Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Joy

DRAFT

Joy filled the space
like sudden sunlight
on a cold afternoon,
as if it could not be held
in the tiny vessel
of a heart,
but must spill out
and gladden the room.

Julian O’Dea

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How many waves?

REDRAFT on 21/11/17
 
How many waves to wash
away a nation’s guilt, striking
a smiling, forgetful shore?
How long to efface a shame?
How can we work this
out alone?
 
There is no word coming,
no voice from
the windy coast,
no graven answer eroded
out of rock, no message
on a stone.

 

Julian O’Dea

the beekeeper poet

the beekeeper poet
hoped to die like a
honey bee, drunk on
the scent of flowers,
in the midst of distilling
sweetness from
nature

Julian O’Dea

Oh, sweet lady

Oh, sweet lady serving 
at the chemist’s,
with your modest cleavage
and your voice like a little bird –
definitely, in a second life,
or a third.

Julian O’Dea

The girls that haunt you

The girls that haunt you
leave once their faces
fade,
by memory’s mercy.
Once their expressions
can no longer be conjured,
the image falls away
and leaves you asking:
what was that way
she made up her eyes?

 

Julian O’Dea

“Another Teenage Suicide”

(I just found this one again. It’s an old one, and I don’t think it is terribly good. But here it is.)

 

Another Teenage Suicide

As we approached the chapel,
attached to the crematorium,
a previous life went up in smoke:
(like the last black puff from an engine.)

But the teenage suicide was still
in her casket, which was white and small.
So small, she must have been a little
lass for a seventeen year old; though
big enough to have had a man.
(Six schoolboys carried the coffin.)

I couldn’t quite hear the eulogies:
though it seems she was a wonderful girl.
(Because no-one mediocre ever dies.)

I was in the group outside the chapel,
on the white plastic chairs,
near the ornamental pool.
(I said some prayers.)

The sun was hot for spring;
I listened to the water feature
chatter on.
There were no goldfish.
(I had hoped to fix my gaze upon
a carefree golden creature.)

They say she used her brother’s gun.
They say they found a tumour in her brain.
(Explaining the inexplicable, again.)

 

Julian O’Dea

Lakes of Blue

I drown my thoughts in
the lakes of blue that
open among the banks
of cloud.
There are fields and
villages in there,
a sunken civilisation
of what might have
been.

Julian O’Dea