Conor O'Leary: Favorites

Feb 2013 Conor O'Leary

Brynn

Dear future love,
Will you one day write poems for me? Would you write beautiful words with me as your inspiration? Could you capture me in between college-ruled lines? Paint a picture of me without picking up a paint brush? Write to me, about me , for me - like I see him do for her. Please tell me have we met, or will we ever? Am I just a face you see now, an image , a thought , a word. Can you let me know? Send a sign to your love. Or have the signs been sent and I , looking too hard for them. Am I overlooking the obvious, the perfect, the person, the you? Please tell me that you are out there wondering who the girl is that is writing about you!
Love
Always

Feb 2013 Conor O'Leary

Skeleton Keys

Feb 2013 Conor O'Leary

Brynn

Skeleton Keys

At the bottom you lay.
Not broken,
but old.
You've been moved around so many times.
You cannot count the cold hands that have touched you.
But they don't need you.
For those who don't know, You're Junk
For those that do, Understand.
The places you have been,
The passages you have unlocked,
The darkness that has taken over most of your life.
Forever underappreciated yet still there,
when they need you.
Sometimes they don't understand.
One day they will come back,
They will want to remember the past
They can't unlock their future without it.

Feb 2013 Conor O'Leary

Sentiments from my hindered mind...

Feb 2013 Conor O'Leary

Devon Haley

Sentiments from my hindered mind...

Average.
        A statistic.
     A normal percent of a population.
Nothing great...
                            Just average.
Typical
Common
Ordinary.
         Nothing special.

How can one overcome normal when being average is out of our control?

Hmm...

Being average is harder than one could predict.
Clawing one's way to the top only to realize that the top is only slightly above average and the true top would be classified next to the great minds of einstein and issac newton, of course.

Every one of the population considered average either accepts their fate or decides they could be better.
An even smaller amount of those average people have the courage and strength to hope there might be something...
                            Special about them and without even trying there could be something likeable and charming about them.       Maybe.

A typical kind of person
           Could grow tired of always flowing with the crowd and one day
        Change direction...

Who knows?
       Maybe just maybe we'd find on a different path a place where home can be felt by the presence of a stranger and love could grow on trees and in the spring, bloom.      Maybe.

Maybe average is harder than people realize.

Every one trying to stand out just a little bit and succeed!
Show the world who they are
What they can be and
How they will break everyones old expectations !
And maybe once be special..

Being average is hard work.
Sure, you had to work your way up to being above average and intelligent but you were born with that genetic upperhand of being smarter than everyone else, ya know.

And i mean the people who are below average harbor doubt in themselves and usually come to term with the fact they can do no better.

But the people who are average.
The people who are average just
Ache
To be special for one moment
And in that one moment they need
To find the one person
Who could make them feel special all their life.

These are the thoughts of a hindered mind.

Jan 2013 Conor O'Leary

My Dad's Childhood, as told by the Rolling Stones

Jan 2013 Conor O'Leary

Cori

My Dad's Childhood, as told by the Rolling Stones

It was October of 1966 and he was 9.
He walked proudly
through the scary Brooklyn streets,
searching for that one corner he saw-
on the ride home from PS 361,
back when he was 8.
An entire 3 blocks from home,
and he arrived at Mamma Rosa’s.
“World Famous Taste."
he would taste it soon enough.
(He didn’t know it, but Mamma’s was only famous
for the pizza grease layer over the checkered table cloths).

He mastered the menu with his 3rd grade reading skills.
The “marr-in-ay-ruh” sauce sounded tasty.

The steaming spaghetti came towards his window seat,
and Billboard’s Top 10 Singles played over his noodle noises.

“Mother’s Little Helper” by The Stones was new to him.
He twisted his pasta to the beat of the sitar.
The spicy guitar chords and zest of the marinara on his tongue. . .
The al dente string
swayed
from his stinging lips and to the beat of the bass.

He paid in three quarters he got from the landlord.
He swept the driveway every Sunday.
It was the best sauce he will have ever tasted.
“What a drag it is-
getting old.”

Jan 2013 Conor O'Leary

Aging

Jan 2013 Conor O'Leary

Brynn

Aging

I lay awake when I should be asleep...
No when I should be dreaming
But....I am awake my eyes are burning from staring at the screen.
My heartbeats flutter and add extra rhythm.
My life slowly gaining momentum as I stay stationary, lying in my bed listening to the rain.

This aging confuses me so.
How can one day I wake up and have my mommy take care of everything
To me making sure I can handle myself?
Going from no fear
To a fear of everything ?
To development, growth, improvement, struggle, hate, love and all in-between.
It's all chaos to me.
All of it.
But
I'm growing up.
And I can't stop it.

Dec 2012 Conor O'Leary

Tis the Season

Dec 2012 Conor O'Leary

Brynn

Tis the Season

Tis the Season
*To believe

Happy holidays!

Dec 2012 Conor O'Leary

Distorted Reflections

Dec 2012 Conor O'Leary

Christian J Clark

Distorted Reflections

Today, the sky is an ashen hue of grey.
Today, the sky is void of warmth.
Today, Christmas is a week away.
Today, the sky is weeping.

I stand in line at the checkout stand.
Two older women wait ahead of me.
My ears tune-in to their conversation.
They're talking about Connecticut.

"...they say he took his mother's life..."
"...went to the school and took the lives of 20 children..."
"...he went in and they said they heard popping sounds..."
"...they say it's the second to worst school shooting, ever..."
"...anyways, they say she was probably the first child to be shot..."

And there it was.
Good old American sentiment at it's finest.
Does it really matter who's innocent life was taken first?
Does it really matter?

So petty.
So insignificant.
Here we are, facing a tragedy... and then,
Here we are turning it into a competition.

Frustration hits me like a wave as I stand there in line.
My stomach twists because it's always the same.
My head swirls as I feel the earth spinning
It's always the same.

The sky still sobs as I leave the store.
The haze still haunts and the cold confirms.
I get in my car to drive away from the women.
I get in my car to drive away from the twisted sentiment.

Now I am standing alone in the rain.
The callous wind nips at my neck.
I stare at the rippling surface of the lake.
I watch the reflecting sky distort itself.

Somewhere out there people are suffering.
Around the world humans die every day.
But when it's here, the world morns with us,
And when it's out there, we pretend not to know.

--Christian J. Clark

My heart goes out to all those suffering from the senseless deaths of their loved ones in Connecticut, but also for those suffering across the globe. Dealing with the death of loved ones is never an easy task.