Eugene John O’Connor

The Door by Eugene John O'Connor. Image copyright Ireland Calling
The Door by Eugene John O'Connor. Image copyright Ireland Calling

Here, Eugene John O’Connor tells why he writes poetry.

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More of Eugene’s poetry

There is not much to tell. I started to write poems some 10 years ago as a means of focusing recurring thoughts and giving expression to them. A kind of self therapy.

I only write poems when I’m motivated by some life experience or when asked to, by someone who would like a poem about their life’s experience. Hence, I’ve only wrote about 30 poems or so.

I have no interest in writing poems just for the sake of writing poems. I only post my poems on my Facebook pages and pages where my poems might be of interest.

Below is a selection of his poetry.

Eugene says this poem would serve as his bio.

I am, poem by Eugene John O'Connor

I am

Love, hope, hurt, rejection and regret
Are familiar friends of mine.
We have sat at the table together;
Uncomfortable in each other’s presence;
But reassured in our bonds with each other,
And our honesty of purpose.

They in turn, and sometimes without warning,
Have pushed me to my limits.
Revealing the weakness in my strength,
And the strength in my weakness.
For to them, I am just the apprentice,
But I am, so much more with you.

Shamrocks. Image copyright Ireland Calling
The Door, poem by Eugene John O'Connor

The Door

I can still see her saying goodbye as She got into her father’s waiting car.
As I watched her from my window,
A tear slipped from my heart.

I wanted to run out and tell her
Not to go, or promise she would come back in September.
But I couldn’t,
Without making a fool of myself in front of her.

Even if I did, she would still go,
And we would never again stand at the door;
Where we would talk for ages, in low voice,
And I’d fall in love with her a little bit more.

She had gone to find the world,
And make her life outside that of mine.
But within mine, she had left a life time’s impression.
And so, there she sat, in my mind,
Forever perfect, but forever gone.

Shamrocks. Image copyright Ireland Calling

Poetry copyright: Eugene John O’Connor
Graphics copyright: Ireland Calling

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Shamrocks. Image copyright Ireland Calling

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More of Eugene’s poetry


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