Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Petals on the Ground

The small, white petals
run about on the ground
in the wind like children
in a playground, with no
mind for me: and if I
were gone next year,
the playing would go on.


Julian O’Dea


This Puppy

This puppy is like 
the separable soul
of folklore.
I watch him play
with spirit. He 
runs off on his
own. He returns
trembling to my
side, recollected
always coming
back to his safe centre
least far from
his nearest
notion of god.


Julian O’Dea

Rock Pool



The sea has been working
on the rock pool for ages,
using that palette of colour
(all natural pigments):
a twist of vegan green,
a daub of red meaty
anemone: seaweeds
adding impasto; worms
like paint extruded from



Waves wash in to rework
the tiny canvas: a gouache;
a palimpsest; an aquarelle:
moving some sand there,

adding a shell.


Julian O’Dea

Her soul goes at night

Her soul goes at night
between the branches
through empty spaces
down to the cold creek
and tries to warm itself 
in moonlight and cheer
itself by the thin water
under a sky with no star
to share.

Julian O’Dea

Letting the missus drive

Letting the missus drive, 
he watches her legs under 
the hem of the taut skirt 
as it rides up and she 
settles into the pedals 
with feminine abandon,
flaunting her influence
like a woman in stirrups,
legs splayed, ankles
straining in her heels.


Julian O’Dea

So I shall just leave you behind …

So I shall just leave you behind, 
marooned in time on an island 
in my memory, never to return;
in a place one might well call
The Archipelago of People who
Disappointed Me; not populous
islands; but there you remain –
banished from my mind. Donne
was wrong: some men become


(Julian O’Dea)

Such a lady

Such a lady in my bedroom 
that night. In my kingdom 
you dressed in an elegant 
hat; perky shoes; a blouse.
All black. Against white skin.
And nothing else. Dressed,
yes, a little, but just for love.


Julian O’Dea