Treasure For Maureen
A midnight ship with silver sails
And hoisted flags with scarlet tails
Is whisked by winds of golden gales
Descending from the skies above.
And though the decks are wet and soaken,
Still the hull is swift and oaken
So the course remains unbroken,
Trailing wakes of turtledoves.
With storm departed, then no sooner
Comes, unseen, a pirate schooner
Neath the nighttime, light and lunar,
Pouncing with a push and shove.
Though hope seems lost, a cyclone saves
Dispersing foes and other knaves
With frothy foamy fisted waves
Which strike like leaden leather gloves.
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poem by Terry O'Leary
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Dark Black Night
Once upon a midnight, ghostly,
Partied many, dead ones mostly.
Feasting in the graveyard, sprightly,
Black fanged werewolves gorged, engrossedly*.
In the boneyard, drab and squalid
Apparitions, staring stolid
(Neath the veiled moon, clouded lightly)
Sought fresh bodies, lean but solid.
Demons' eyes shone, light and sparkly,
Ghouls and devils danced, so darkly.
Worms were grubbing, gruel unsightly,
Black blood streamed like ink, quite starkly.
Fiendish flesh was flowing freely
Through the crypt doors, cold and steely.
Shadows, ashen, pranced contritely,
Ebon serpents slithered eely.
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poem by Terry O'Leary
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There Once Was A Man...
There once was a man, they called brave
Who lived in a hole, called a grave...
Well, being the host
To many a ghost,
He arranged a big bash, called a rave
There once was a man, called a knave
Who lived in a hole, called a cave...
Not being too keen
About keeping it clean...
Well, he took on a wife, called a slave
There once was a man with a stave
Who lived in a holy enclave...
Maintaining a grin
While absolving the sin,
He assessed wicked tales and forgave
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poem by Terry O'Leary
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No More Cause To Worry
Now, Railroad Bob has lost his job, he's got no place for working,
His wife, she cries with desperate eyes, their baby's head's a' jerking.
The union man don't give a damn, Big Brother lies a' lurking,
The boss' in cabs are picking scabs, they count their money, smirking.
Bob walks the streets and begs for eats or little jobs for trying
"The answer's no, you ought to know, no use for you applying,
And don't be sad, it aint that bad, it's soon your time for dying."
The air is thick, his baby's sick, the cries are multiplying.
Bob's wife's in town, she's broken down, she's ranting with a fury,
Their life of sin has done them in, they skirmish, scrimp and scurry,
Their baby coughs, the doctor scoffs, the snow is all a' flurry,
Bob's midnight dreams are filled with screams; he knows he needs to hurry.
It's getting late, Bob's tempting fate, his choices cruel and blurry.
He chooses gas, they breathe their last, there's no more cause to worry...
poem by Terry O'Leary
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Merchant Ship
A swallow swoops for flitting flies
While Johnny rubs his sleepy eyes,
(As morning reaps the rising sun)
And watches Captain's day begun:
The creeks arise from melting snows -
The Merchant Ship's in stark repose...
A rodent scrapes for scattered crumbs,
While Johnny bites his swelling tongue
(Beneath the blazing sun above)
As Captain counts the dead with love:
And while the quiet river flows
The Merchant Ship just sits and grows...
A serpent weaves amongst the weeds
And Johnny finally starts the deeds
(As evening hails the dying day)
To stop the Captain at his play:
And as the flooding rivers grow
The Merchant Ship rocks to and fro...
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poem by Terry O'Leary
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Passing Trains In Winter Rain
Adrift within a dismal night,
While trudging down deserted track,
Beyond the bend, a peering light,
Illumed alone through vacant black.
Such are the tricks that fate will feign,
With passing trains in winter rain.
The darkling sky, sighed, dripping dew,
Beguiling to the trek anew.
In diamond dusk the demons came,
There was no dread, there was no claim,
But distant thoughts will entertain
On passing trains in winter rain.
Through shadow's fog a form appeared,
Which slowed its pace as though it feared,
A lonesome, meek and wistful thing,
A fallen bird with broken wing.
Such are the shapes and weary strain
Of passing trains in winter rain.
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poem by Terry O'Leary
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We May Meet Again
Beneath long lashes, misty clad,
Your limpid eyes are sometimes sad;
They bring to mind a homeless waif
Engulfed in rain with nowhere safe
Most times I find a cheerful light
Within your eyes that sparkles bright,
And though my thoughts I try to hide
My happiness wells up inside
At times I see your eyes aglow
Like founts through which your passions flow;
And when I'm low they always loom
Like morning glories through the gloom
Your smile ashine beneath my gaze
Effulgent eyes beam all ablaze:
A look, a touch, a kiss I yearn,
You slowly make my body burn
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poem by Terry O'Leary
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Ramblers
'Tween hither and thither we wended our way
Skipping, dancing on sand dunes, in seascape croquet.
While woven in waves watching dolphins at play
I tasted her lips in the ocean's cool spray
We gamboled and gambled, two waifs led astray,
With shackles afire and anchors aweigh -
Rising higher and higher, the sun slung our sleigh,
With time as our temptress, night'n day after day
Stray moon beams, suffusing clouds' shimmering sails,
Unleashed me and whisked me through sensuous vales,
Inciting the songs of my sweet nightingale
While passing our passions through visions unveiled
Two spectres of splendour in wanton sashay
We mastered our meaning in love's matinee -
The breezes, abating, heard flowers betray
"His fingers have plucked nature's sweetest bouquet"
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poem by Terry O'Leary
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The Acrobat
The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land -
They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command,
While Acrobats step pitapat above the shifting sands
And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned.
The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band,
Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand,
While Tamers' whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land,
Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned.
White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband
To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands,
But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands.
At night's demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands,
Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands,
And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned.
To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I'd try my hand -
I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand -
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poem by Terry O'Leary
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My Friend
You shelter me in winter storms - indeed, you are my friend...
You never try to change my ways, instead you interblend.
I'm free with you and you with me, and neither will offend.
In spite of timid nervousness, my warps and weaves unbend;
When I'm in need, you're everywhere, your care does not depend
On how I dress or comb my hair - I'm not a passing trend.
We needn't wear our masks of clay or otherwise pretend,
And when I sometimes act the fool you never condescend,
But try instead to steep my views in eyes that comprehend.
Sometimes I dwell within the depths, you smile and I ascend
To levels of tranquility which others can't transcend.
You never ask, demand or take, you give and understand,
And when I'm lost, a frantic child, you lead me by the hand
Through castle gates in mirrored walls throughout your fairyland
Where fears and worries linger less than tracks in shifting sand.
With you my words are ever free, they trickle out unplanned,
And funny feelings I possess become your contraband.
Your laughter flows upon my woes like waves on troubled strand
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poem by Terry O'Leary
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