear of fear,
The thought, and
Fear came readily
Sleeping
Shopping
Going to the brink
Of an embrace,
He waited,
Wanted, yearned for
What he thought was good
And then he pissed
And gave it all away,...
...There’s no more left.
IN MEMORY OF ALL STILL-BORN AND
MISCARRIED CHILDREN
She faced
A grumpy morning
Sick but hoping
For the life in her;
The pain would not relent,
Her hope escaped,
Her embryo
A thumb-nail piece of life
In early-form
Left her helpless
To avoid existence,
She miscarried
And her child-dream died.
UNDER THE CRYSTAL BALL
I moved against her,
She pressed on me
And we danced;
I’m inside you now, I said
and she replied
And I’m around you
Wrapped,
Enveloping you in me,
Your being inside,
And we could not be more
Together;
Dancing, not dancing,
Barely moving
And joined
Deep in our skin caress,
A flowing sense,
We dreamed;
Dancing, not dancing,
We came
Together once,
Again,
And we could not be more
Together,
Forever....
....under the Crystal Ball.
WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLOWERS GONE
Take me to the bushes
To the crinkly warmth
Of heather on my bum
Back to forgotten days
For some but not for me
When you and I made love
As we walked the streets
In wistful dream;
I know the bridge is gone
Replaced by a tarmac-runway
And horse-power drives
A trench mile-wide
Through nooks of memory;
The dance-hall light is quenched
Where once we clung
Enraptured in orgasmic smile,
We hugged, caressed
And loved excluding everyone;
The years have flown
Past you and I
And taken toll of
Memory and muscle,
Quenched the one
And sapped the other;
Lapsed time has warned
There’s no more time
So take me to the bushes
And press me firm
To crinkly warmth of heather
Back to forgotten days
When young love dreamed
And saw no consequence
Of lapsing time
And we made love;
Will you and I
&nb
sp; Again make love
As we walk the streets
Or will we ever meet at all.
THERE’S A PLACE.......
Roses are red
And violets are blue
the blue and red together
make up green
the colour of the world
and the green is the bluebell-bed
of trees
and of buttercups and primroses
and white-winged yellow-centred daisies
and garlic
and noone walks the fields
and the sun shines through the woods
in tunnels
to light a beam-base space for lovers
where they will find a darkness-comfort
and a glow
and they will rest together
on a carpet of wild flowers
and they will walk unseen together
on a seamless comfort-turf
leaving footprints there forever
in the flowers and the ground
then they will be forever
enough.
CREATION
Slate upon slate,
Glued with a rough-hand,
Erupted in the structure
Of a lamp,
Rose in the dark
From a barren-base;
Touch the earth core,
The mason whispered
To himself as his chisel cleared
And the hammer,
Directed by his mind-bent,
Tapped a tune, a-drawing
Symmetry with stone;
It began in darkness,
Piece by piece in a spiral pace,
And from the earth
An embryo-work unfolded
And the wonder was a miracle
Flowing from the mason’s hands;
Touch the core,
The slate-man shouted to the world
As the thing took shape
And he wondered at its beauty
And its source
But the finished work
Would herald its conception....
....the world
is a wonder everyday.
HEDGE FUNDS
I woke up one fine Summer morning
My resources were stripped to the bone
And intent on avoiding a panic
I decided to call the bank on the phone;
The girl put me through to the Manager
And I asked for a small overdraft
He sneered and he snorted and sniggered
And said that he was not that daft;
Distraught, I looked 'round my little hovel
My grey cells were racing like hell
I ransacked the place with a vengeance
But found that I had nothing to sell;
Despondent, I tidied the place up
Realising that no money no fun
When glancing at a cluttered corner
I noticed my Grandson's toy gun;
Ah Ha, I shouted out with some glee
As a plan began to form in my head
The bank's floor will be awash with pee
When they think that my gun's full of lead;
The morning broke clear and serene
As I wound myself up into action
And I made my way to the bank's door
Abrim with a dosh-driven passion;
With a note in my hand and my gun tucked away
I slid toward the counter as they started their day
Showing the gun and the note with a confident dash
I demanded a shit-load of cash;
Well, the dough was forthcoming in double-quick time
And I grabbed it and trousered it quickly
Then skipping lighthearted endowed as I then was
I slipped from the bank's clutches safely;
Then I strolled down the street
With a lift in my step
And I gloated on the part I had played,
Gleaned without any graft
I now had my overdraft
And no interest would have to be paid,...
....The banking class
Can kiss my arse
I've got my overdraft at last!
HOSTAGE
I am a bush in a clump of bushes
Rustling in the breeze alone;
I am a tree reaching to the clouds
Mature, full grown;
I am the grass around tree and bush,
A soft-bed for the world,
A lake of mirrored sheen,
A resorvoir of tears,
A day of expectation
In a sea of stormy time.
I am a dolphin of the deep
Searching shallows for response,
The tree and bush, the grass,
The lake of tears unseen,
Unheard in time and space,
A pawn;
I am the world and nothing,
A shadow hovering, waiting
On the careless hand of fate
And her reply.
LOVE ON A MOONBEAM
A soft breeze whispered
Through the window-screen
The room inside was lit
By its sweet sound;
Moonlight flowed
With its airborne glitter
And the early air
Was crisp and clear;
A soft breath whispered
In her silken ear,
Her face was blushed
With its fragrance;
Smile on smile
Followed the breeze
And the moonlight
Embalmed her soul;
Sometimes
When the curtains stirred
Her room was cooled
And nothing moved;
Sometimes when the night
Had closed around her
And the coolness grasped
Her heart and soul
He whispered sweetness
On the breeze to her
And she was warm
And well;
Sometimes
When he touched her skin,
Brushed his fingers on her cheek,
She heard his silent whispers;
Sometimes
When he called
She felt his arms enwrap her
In a life embrace;
Always
In their nearness
When they touched
Or not
That whispered love
Was there for them;
Always
Reaching
Always
They are one.
POEM TO ME...
I'm here but not my own space,
The place where I am home,
And the settled form of me
Is waiting for a foe to come,
To ambush that earthly sod
Where I am firmly rooted
In the soil from where I came,
From where I was created;
Savage me
If you will
But the best of you
Will not
Defeat
The best of me;
Take your best shot
And be gone,...
I will weather that
And survive;
The World
Is a strange place
So, look at my World
To see what’s really me
Before you take
Your shot!
NIGHTS PROMISE
A thumb-nail moon
Lit the grass,
The blooms reflected
A tomorrow life;
Pansies folded
In their blossom-sleep
And the lavender
Worked its wonders;
I was lost in your place,
In the colour-scape of you,
My life-blood speeding
Past my years;
I scanned the spectrum of your ‘garden’
And its
landscape merged in my soul;
I took the image of your shape and hew
And I slept and dreamed..........
OLD FRIENDS
I remember
The horse-drawn plough,
I am older now;
The best has come and gone
But image lives
Where furrows with the years
Have grown
And the horse is gone;
I saw the clotted bands
Turned gently
Behind the iron cleaver
Line by line
By the horse, drawing,
Guiding hoof by hoof,
A swirl of seagull
On his tail;
I heard the cacaphony,
Sometimes in tune,
Some not,
In worm pursuit,
A symmetry of wings
Forming a halo-crest
Headland to end and back;
Today, we reminisced,
My friend and I,
Both old sinse then,
Talked of grasshoppers
And neighbours,
Of things
no longer known,
And neither knew
If our memory-treasures
Would again be found
But we remembered.
ELEVATION OF THE HEART
(The Destiny of an Irish Immigrant to America)
Abroad in the swamp-land,
A sinking ground of people,
the simple-man embraced
a wonder of the world
of wondrous promise
and he kept the Faith;
Prospering in that vein,
He waited, fought his way
And set the path for his avail
With a hope that bought
No thought of failure;
He had the promise
Of a world, the World
That brooked no vacuum
With its gold in place
For him to take,...
....it was promised
and his destiny to take
but it went wrong
and the devils took the reins
of his brave venture
when his people died,
his World and future dead,
when the shit-planes hit the towers;
Dead and ashes,
Dead and buried
Mattered not a lot
When the world
Was burned
Into a cinder-space;
The next step was
A spectre-plot
Where voyeurs might come
To view a corpse or smell of it,
The end and death of life,
the killing, life expired,
of many many loves
who’d never been before
And killing never stopped,
The World refused to see
That people,
Children, babies, old as well,