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JG O'Connor Mar 13
The greed in me buys a ticket,
Only when it’s over 50 million.
I wouldn’t know what to do with 1 million.
All that week I avoid the news,
Just to prolong the illusion.
Lost to imaginary purchases of Islands,
Yachts, houses, parties, paintings,
I can’t make up my mind.
I check the Sunday Times Property supplement,
What can I afford?
Then there is the property tax.
The security, insurance, indigestion.
What if the new car gets scratched?  
Everything I don’t need.

Eventually I check the ticket.
Relieved to avoid all that work,
And thankful I haven’t won.
But the greed will still get the better of me next time,
A Dark powerful magic.
JG O'Connor Mar 7
I never put a banger,
Through an old ladies door,
At Halloween or any alternative time of year.
To the best of my knowledge.

I never bought those X-ray glasses,
For looking through girls clothes,
As advertised beside the Sea Monkey’s,
In the back of the superman comic.
To the best of my knowledge.

I never wanted to go,
When my mother broke up,
Our cowboys and Indians game,
On Saturday to send me off to confession.
To the best of my knowledge.

I never quite told the truth,
In the coffin room with the sliding hatch,
In case the darkly hidden man,
Dished out too many Hail Mary’s for penance.
To the best of my knowledge.

So,
I haven’t used pyrotechnics to frighten old women,
Nor used X-Ray glasses to spy on girls,
Nor told the truth in confession,
Nor I’m the most sensible of people,
Is this best of my knowledge?
JG O'Connor Jan 31
What is this life experiment,
That we take without choice?
A tour through the material world.
Our spirit undertakes this journey,
Our soul experiences it.
We dream awake.
Some people have a great dream,
Which they fail to realise.
Others have no dream at all,
And fail to even fulfil that.
What we see is not what we see,
but who we are.
JG O'Connor Nov 2018
My shadow follows me everywhere,
A constant companion in the light.
Sometimes striding ahead,
Sometime pushing behind,
Often to the left ...or right.

In the dark playing hide and seek,
Appearing just to scare.
Just when I drift past some street lamp.
And then annoyed I stop and glare,
Standing there with arms folded,
Like it's rude to stare.

Often there to entertain the kids,
My shadow on the wall.
They squeal with delight,
As my shadow makes  dragons tall.
In the end I suppose,  
I would be lost without my shadow,
Nothing to link me to this world.
JG O'Connor Nov 2018
Only in Cork would the Station Master rush in,
Announcing “Anyone for the train for Mallow,”
“The bus is leaving now”.
Two girls kiss passionately sitting on the station seats,
While a woman in a woolly hat,
Standing behind,
Makes the sign of the cross repeatedly.
The apostolic sailors stand in a circle,
Kit Bags in the middle,
As they rotate in and out.
Searching for ***** while the train is delayed.  
And the pub still closed.
This is the start of my son’s stag,
A ritual passage to husband.
A beginning and ending of stories.
JG O'Connor Oct 2018
Autumn a variety of  gold colours,
Like a multi layered sponge cake
And candle soft birthday lights ,
That sing wind laden whispers .

Scolding when did we grow,
Too old to toss in the leaves .
Or wrap arms around a rooted tree,
Just to feel it move.

Or just stop and stare,
At dancing shadows,
Of a setting Sun,
And the creaking end of light.

Cool laden nights,
Of soft star lights.
Morning dripping windows,
And misty dappled light.

Our last comfort hush,
Before the torrid slush.
Autumn's sweet caress,
Before Winter's carcass.
JG O'Connor Sep 2018
Sunshine speckled bright on calm water,
A white deluge of hawthorn blossoms,
Pour on to the canal.
Fields of mono colour  yellow ****,
Bordered by green hedgerows.
Flash metal blue swallows skim the water.
Mother duck marshals her unruly ducklings,
To disappear into the green.
The reeds on both banks lean towards each other.
Armies of spears about to engage,
Commanded by a grey coated crane.
The sandy path stretches ahead alone.
I could be school walking,
Carelessly kicking stones with new shoes.

Two swans slide past.
Sailing dhows off Borneo.
Once one crossed fine on my port bow,
A manoeuvre around his stern.
From the bridge I watched,
A friendly wave as we passed.
Mariners from different worlds.
Dragonflies spin amongst the blooming Iris,
Lilly pads have surfaced,
With little yellow periscope flowers.
And a lone red poppy stands almost out of place,
Demanding  memory.
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