Leaving

LEAVING

Most people die in rooms
too small for their lives;
nothing expansive remains; 
the spaces get smaller
and smaller, until their
vista shrinks to a hospital
courtyard or TV screen.

There is a lot to be said
for dying far at sea,
like a torpedoed mariner;
or in a singing desert,
like a misplaced explorer;
or disappearing right into
the sky, a carefree aviator.

 

Julian O’Dea

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On the Dressing Table

On the Dressing Table

A forgotten tendresse:
on the heavy glass 
of the perfume bottle,
dust;
beautiful, but empty
as a changeling child;
with just a lingering
scent, an air-kiss
from the past.

 

Julian O’Dea

 

 

Whisper It

Whisper It

A blown kiss,
the snap of a garment,
the pop of a lipstick tube,
of soft sounds are
pleasures made;
where nylon slips
over skin, or in
the sibilance
of a crisp blouse;
from a frisson of words
dropped in an ear,
falling too softly
for others to hear.

 

Julian O’Dea

Patriots All

Patriots All

The weeds say to the
concrete island: we three
are your lush vegetation,
and you are our island home:
and this light pole is the flag
of our proud micronation.

Julian O’Dea

Song

Song

God took a bone from Man,
a single line from a poem,
and fleshed it out to make
a refrain, Woman, so the duet
began in a thousand tongues,
though all the beasts were mute,
till the birds began their songs.

 

Julian O’Dea

Garden Party

Garden Party

The carp in the pond
moved around
like the guests,
circling,
flitting, fleeting,
showing themselves,
flashing their colours,
and then hiding again,
coyly.
How hard to puzzle
out their forms;
like the guests,
not really showing
themselves plain.

 

Julian O’Dea

I Looked At Her

I looked at her and at
the grassy plain over
which the plover came
and went and swooped
time and time again
as fierce and enduring
as the wind or the spirit
of human generation.
Her nest was somewhere
about, no doubt, as was
ours, and we made our
way back home.

 

Julian O’Dea