Category Archives: Poetry & Short Stories

Every which way

The Night Flourishes

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The night flourishes beyond the remnants of the day

and old thoughts are remembered so as to leave one believing everything is okay –

but be cautious – the city abounds with notion.

The tired heart-felt debilitation that leaves each person feeling worn –
The buses fill, the trams and metros too, there is a theme to this night after all:

The Christian splendor delicately in poise and still some.

Away in other quarters the night shares shadows with plagued minds

and from the prosperous bank of fear there is withdrawn such debts as may never be repaid.
The night has fallen on Calvary and while the carpenter amid the criminals at first begins to falter

It will be his faith, like mine, which will see us through.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2016

The Floating Word

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The floating word a chance perhaps a dream.
Something said that made some sense and yet was lost.
It doesn’t matter cos it’s memory serves just that much
To make whatever sense or make more sensible, as it should.
I didn’t utter words to die in memory forlorn soon forgot
But conjured thoughts to words not on the hope that you still lived
But not expecting death around the corner surprised was I and then remorse

© TheHairyTeacher 2016

The Perfect Morning

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The perfect morning.
The light spills from above in glorious white splendour
The air fresh, is vibrant, alive to the base requirement.
Birds chirp along in tennis-like mimicry
One-up-manship or just the way of things.
The tram draws me closer, soon to be beside her
To watch, to wonder, and to hope.

 

© TheHairyTeacher2016

The Silver Curlew

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The silver curlew alone and wondering
Perched to thinking
Dreams across an expanse of water
Beyond the dawn
Beyond the dreamer.
In the haste to strike repose
In the shuffling prelight
The songbirds echo faraway in the mind
Hidden in the memory
Sometimes delighting
Sometimes eroding hope.
In the shallow almost emptiness
The glean of struggle reflects
Till rolling ripples rain distortion.
Giving new interpretation
Giving wing to recent silence.

 

© TheHairyTeacher2016

What It Is Not

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A place of refuge for a while
An altogether feeling place:
This is something else.
This is not the Monday blues
And not only cos it’s Thursday
This cannot be feeling down
At least not what I recognise.
This is something else: unique.
This is love’s dimension.
This is when the rift has grown
Becoming irreparable – beyond the irreparable
This is not the end of all
Just a ridding of one moment
That man should count himself as whole
By that – incomprehensible!

 

©TheHairyTeacher2014

And on and on

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Allowed only a notion
The fatigue, but fulfilled.
Whatever happened to those dreams,
To that boy that would become man?
In the lightened darkness of a tired mind
there is no self-rebuke.
When the challenges are taken
And yet the memory curdles hope,
Leaving shadows to plague our sanity.
Outside the wind is blowing,
The sun is shining,
the time is passing.
Inside all things have grown eternal
With the boy and man united.
And so another drop in the ocean,
A fading picture,
A fond fickle notion beyond the lives, beyond our time;
life goes on without us!

Blind Fate

Blind Fate

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I would rather be it –
On earth tonight.
I would rather reign supreme
Than ever have fandangled promise
A sort of Damoclesian promise.
For sure it may be true,
But the tormenting doubt forever lurking?
Would that I would turn away from the flesh that binds
In favour of a faith so blind.
I may never live again and so must taste,
If anything, this life in all its ways.
And taste it pure and full
Not dull and in decay.
I must relish in my fears
Knowing life has always risk.
The life that has none is already death –
So defined by inconsequential evidence.
And so in light of sacrifice
I’ll topple my soul into the stream
And find the rhythm in the heat of things.
The passion, the forgiveness, all enraptured
Flowing as the current leads…

Towards the mouth, the opening.
I shall remember everything
My mistakes no less than my suffering .

My Soul

My Soul

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Sometimes in the sound of things I remember,
Though by nature I’m inclined to forget.
In the beauty of all things forgotten,
the surprise defines all moments.
I hear in the voices of the children,
in my own voice too, though I may play reluctant,
The freedom of a passing moment captured,
Rendered real and different by our time.
In notions of my own self- deprecation
When I’ve renounced past Peter and sought Paul,
I merely beg forgiveness because I dared not assume it,
The fatal Christian flaw – the memory!

The casual eye

The casual eye

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Reflections, musings, all indirect.
The shadows of timidity set.
Eyes bound to embrace if by chance
And then in blush turn once more back.
To shaded Eyes, the hidden glance,
The brushing back – displaying risk.
Another eye to eye embrace
Till two souls set save embarrassment.
A nail pick and a fumble still
The night resides in circumstance –
Ill-comfort or the lack of breath –
One’s terrified by the sombre poet.
Hope, yet eternal, springs then falls
It is the chill of winter afterall.
And so the fleeting glance- perchance-
Is nothing but the final failed romance.
And yet in words as these, such coined,
There is a lurch towards new Hope!

Copyright © Martin O'Regan
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