Walt Whitman’s birthday – new poem by Paul O’Mahony

9cdf4ddc-35aa-495c-84a7-7a6f78cbf485

Lines composed on the birthday of Walt Whitman (1819-2016)

“You will hardly know who I am or what I mean” (Walt Whitman)

There’s a lot to be said for waking before dawn
in a strange bed
with friends next door
– especially if you stretch to a bookcase
crammed with unfamiliar words
fingering spines,
loafing at your ease.

Better still, when the bard of democracy calls:
“Pick me, pick me, take me to your heart,
I’ll grow your spirit.”
– his beard promising you adventure.
– a smattering of rain strumming on mullioned glass.
And you reply “Hey, why should my finger linger?
Why draw you to my side?”

The first light swells,
‘the wilderness of unopened life’ grips you,
and sings of ‘passion, pulse and power’
– as a barnacle to a rock.

“Prayer” – new poem by Paul O’Mahony

4095b12b-a60e-4c6d-9fa5-a261f13c46b0

Prayer

I

They said they’d pray for me,
warmed and discomforted me.

“Pray for us sinners” echoed
“Get down on your knees and pray”
in pyjamas by the bedside,
after I leant on the drawing room sofa
reciting five decades of the rosary
every evening
looking towards the fireplace, coal box, chess books and bibles.

Now mother’s accepted she’s the one who’ll do the praying.
No more pushing, she’s done her best.

II

To pray
is human.

My friend with cancer wrote
“I’ve prayed for my health and yours,
five times a day,
everyday.”
A hummingbird whispered
“Surely you can say ‘I pray for you’
Shame on you.”

Like a guilty child I stumbled
“May your heart be warmed by the love you give to others.”
(I wish I’d added “… and yourself.“)

III

By the river that washed the soles of Bernadette
I rebelled:

“Every step of my way’s a prayer
offered in hope,
in thanks,
contrition,
desperation,
love,
in celebration of tickling mysteries.”

Now I stand in prayer, warm and discomforted,
my way, this day.

 

“Lost Love” – poem by Paul O’Mahony

0021593f-cfdc-4490-a952-3b282cabab3a

Lost Love

I’ve lost my love for you,

forgotten your name

among so many others.

 

Are you worth remembering?

Do you matter at all

any more?

 

Will you ever return,

re-emerge like hibernator?

Are you buried forever underground?

 

Could it be your disappearance

isn’t even noticed

and no tears shed for you?

 

The good of you fallen,

sieved like flour and icing sugar,

leaving only useless lumps?

 

Your name a melted hailstone,

gone from sight,

faded.

 

Pray surface in your own time,

lost love loved again

even if you’ve forgotten my old name.

I wish

559006

I wish

I wish for Plenty:
manna, songs, dancing, smiles
gin, tonic, lime – even porter and champagne

especially the hugs of others
warm hearths for my belly
I wish for nothing less than a place at the next resurrection.

(I found no seat at the last supper.)

What I’m greedy for now lies beyond
nights of sleep, hummingbirds, smoked salmon, diamonds.
Tis daylight peace without end.

(It is a blessing to want.)

My longing rose from the dead on Monday evening
not long after a shrink  spilled her seed on fertile ground
and stones moved in concert.

I wish I knew the secret of how to sow miracles
the way a spirit splits and multiplies
the rising of the sun.

(At least I remember her name.)

There’s nothing like a breath drawn up an elephant’s trunk
nothing like the atmosphere of air
Lazarus found out  – and so did I.

Maybe I’ll remember how to wish next time round the mulberry
– trees breathe, leaves bud again.
There’s plenty to be found.

I wish

nb_pinacoteca_dore_divine_comedy_inferno_01a_dante_astray_in_the_dark_wood

I wish 

I wish for nothing in particular

nor gold, nor silver

nor the slightest material star

 

Not even the love of another being

nor warmth from the sun.

I  wish for nothing beautiful.

 

What I crave lies beyond words

beyond prayers, beyond faith

beyond me: it is dead.

 

It died on a Thursday afternoon

not long before the assent

to the peak of Christmas dawned.

 

I wish for the return of the property

stolen from air I use to breathe

– I have a nickname for it.

 

But the memory is punctured

the proper name dribbled away

beyond reach, beyond breath.

 

It refuses to respond to my cries

lets the echo fester and reek of cracked eggs

in case I forget it wasn’t always so.

 

I wish it was like Lazarus

reincarnated human.

Maybe I’ll go on wishing and breathing too…

____________________________

Note:

Composed just before xmas 2015. With special thanks to Lars.

ThoughtForToday – 21 December 

  

Respect yourself

Be warm

friendly

kind

generous

loving

to yourself.

Practise on yourself

– day in day out 

ThoughtForToday – 16 December 

  

You are well. 

No matter how you feel, 

no matter how much misery 

has visited you, 

no matter what others say, 

no matter how hard you find it.

Because 

deep down 

you are a wonderful person. 

Hang on to that

mad

crazy

proposterous 

life-saving

thought

Rain and Wind 

  

When I was a child 

I loved 

the sound of rain & wind 

on glass 

as I curled up warm 

under bedclothes. 

In front of this fire, 

I haven’t grown up

2 Poems by Charles Bukowski read by Paul O’Mahony

My Father

https://audioboom.com/boos/3945701-my-father-poem-by-charles-bukowski-read-by-paul-o-mahony

My Friend the Parking Lot Attendant

https://audioboom.com/boos/3945723-my-friend-the-parking-lot-attendant-by-charles-bukowski-read-by-paul-o-mahony

 

Hello Grace

31 August 2010

Hello Grace,

Today is your big day. Your first day at what you call “big school”.  And you’ve got so big.

A tiny little thing in Mummy’s tummy, the smallest little creature ever born.  

This is the day you popped-out here to say hello.  And you brought a lovely little smile into my heart. It was the biggest little dream I’d ever seen.

You were a baby on this day, five years ago you came to stay, and you’ll never ever go away from me.

Because I love you like a star, you’re above me from afar, and this day’s another step in precious life.

There’s a slice of life you’ve eaten, a sweet you’ve partly touched.  But today you’re ready for another.

You’ve grown up & up the tree, so there’s more you now can see, I’m so happy you’re off to school  – as if ’twas really cool to jump into a green swimming pool.

Your uniform is green, the best you’ve ever seen, it’s a thrill for you to carry all those books.

You’re birthday’s also here, so you’ll never forget this day, it’ll be pink & gold across your mind.

There’s a fluffy little dog who’ll wag his tail, he might even bark goodbye
as you climb into the car. You’re a star for everyone, as you set out on these steps,

but it’s your life you’re leading now, and I trust you’ll take a bow.Because you’ve done it big big girl, you’re the one who’s ready now,

you’re the leader of your life on every day. There’s no more I want to say,
I simply want to cheer you on today.  

May your teacher, Miss Nalty,  also turn into a star, and show you lots of lovely things that all ring true. 

May your friends be right beside you, every step along the way.  Together, may you love the school as much as any party.

It’s your birthday.
It’s your schoolday.
It’s a way, it’s a play.

You deserve it,
let’s observe it,
you’ve the nerve for all that is to come.

Welcome to this day. 

____________________________

Note:

This was first published on my blog on 31 August 2010. I don’t want to lose it. It means a lot to me and might mean something to her one day.

ThoughtForToday – 13 December 

  

There is no point in being here

unless

I am in love with humanity & its diversity.

There is no point in ignoring 

what my legacy will be.

There is no point in creating 

a blank tombstone

ThoughtForToday – 13 December 

  
Be

Breathe Be Breathe

Now

See Hear Touch Taste Smell 

Imagine 

You are real 

ThoughtForToday – 12 December 

 

We are all creatures
We’ve all been made the way we are.

We all create
we all make.

We’re creators
we all make things happen.

Our creations are
everything we make.

We are all creatives

– so why the hell
are some creatures awarded
the title “creative” (all bow).

Screw that way.

I stand against the crowd

[You can also hear an audio version of this poem here]

I stand

against the crowd

I stand out from the crowd

I am an individual

odd

different

singular

misfit

awkward in my comfort

edgy in my skin

alive in my own little way

I live my say

I give the best shot I can

every day.

I stand against the crowd

of wasters who fritter

their life away their way.

I waste my life my way

I fritter my days into

the oblivion I fashion

every step I say.

because I am who am

me

condemned to be myself

I stand out from the crowd

comfortable in my discomforting way

that comes from every pore

every sore

every score of my expressions.

It’s my art

the heart of my song

the liver that cleans my spleen

seen in all my glory every time

I stand against the crowd

Each and every difference

friction

grating

unconforming

uncomplying

understandable me.

See that fella

hovering on the edge

the one who isn’t fitting in

the one with the shifty eyes

the glint of his own

You can smell

he’s an outsider

a weirdo

an awkward one

an individual

heart

a body of imagining

power

wealth

stealth

scheming to survive

the crowd

the collective view

the “what we all think”

thinkers.

I stand against the crowd

I stand out from the crowd

away from the crowd

proud of my own way

fiddling the melody

composed of notes

I’ve assembled from the crowd

playing the game I’ve invented

the rules I’ve annunciated

predicated on the shoulders

of giants who have fallen

in battle

against the crowd

castigated on shoulders

of heroes that have died

for the cause of being

themselves.

I reject the way of the crowd

every time my heart pumps

blood from the flat of my soul

to the peak of my imagination.

Consternation

I will cause

conflagration to

instigation of the self

opinionated

author of my fate

creator of my faith

born to be wild

not filed away in a box

I defy

I stand against the crowd

that would

categorise me

classify me

entomb me in place

where they could ignore me

where they could make me safe

from causing a splash

from making a difference

from changing

the course of history

the dreams of others

the Universe.

For such a cause

I stand against the crowd

I stand out from the crowd

to welcome you

fellow traveller

fellow awkward person

follower battler

for your way.

For your way is my way too

your way is yours

my way is mine

our way stands out from the crowd

We stand against the crowd.

We stand up for ourselves

We stand who stand.

Against the crowd

Unto death.
_________________________

Notes:

 

The Rebel Creatives Manifesto
“We are #RebelCreatives

#RebelCreatives are those who rises in opposition or resistance against an established force or opinions. People who voice their opinions, want to make a change and promote social good.

Everyone is a creative. You share your creativty everyday through the way you walk, talk, interact, share and care.

 The #RebelCreatives project will officially launch with epic 30 back-to-back broadcasts on Periscope. Each broadcaster will get 15 or 30mins to share their creativity about a certain topic.

The broadcasters will share their passion, knowledge and understanding of a particular issue through your creativity. “

______________

ThoughtForToday – 11 December 

  

To continue living

with a sense of purpose

in your life

restart your computer now

– provided

that computer is the heart & soul of your life

Strangle Bukowski – poem by Paul O’Mahony

Will someone please strangle Bukowski

A disgraceful man

not worthy of the name Charles

He farts his syllables

belches his words

vomits his phrases

– his sentences smell

like festering fish

As for his verse

it’s worse.

When did Mewkowski last rhyme?

When did he not spew  out his truth

as if it was personal?

If caustic Charlie didn’t drink sour milk

sucked from his Mother Nature

the inhuman race

would have no warlike bastards

inciting us all to spill blood

from eructive orifices.

Pastiching

the barely sane Bukowski

keeps my bad breath moving mindfully

in and out

in and out

through gaps between teeth

filled originally by a dumb dentist

married to his drill

addicted to screwing

holes he amalgamed.

Father, father

who will rid me of this

treacherous gurgitator

sent from that inner being

Steve Jobs

tried to connect with

on his ashram

in smelly feet.

See,

pastiche is the sincerest form of flattery

Will someone please strangle Bukowski?

ThoughtForToday – 9 December 

  

The truth will enslave you 
Your truth mislead you
Humility will save you 

ThoughtForToday – 8 December 

  

Having fun

(laughing smiling chuckling giggling grinning dancing singing playing hugging …)

is good

enjoying something 

and 

anything 

is 

also good

– symptoms 

of mental health 

Poetry is good for something?

disclaimer

I’m a poet.

I buy poetry books.
read poems (out loud).
run a daily poetry show
live streamed on Periscope
(The Walt Whitman Show).

And

“Does poetry still matter?“

(CNN)Quick: Name a famous living poet.

Somebody. Anybody. No, not Maya Angelou. She died last year.

Unless you’re a literary scholar or a subscriber to The New Yorker, it’s not easy. That’s because poetry, once a preeminent form of entertainment, has long since receded to the far, dusty corners of popular culture…

And

In 2003, Newsweek cried

Poetry Is Dead. Does Anybody Really Care?

“… Ultimately, though, there’s no one to blame. Poetry is designed for an era when people valued the written word and had the time and inclination to possess it in its highest form…”

I care

so 

in December 2015, I did ethnomethodological research among an international, cross-cultural, mixed-gender, inter-generational group

Screen Shot 2015-12-06 at 21.25.01

https://katch.me/embed/v/f91e97bd-6af2-3d5d-8138-96fbec40d5cc?sync=1

Voices of the dead

human connection, honesty
I like to write poetry that speaks encouragement over others.
introspection
it’s like sunshine and rain.
for the poet or for the reader?
I like poetry… straightforward easy storytelling
expression of internal world
same effect as music, when it’s done well
I write poetry for my own peace of mind and self expression

reveals human connection

our connections through our secrets, fears

indescribable, sometimes, but you know it’s good…
‘Step of the body toward the sea falls the land to break’
poetry is an acquired taste?
it’s nice when you can relate to it in your own life
connection to another person’s internal world
for me it’s just for enjoyment.
I don’t analyse too much
I just let it happen
and
take what’s there in the moment
‘Poetry distills life like fermentation distills spirits’
‘Poetry wakes things within that are hidden under the surface’
Music and poetry are the same
unless the poem is a song
then it hits me inside
‘Poetry is an excuse to use forgotten words’
like a forever blossoming of the soul
ever opening and revealing
wrapping words around
emotions, perceptions, and the heart song
‘If a picture paints a thousand words, a poem can contain the world.’
transport you to another place
open your mind to new thoughts
sometimes
poetry is my weapon
a way to express feelings
a map for left brain engineering
in the language of logic,
poetry is a super structure
Forgotten words
for the dam
generates the power within
‘If pictures can paint a thousand words,
my poetry attempts are stick men’

 (To be continued)