john o'connell Poems

after sun and sea.

the rush to the station,
back to the town;
...

a clarinet
brightening up
the night
in the cheerful
...

a failure.

the harsh note of reality
had crept into his voice -
...

writing.

none of this
is important.
...

3 in 1,
1 in 3,
all being
almighty
...

You are like a well
of fresh water
in a desert
of desolation.
...

a soul on fire.

the village, this morning,
a snowy world
...

outside my window
the blur of a november fog
hastens up eternal ghosts, hades-like,
from gardens bleeding with pungent odours.
...

as children
we played
spontaneously
together;
...

a human voice,
a Slavic magic
storming into
the dried out
...