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Mar 2014 · 596
April Shower
Conor O'Leary Mar 2014
Remind the river
the puddle and the spring lake
what water tastes like.
Mar 2014 · 661
How the Story Goes
Conor O'Leary Mar 2014
she jostles under the vine serpents,
knees scraping trees,
green light bending onto her skin.
she’s a dirt daughter
shoeless, careless
the breeze reinvents her smile.

she arrives

her toes press hard against the sidewalk,
and she takes a clinical step forward
her pale moon face
begged by the wilderness to return.

on the other side of the street he bursts from
the subway, his feet neatly clicking up
the stairs.

his briefcase swings
tightly on his hand
his dazed green eyes scurry across
tuesday’s bachelorettes
and they fall in love at least a dozen times.

he arrives

when they stumble into the same civilization
their eyes collide.

they could be blinded.
or they could catch it.
it would run under their skin
like voiceless hummingbirds
awakening their architecture
and electrocuting their blood.

yet love doesn’t just happen to
to the yin and the yang,
or the bird and the bee.

people aren’t perfect puzzle pieces.


love happens best to the disbelievers,
to the fighters, and the skeptics.
it happens to those who know that in order
to make a spark,
you need some friction.

it’s a howl of wind:
constant and spontaneous.
it can vanish and evolve:
always new.

it can braid lives together
like a man with green eyes
and a woman with a pale moon face.

maybe its all been done before.
but there’s something about the way
he juggles a sentence on his lips
and how her face rearranges into a smile
that seems new.

the story doesn’t always sound like this
but humans are like destinations
intersected and scattered
life comes and goes
and sometimes

Love arrives.
Nov 2013 · 833
Drowning on Purpose
Conor O'Leary Nov 2013
When I was sixteen sun-dazed and shining
I dove feet first into
the Pacific,

and was swallowed like a pill.

The water boasted cobalt skin
but under her hips
black was the prominent chemical color.

Before I hit the toes
of the archipelago
there was that moment of war:
a violent waltz of water and air
clashing to push me out

then to bring me
down.

there was only ocean.
the warm Pacific palm
clutching me like a marble.

The soles of her feet were sandy
and her hair was full of islands.

Her tongue was bright with summer-
her heart- full of salt.

And she let me pass through her like an apparition
my smoke drifting around her ankles
in billowing dust

My body an afterthought,
collapsed by shadows-
my eyes were left staring into the wild sapphire Earth.
Oct 2013 · 1.0k
The Fire Breather
Conor O'Leary Oct 2013
His eyes feel like mad August; 
his breath, hot like hope. 
there’s oil in his insides,
and fire twisting in his veins. 

He glances past the striped tent,
which rises and swells with wind.
He sees a cluster of trees drinking stars,
as whispers usher through their contorted alabaster marionettes.

His childhood was a stranded candle
arrested in bruise-colored nights.
The lone light writhed, howled;
but soon was strangled in wax.

He always planted those volatile reminiscences
in the soil next to his rotten garden heart.
and felt those sickly seeds turn crimson,
as each parasite boasted its own pulse.

His skin kindles coliseums
of gasoline-soaked bones.
Slumber-sunk fireflies keep a hollow flame going,
as shadows melt among the incendiary waves of his hair.

He meanders into the light-studded circus,
with a drop of sweat wobbling on his nose.
The spectators fasten his flesh with their stares-
and he slowly peers out at their silhouettes wriggling in the twilight.

His torches burst to life.
Scalding red veils crackling out of existence;
and immediately smoke tugs at his lungs.
His body hisses as he brings the chaos to his teeth.

A charring succession of infernos singe his throat.
Relics of his past heaves upward,
those tears, souvenirs of lonely Septembers, illuminated
between the feathers of phoenixes.

And that pillar of flame suspended above his lips,
cradled by deep liberating exhalations,
collapses within itself.

And the Night applauds.
May 2013 · 535
Morning Radio
Conor O'Leary May 2013
Fire it up.
Voices clap in rapture and lava.
And all around the slow
steady hum of
static climbs into my ears.

Slowly enveloping the poor broadcast. Gone.
Mar 2013 · 586
did we decide on love?
Conor O'Leary Mar 2013
Did we decide on love?
You know the grumbling hooligan
better than I.
If the choice was mine I’d toss it to the streets,
let it soak in the rain.
                                                           ­                                                                 ­    You know love has
                                                                ­                                                                 a brain that hums?
                                                           ­                                                          Not sits and scowls in the
                                                                ­                                                        midst of responsibility.
                                                 ­                                                       Hold, dear child, your sentiments
                                                                ­                                                                 ­     of mediocrity.
                                                     ­                                                                 ­     And wait for the light.
Mar 2013 · 860
mississippi
Conor O'Leary Mar 2013
Willows creak in that soil
and I can hear
a tight pack of crickets shudder;
them strange noises rustlin’ up the Mississippi air:
a thick heap of hot honey, ‘rouses the sweat
on our heads;
even though its the dead a night.
Mar 2013 · 604
storm
Conor O'Leary Mar 2013
Thunder blue
Leaves abducted from there gray fathers
Windows buckled and snap against the pressure.
Shutters shutter.
Lights dance and collapse in their bulbs.

The trees sway like chilly carolers.
Bring me winds. Rain a la carte.
Feb 2013 · 892
The Perks of a Thick Skull
Conor O'Leary Feb 2013
I. The hell my mind tries to tame. The honey writhes and spits in a wrinkled cage.



II. Harvest the thick of oxygen, but never dance in the gale. Heed the vocal constellation, but never try to scream along.   



III. I taste the dry tears of last minute musings. Thorns hiss at my flesh; so still I part the green to avoid the forest’s swallow. 



IV. My bones creak with shards of the wind. Their surfaces riddled with Braille.   



V. I sit in my skin and stare at my skull. I’m not going to try and talk over the loud cranial hum. 



VI. You’ve seen the malice of history. The planet screamed an earthquake. Grass forgot to be green. The sun hung in the air like a pierced tongue. 



VII. Fathom not the light freckled days under the green pulse of Earth. Leafs have huddled into the ground like children.



VIII. In the summertime, we're all the same when we're swimming. A waltz of bubbles and hands.
Feb 2013 · 2.9k
Third Wheel Things.
Conor O'Leary Feb 2013
The expendable existence.
That uncomfortable rat on your skin.
The cut in your gums that bleeds when you chew.

The last feasible member to fit on an ascending elevator.
Warm.
Hot.
Itching.

The spinach in your teeth.
The tear in your jeans located too close to “there”
The treacherous unzipped jean fiasco.

That crumb on your face.
Where is it?
‘To the left’
Is it gone?
‘A little more’
How ‘bout now?
‘Got it.’

The untied shoe.
The untucked shirt.
The eyelash stranded on your face.

The rainy wedding day.
The gold earring under the fridge.
The luggage thats flying to London instead of Zimbabwe.

These are the unwanted little honeybees of everyday being.
cracked mirrors, guitar-snapped strings,
welts of fire and third wheel things.
Jan 2013 · 895
Vernal Fuss
Conor O'Leary Jan 2013
the sun has finally worked out its affair with the clouds.
and the snow has expired into a feeble slush.
dirt is bustling with exasperated seeds:
tiny tired shoppers in a Black Friday for nutrients.  
And someone keeps splashing green nonsense into the trees.

but, its kind of- Grand.
should this be longer? suggestions are appreciated :)
Dec 2012 · 485
Promise Me Fire.
Conor O'Leary Dec 2012
Carry your transcendental
hands
towards the colossal
bloom of rock and earth
Bursting forth on earthquake feet.
Breath blue, and paint only green.
Promise me fire,
But when you come
bring only light.
*INCOMPLETE*
Dec 2012 · 4.5k
On Mathematics
Conor O'Leary Dec 2012
1 + 1  isn't math.
It's life and it isn't hard.

1 + 1 is love.
A universal concept
of criss-crossed hands.
Blue eyes to others
hugging their gaze.  

1 + 1 is war.
Two acidic cultures
colliding and sizzling
at contact. Blood
Hot. Black.

1 + 1 is curiosity
Glassy eyes on charcoal talons
Wrinkled trunk 'round tail of dog
Feeble finger ravaged by thousands of legs
Paint Africa upon my hands.

1 + 1 are footprints
of mud on the porch.
Yours between mine.
Toes so close and mud still fresh.

But for those,
who have the most unfortunate
pleasure of removing
themselves from
infinity.
1 + 1 = 2.

How sad.
Dec 2012 · 590
On Love
Conor O'Leary Dec 2012
I thought that we were
friendly pieces
to a game of chess.
Even if we're both pawns.
But now you just
throw pieces.

A loss of lights
and unsaid fights
has spoiled our unsung marriage.

I’d rather walk
in the chilly grass
Slowly, while fire has time to beat
And tell you everything that burned me.

While heavens have concluded:
Your Jupiter heart
housed a Neptune love
but
hide the embers on Pluto.

May we hunt again the sky
for shooting stars

If the night allows?

Please
I beg.
*incomplete*
Dec 2012 · 2.3k
Why Does the Sycamore Fall?
Conor O'Leary Dec 2012
Graceful life by the river
doesn’t end by choice.

Some war like lightening
is more worthy.
But what is Death worth.
If life is priceless?

So the tree must fall.
By hands or by flood.
By grace or by worth.
By light or in darkness.

And when it does,
By god the world will hear.
It will be.
As it was.

Sycamore, Sycamore,
fell on thee
Sycamore, Sycamore,
hear thy plea.
*incomplete* *unedited*
Dec 2012 · 387
LIVE LOVELY
Conor O'Leary Dec 2012
she gotta mouth full of poetry.
and a head full of humans.

her night is pacing black
to bright and
back to days
she didn’t feel
like facing.

whisper to the moon
all those crazy stories the sun doesn’t
like.

and live.
lovely.
live.
Nov 2012 · 884
Smile Sick
Conor O'Leary Nov 2012
I be smile sick
And tired as books
But I be pondering on a snow-less starfire
freezing
burning
then turning
not changing
but searching.

I be the speckled lights of morning bright
Eyes be pins on skin like needle.
Thoughts be fickle and love be feeble

I be writing skies
then erasing
I be life
            worth screaming.
Nov 2012 · 708
The Fault in Our Stars
Conor O'Leary Nov 2012
The fault
in our
stars

is neither
intensity nor
quantity.

Fear not the cosmos
choked up in creation
might’ve forgotten
some fiery ingredient.

No

The fault
in our stars
is simply
that there are none.

— The End —