Category Archives: Poetry & Short Stories

Every which way

Tempus

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Tick tock
a moment spent without hellos goodbyes:
indifference.
That just sheer chance that had us without a single thought.
And then we relinquished all our sense
and beckoned chatter, debate, discussion…
all in a guise.
With sudden haste
we watched the dreamy haze
against the lone strap sharpened;
we saw the moment
and its langour disappear.
Replaced by haste,
by waste,
by every other thing.
We were removed to this rank rhythm.
The tired mind, the floating heart,
now reeling –
they’re being wrenched apart.
Thump thump
the beat begins
the dukes are set
and into another aspect
we will breach.

 

Note of interest http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/put-up-your-dukes.html

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Briefly

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For the briefest of moments
– not here on the tram
with the blue-eyed, old woman
looking on –
But for the shortest of snippets
in my life as I lead it,
I felt everything –
and everything had become one.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

UrNotMe

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The trouble is you never want to see it my way
You always want to have it your way
like a broken down record you’re stuck in the past
skipping and scratching along Old 55s highway.
you asked me to be your crutch
and then you left me in the lurch
you asked me to be your guide
but you never acted such.
You dealt drinks like a croupie
smiles like a film star
but now that I know you
I can only say this:
Your heart holds nothing but that you wanted it that way.
The pain that you’ve chosen you designed all anyway.
It may be you lost control
It may be you’re in a hole
But the fingering of records of our past
will not make the moments last
but the delving into the stream
will not reverse this dream.
And you might well call it a nightmare
you might even shout traitor
you might even be right when I never tried to save you.
But it was never about me, but you,
and what I could bring along.
It was never about us two
but whether I would sing your song.
And from a distance I read about the pain
and when I returned I experienced it again.
but I was no longer convinced,
I was no longer so sure
if the friend I once had
was my friend anymore.
And when you held me in contempt
I swore I could never forgive you,
but I did.
Your number erased from my phone
came back all by itself.
I remember the gig where we took to the floor
spooking all the natives into the shadows.
And it all could have been good,
it all could have worked,
but instead I had to fight them off as they dragged you out the back door.
Instead I had to bleed while you escaped once more.
Instead the one who’d caused the pain was the one to suffer the least all over again.
Instead the ones around you wilting were held dear
and I just stood there,
I just stood there.

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Balcony

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On the morning balcony
the pine tree guard looming all round
at the outpost of my vision on his perch
the dawn patrol is headed by this silhouette
somewhere far off his follwers respond
a chorus of recognition
nearby some jackdaws squabble over pittens
their squawks and chatter no less meaningful
a fly, persistent, buzzes by
and almost unrelenting before he moves off
the garden in the cooling shade
already feels the pending heat
the air moves sluggishly:
another hot day’s coming.

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Friday left longing

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On a grey May day
beyond the storm for now
in the lurking mucky derivative
we march forth.
The flashes of the night
the fork, the sheet
the rumble, clatter, bang
scaring up the ghosts of primitive man.
I would have made my god right then
exposed within the horrid beauty
but instead I swaddled in progression.
The morning brought the picture
the saturation
and the birds in fury screamed their prolonged existence.
The storm had passed, a new day come.

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Frythem

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Freedom fries freedom lies
fear the malice in their eyes.
Free the prisoners of their war
and let’s not wonder anymore.
Freedom lives and freedom dies
beneath the flag borne at our side.
The drummer boy rat-tat-a-tat
dressed to the nines
dies in the dirt.
Freedom won with many lives
the coffin/casket, another shackle.
Freedom thrives in many minds
but on our hands just blood we’ll find.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

The fated fly

The fated fly

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We’re all born to die…he said

we’re all born to die.

We’re not born to live…he screamed

we’re not born to live!

But live we shall until we die

and live we shall until that time

But we’re not born to live…proclaimed

he who’d had his time.

We’re all born to live…she said

we’re all born to live

and to another life we’ll give…she said

and another then shall live

and when death has gripped then …she said

when death has asked its toll

then we’ll have lived a life…she said

a life that had grown old.

We’re all born to die…he cried

and the tears ran from his eyes

we’re all born to live…she smiled

as she took from him his life.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

The storm

The storm

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In the stickiness under roof

the slate designed covering-

trapped short, the air, my breath, the heat,

all building before the storm.

And then it broke so gently at first,

almost hesitant, but darkening.

And with flash and bang and full cloud burst,

with each roll and fork then worsening.

The water layered to measured height,

the wet ground come a pool.

And we protected by what now seemed slight,

as the streams searched for our stool.

But finally, last gasp, last chance,

the rain itself eased off,

and though the storm held its brooding dance –

the worst passed – we all felt safe.

So out like brave, spright, troubadours,

we frolicked through the pools.

Relief that there would be no more…

yet uncertain, or we’d be fools.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

The Horror

The Horror

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The pleasant day expressed

in the smiles of passengers.

Babes asleep, breasts all pert,

the Spring-time thickening.

The on and off from stop to stop

I smile inside – it’s life.

But what bitterness has brought me to this juncture,

where I peel back the pleasantries

and vent again, once more:

the words contorted – I am afraid

for I’ve had dreams

of which I cannot speak.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

The Black Fume

The Black Fume

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Degree drops from

The digital display.

Once as hot as hell

Now unbearably less.

There is a coolness

For the damned.

In the soft yellow-orange of sunset,

There may yet be respite.

For the meek there

Is nothing, not till

The very end.

They don’t shelter

In the glory of shadows

And the rising and the setting

of all things celestial.

Their wait is longer –

Bound in time,

If legitimate,

But maybe not their lifetime,

And therefore,

They may never know.

“If I die into nothing

I will forever remain ignorant,

Unknowing as to

My own fate.”

Amen

[And this will be the only true infinity. Timeless. Unbound. Nothing!]

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Copyright © Martin O'Regan
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