Tag: love | Peter O Regan

The last time I saw Roy

Posted on May 14, 2022 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

It might’ve been the last time I saw him

That trip up north along the coast,

At least at points inevitably so.

And in all its vagueness surely,

It’s still further shrouded by that doubt,

That almost disbelief:

Surely there was at least one time other.

But if there was, the memory’s withholding

Insistent upon the poetry of this –

The final memory,

The beauty and the beast.

I never cried on hearing he had passed

But stopped to think a thousand thoughts

A thousand reasons

Why our paths

They should have crossed.

But we didn’t know each other

And though I bow to some intended whisper

The wind is only pandering to

My own instilled importance.

We had become nothing to each other,

Just echoes of other worlds

That perhaps we’d wished we had explored.

The dream family

Posted on July 28, 2020 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

I introduced you last night
You and your brother-
Or your cousin…
Right now I can’t remember,
And I’m trying not to care-
As if somethings are more important.
Last night I shook your hand
And whoever else’s-
As I introduced you-
But to whom?
Even now I wonder if
In reality
Family can be less elusive,
As they seem in dreams:
As ours was not to be?
Was this the real reason for the division?
Or do some couples grow apart,
Not from each other
But all others
And the things they once enjoyed?
I enjoy my life
Yet see the distance
Closeness can create:
Delving into the dream of those who matter
The foundations finally falter
The façade ripped off exposing
The shallow lives we have led.
Maybe it’s just fear
Avoiding company with excuses
But beneath all notions
Perhaps therein lies
Pain, fear, uncertainty.
Perhaps for everyone –
And perhaps across the void
As our hands reached out
Mine asleep, yours eternally,
I only understood
Base wishes;
The truth
The distance
Shall remain.

Puskin played his part Why not I?

Posted on November 1, 2019 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

That I May yet across a summer glade brooding

Imagine love true love through my boyish vision

And yet may I remember it hence

At a time this time of writing

With the clarity that would as it was passing now.

That I May yet paint a picture truly

Not guided by a dream not dreamed but stolen

That I may figure such words as love

From a canvas freshly met and at points still dripping.

That I May yet open up to my losses

Counting them fairly not feigning to carefree

That I may recognize each moment’s worth

Or accept that at times I could have done and more bravely.

Find What You Love

Posted on October 21, 2019 by martinoregan • 2 Comments

Find what you love and let it kill you,
Let it consume and destroy you.
Let it never from your sight that is inside you
Let it be the definition of the why of you.
But first just let it be that urge to suffer
Let it wander, take a course, that you can follow
And take a risk jump right in and bathe in everything
That presents itself and that yet may have nought to offer
Let what ifs be another’s foolish game
Let regret be experience and not shame
And if you win hold your head in humble high
And let not loss be a reason to deride
Both yourself and those that you would blame
But first find that thing that essence and your end.

Storms Prolonged

Posted on April 25, 2018 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

The round faced woman with the tight Jewish curls
Let’s the sunshine sheen her face to milk chocolate brown
Red-faced I pass by complacent after storm
The mind’s eye reset one more time.
The depth of the darkness and the thick thorny thoughts
Once more a surprise here at hindsight.
In the throes of the horror all ships had set sail for the shores of respite elsewhere hidden.
The fleet, an Armada, bedevilled being broken
Sunk e’erfore a sanctuary succeeding.
And now in the aftermath I salvage from wreckage the hope to once more move on forward
Yet a scar that runs deep now further extended
A reminder of a forest and bone frailty

International Women’s Day

Posted on March 9, 2018 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

To women
To love
To sacrifice.

To lovers
To motherhood.

To tears
To joy
To hope
To pain.

To struggle
To equality.

To chance
To ambition
To youth
To old age.

To women

Egri ídős emberek

Posted on March 8, 2018 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

A little spot away across the bridge
from where the night before
the party came on loud.
Set merged within the outside table seats,
and a couple to the right – a ripe old age.
When finally they arise and walk away
their every limp and sway a matted mated edge
A testament to a bond grown aged yet strong
as they fade with time’s embrace into my past.

©The Hairy Teacher, March, 2018

What DO they think

Posted on October 31, 2017 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

What DO they think of us

Our parenting books

Our observational comedy

Our moaning about fatigue

Expecting sympathy

Perhaps even pity.

What do they think

Raised hard and poor

No TV, no distractions.

Electronic nannies!?!

No nannies, no babysitters at all

Except the eldest

Who kept the youngest along

And the other in line.

What do they think of us

With our worries and our fears

Those who witnessed glass smashed,

Fingers broken and much more.

What will we think when we’re like them?

In Plight

Posted on October 20, 2017 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

My mother’ grip weaker but tighter too

A desperate plea to me and to mortality

The love abounding but unstable

The conditions placed upon herself weigh badly.

“Was I a good mother?” the plaintive quest to understand

The fear of an Unforgiven.

Yet what her memories paint and what of them remain

I cannot judge

But what I can induce is blame

That reassurances will never penetrate.

A child robbed of youth;

Or the joy therein,

Robbed of a father through the maraudings of a mean mother

And when his death arrived

Though grown

She was left alone against the politics of the justifiably estranged

Strained through years of conflict and contradiction.

So what then of my future in this mess?

A hand that will grip tight long after death

Is made of love and not the need for love

To reciprocate is joy

But to give without expectation is strength

And to never look for reassurances is brave –

Especially at the end.

In the end, Love

Posted on October 4, 2017 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

To hold the shadow dear, the faded memories

The loves lost

The fights had

The friends, the feelings:

To position them in a place of some importance

Each one a tool

To teach

To tempt us forward.

And yet upon a pedestal too oft residing

The pain descending

Like hot wax dripping

Time measured in its and your destruction.

Time measured backwards towards the hurt

As if nothing mattered anymore.

The blind fool lives for what is lost

The wise one dares to tread once more into the minefield

that is the heart.

Tag Archives: love