Buried in the Sand
A beggar clump adorns a dump, his pencil box in hand -
With sightless eyes upon the skies he's lying there unmanned.
He's fallen down in Shantytown, his knees too weak to stand,
With no relief and bitter grief too dark to understand.
The Bowery blight is hid from sight, it's covered up and bland,
And Robin Hood and Brother Hood lie buried in the sand.
poem by Terry O'Leary
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The Harlot
Mid Uzi shots from vacant lots, which strike and ricochet
A painted girl with flaxen curl (named Wendy) 's on her way
To tantalise with half-clad thighs, to trick again today;
And indiscreet upon the street she gives her pride away
To any guy who's passing by with cash and time to pay.
In concert halls beyond the Walls, unjaded girls ballet,
With flowered thoughts of Camelot and dreams of cabarets.
poem by Terry O'Leary
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Gypsy Guy
Well, Gypsy Guy would rather die than hunker down in chains,
Be ridden south with bit in mouth, or heed the hold of reins;
The ones that plot are in a spot, the boss man he complains:
'The gypsy soul, I can't control, my patience wears and wanes;
They will not cede to common greed, one only way remains,
In boxcar bins, with violins we'll freight them out in trains,
And in the bogs, they'll die like dogs, and everybody gains.'
poem by Terry O'Leary
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While Waiting At The River Styx
While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, like beggar's blankets, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs in dripping crimson clots,
And gaping wounds and bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
And wrapped in chains around your neck, the Reaper's grim garrote."
'It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.' (Matthew 19: 24)
poem by Terry O'Leary
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On Halloween
On Halloween the sky was scarred
With full moon stuck, a piercing shard,
Within a hole, the eye of night,
Above the smell of death and fright,
Along a bone laced boulevard.
The corpses, dragged from crypts unbarred,
The flames, they gazed, with pale regard,
At roasting rot, a blood soaked sight...
On Halloween.
The bones, they blanched within the yard,
Again to have their evening marred,
By ghouls and fiends who rip and bite
With claws and fangs which drip delight
While gorging flesh, so slightly charred...
On Halloween.
poem by Terry O'Leary
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Epitaphs in Verse - Reflections in the Eyes of a Poet
The eyes behind a head inclined reflect a universe
Of shanty towns and kings in crowns and parties in a hearse,
Of heaping mounds of coffee grounds and pennies in a purse,
Of heart attacks in shoddy shacks, of motion in reverse,
Of reasons why pale kids must die, quite trite and curtly terse,
Of puppet people at the steeple, kneeling down averse,
Of tinkle tones and megaphones with empty words and worse,
Of life's begin' in utter sin and other things perverse,
Of lewd taboos and residues contained within the Curse,
While poets blind, in gallows' rind, carve epitaphs in verse.
poem by Terry O'Leary
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Battered Shells
Standing lonely in a crowd
Feelings severed, screaming loud;
Heart rejected, growing cold
Trusting ways begin to fold
Waking eyes find life revealed,
Wonder when the dirge was pealed;
Love was captured, tears ran wild
From the young but learning child
Finding life like solitaire
Some that need but none that care,
Most that take but none that give
All that die and none that live
Reaching out to no one there
Leaving all your feelings bare;
Soon to nothing they will grind
Leaving but a shell behind
[...] Read more
poem by Terry O'Leary
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Clouds
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue;
Rain, the rain descends aslant from angry ashen skies;
Winds, the winds bemoan their loss of reins and calm control;
Shades, the shades appear suffused, alone in lurid haze;
Trees, the trees enshroud the eyes of misty brooding woods;
Leaves, the leaves desert their branches, falling one by one;
Birds, the birds intone a tune, a mourning monody;
Grass, the grass surrenders blades, impaled in truant winds;
Fields, the fields imbibe and quaff to quench an arid thirst;
Stones, the stones repulse the pearls, exploding tears of gloom;
Streams, the streams meander, hushed, to distant vapid shores;
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue
poem by Terry O'Leary
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The Night awaits the Dawn
Some boys with cheek play hide and seek within a house condemned
Their faces gaunt reflecting want that's hard to comprehend.
With no excuse an old recluse is waiting to descend.
His eyes despair behind the stair, he's never had a friend
To talk about his hidden doubt of how the world will end -
To die alone on empty throne and other Fates impend.
And soon the boys chase phantom joys and, presto when they're gone,
The old recluse, with nimble noose and facial features drawn,
No longer waits upon the Fates but yawns his final yawn
- Like Tinker Bell, he spins a spell, in fairy dust chiffon -
With twisted brow, he's tranquil now, he's floating like a swan
And as he fades from life's charades, the night awaits the dawn.
poem by Terry O'Leary
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My Guitar
With burdens bearing heavy down a road that's hard and long
My body's bent and weary so I'm reaching for a song;
My sorrows flicker - fading..., faint... - beneath the morning star,
While worried fingers seethe across the strings of my guitar.
Though seagulls fly forever, streaking, striving for the strand,
My troubles ebb, evaporate, with my guitar in hand;
Their turbulency's writhing neath the notes within the air -
And hunted by the haunting beat, they're vanquished everywhere.
With melodies erupting, bursting, splashing night with dawn,
The drifting dancing demons die, as time goes swirling on;
Guitars are roaming randomly across the rusty skies,
While cares have vanished, draped in dust of distant lullabies.
poem by Terry O'Leary
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