Moon poem

Desire brushing my face

like some woman’s hair.

Trapped in a drizzle of muscles,

beneath a moon

filling the world with longing

and hopeless space.

Unwelcome Meeting

I wish I could remember who inspired this small poem. In fact, I've no recollection of writing it at all.

Many years ago, when I  first started writing and submitting poems for publication, I was told by a friend that I had a poem published in the magazine Cyphers. I  had no memory of submitting a poem, and did not believe the report. But after one or two other people mentioned it, I  went into a shop to check. I remember quite clearly reading it and concluding that it was far better than anything I could write and concluded that there was another Michael O'Dea writing poetry. In fact, I concluded that the gulf  in the standard of the writing was the reason that I would never be published. Later I realised that the subject matter was very familiar to me, and, that all things considered, it had to be mine.

A drink too many, I think, and so it seems nothing's changed; and I'm not sure that Cyphers would publish this.

 

 

Unwelcome Meeting.

 

Smile:

my bracelet snaps.

 

Speak:

chicken bones.

 

Touch:

                             a dusty rug for shaking.