Eugene John O’Connor Poetry

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A selection of John O’Connor  poetry.

Words

Oh dreams they came and called my name,
To inspire and excite me.
Embraced with hope, from first we spoke,
Kindling desires inside me.
How sweet the words that fell upon my dormant soul.

My weakness calm and strength exposed,
Your words lay all around me.
Each day they grew, and soon I knew,
Your dreams had finally found me.
How sweet the words that fell upon my dormant soul.

Pulsating heart and chasing mind,
In dreams with you, together find.
To walk the sands where turtles see,
My love in you, and yours in me.
How sweet the words that fell upon my dormant soul.

So cry the night, where dreams took flight;
No wrongs to me were spoken.
For had I knew what troubled you,
My waking heart be broken.
How sweet the words that fell upon my dormant soul.

Oh dreams return, and call my name,
For I with you to go.
Or forever lost, to count the cost,
Of the dreams I’ll never know.
How sweet the words that fell upon my dormant soul.

Cartoon illustration of shamrocks. Image copyright Ireland Calling

50/50, 60/40, 90/10

September came and went,
And many years the same;
Yet, my heart still missed a beat,
When someone spoke her name.

For she had lit a candle,
Ever glowing in my soul.
My love for her stayed with me,
But never to be told.

Would turning to her now;
In the September of her years,
Only end in disappointment,
And more shedding of her tears?

Is it better to be a dreamer;
Of a love that might have been,
Knowing she didn’t find it,
In the arms of other men?

As she sails off to the sunset,
The winds blowing in her hair;
I gaze upon her one last time,
Remembering, once her love stood near.

Cartoon illustration of shamrocks. Image copyright Ireland Calling

Flowers for my Father

It wasn’t nice watching him die;
But it wasn’t nice watching him live either;
In a few short years he had come to this.
His health had stumbled, then fallen off a cliff.
Speeding helplessly downwards, he became a corpse before my eyes;
And all either of us could do, was Wait, for the impact of the end.

All my youth, he was a strong man of the soil;
With pride in his hands and the endurance of his back.
He worked with workers, and drank with drinkers;
Life was stern, peppered with moments of fond memories.
The seasons of my world, were set in the certainty of his routine;
As sure, but unseen, as the earth circles the sun.

And then he was gone, his eyes spoke no more.
Friends said it was ease to him in the end;
And I felt guilty, for feeling relief in his death.
Seeds of gratitude, for the father he was to me;
Are now blossoming flowers upon his grave.
Life was stern, peppered with moments of fond memories.

Cartoon illustration of shamrocks. Image copyright Ireland Calling

Poetry copyright Eugene John O’Connor

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Cartoon illustration of shamrocks. Image copyright Ireland Calling

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