Poetry and Miscellaneous Yap.......... an Irish poet's blog

Poetry by Irish poet Michael O'Dea. (poems © Michael O’Dea, Dedalus Press, Amastra-n-Galar, Lapwing Publications)

Wednesday, December 29, 2021

From A Childhood

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  It’s late, the sky’s my screen. Laurence Olivier is fleeing through a forest, dark fronds clutching, clawing at him; a gothic tale, fu...
Thursday, December 23, 2021

You are

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  Life is a flash, and loving is its perfect state. I never looked for sparkle in people, never quite expected it, but age has a ...
Monday, December 20, 2021

Being

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 It's not quite Christmas but the contentment would be a wish.  Being. A sparkling Summer’s afternoon, not doing, but being. A...
Tuesday, December 14, 2021

Windy Day

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  On a windy day, I, cloud, trees and grass are one and heaven, earth and water; blue of sky trimmed with cloud white and drizzle grey...

Migrants arriving at European borders

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How wonderful the European stars must look strung along the wire strands of border fences or those butterflies, the endless coils of razo...
Wednesday, December 8, 2021

A Hand in Water

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  A Hand in Water for my father Trailing a hand from a boat: that morning sluicing through my fingers was my most perfect with you. ...
Friday, December 3, 2021

When

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When I brush my hair, it sweeps over your head. When I button up my coat, you snuggle inside. When I exert myself, you mop yo...
Tuesday, November 30, 2021

Leaves in Sunlight

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  Leaves: music and colour; in sunlight they are. On a warm afternoon icicles of air play them; turn white those gre...
Thursday, November 25, 2021

Squalls

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  I keep myself up to date, not with what you do but how you are; I read the squalls coming in over the ocean. Like newspaper pri...
Wednesday, November 24, 2021

Autumn Aria

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  The tree, aria on a pedestal, coloratura. Autumn performance; the wind carries fire.
Thursday, November 18, 2021

Wonders

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  The wind in the wires is making choirs of conversations that would have passed unheard. The child standing on the tarred road hums...
Sunday, November 14, 2021

To The Slaughter House

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 This is a re-edited version of a poem I posted some time back. When asked why I wrote/posted this poem, I was a bit stumped. I am not a veg...
Friday, November 12, 2021

Scale

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  It is mid-afternoon in Dublin; two boys are hammering the shit out of each other; no one else is around; they don’t know just yet, bu...
Monday, November 8, 2021

Small Wonders

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  Photograph by Paul Caponigro What skies beneath our feet, what immensities we trample; how much gentler our step would be if we saw the...
Friday, November 5, 2021

Water

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  Far down, a glimmer of light; down inside the earth, a wonder to our young eyes. We lowered the bucket through the fer...
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