Androgyne

Androgyne

Following me all
my life like a coloured
shadow,
the woman I might
have been.

I see her sometimes
smiling softly
nearby
without
recognition.

Narcissus
loved only himself
but I dream of
the hidden woman
I would have been
if chance had set
another scene.

If my father had not
intoned a son
but I has been born
a daughter
to happy laughter.

I see bright eyes that
might have been mine,
rising breasts,
eyebrows cresting on
waves of youthful
joy, so unlike a
glowering boy.

But you went your way,
girl, and I went mine,
a boy, twins separated
at birth, closer than
brother and sister,
but never to merge
although I love you
as myself, lost female
version of me.

Julian O’Dea

bra

putting her hands
behind her back
to unhook her bra
a gentle struggle
a hint of bondage
supplicant hands
with red nails
turned to heaven

Julian O’Dea

Irish Referendum 2018

“The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned”: Yeats

IRISH REFERENDUM 2018

I saw Ireland hanging naked in the rain
dead to her faith
a miscarriage of justice
scrawled upon her skin,
death by referendum.

Why use long-fought freedom
to ape the English sin?
When “the centre
cannot hold” what is to be done?
A woman with an empty womb
hangs in a muddy sky.
The old country is not a home.

Julian O’Dea

Love and Dogs

TIME WAS

we could conjure

a hearth and

you let your hair

down like a pour

of molten gold

from a jeweller’s

trembling hand

Julian O’Dea

DOG

Flopping on the bed

our friendly white Samoyed

happily blows phlegm

into the air

like a tiny Moby Dick

disgorging precious

ambergris.

Julian O’Dea

Nadège du Bospertus, leaving the stage sidesaddle

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A post shared by Nadège Dubospertus (@nadegedubospertus)

Unicorn Blood

A makeup colour.

The girl is biting her lip, a sign of arousal or interest.

FOR THE FEAST OF THE ASSUMPTION

FOR THE FEAST OF

THE ASSUMPTION

In Irish not simply Máire

but Muire for the Virgin Mary

like murine for a mouse

in Bethlehem the “house

of bread” bred Christ

to feed the ages then

snug as a dormouse

in a Roman glirarium

fell asleep to rise

from her Dormition.

Julian O’Dea

Yacht

YACHT

 

White sails in her eyes
bandages for blinding
beauty of the cyan sky
waves to toss her fish
seagulls white and grey
clouds to cool the sun
no need to read charts
when you are happy
it is all the same.

 

Julian O’Dea

PENCIL

PENCIL

Pencil thin.
Sharp but untried.
I met you in a tutorial,
your voice first
from down the table,
then the author
of that voice.
The persona. The person.
The body.
Your colours, black
and white, and a grey
skirt. A pencil skirt.
Pencil grey.
A scholar, without
a stoop. Straight. Linear.
Apart from schoolgirl
curves.
How to hold you?
How to fit you in my hand?
To start to write.

 

Julian O’Dea

The Surf

The surf is full of girls:
their seaweed, oysters,
and pink pearls.

 

Julian O’Dea