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Sentiment with each and every move.

Leaving me in a dizzy kind of mood.

Selling your soul for all thats smooth.

Limp with the fear of anything new.

Strengthening as I feed from you.

Leeching on everything that you do.


Maybe it was my ball passing
-with a turning sound-
They build the walls
and you will grow up she said
With a soft hair
She didn't understand the wind
She thought she was not being loved
Maybe they don't love Jasmines
The dolls are naked
They want mommy
I didn't like their laughs
Why are they laughing at me ?
Clowns do not laugh
Angel does not need any help
I want eyes
Wearing eyeshadows
Wearing mascara
They don't have tears
The world not have tears
Where's mom ?
Maybe she doesn't love me
She was telling stories as she
was hanging the clothes on the clothesline
My sister was there
The Eglantines go to bed soon
I'm scared
The angel didn't ask for help
I wish there was someone who hears my words

شاید توپ من بود که می رفت
-صدای قل خوردن داشت-
دیوارها را کشیدند
و گفت : تو بزرگ خواهی شد
موهایش نرم بود
باد را نمی فهمید
فکر می کرد دوستش ندارند
شاید یاسمن ها را دوست ندارند
عروسک ها لختند
مامان می خواهند
از خنده هاشان خوشم نمی آمد
چرا به من می خندند
دلقک ها که نمی خندند
فرشته کمک نمی خواهد
من چشم می خواهم
سایه بزند
مژه هایش را
فر کند
اشک ندارند
...اشک نداشته باشند
مادرم کو !؟
شاید دوستم ندارد
وقتی لباس هایم را
زیر آفتاب پهن می کرد
!!! قصه می گفت
خواهرم بود
نسترن ها زود می خوابند
...می ترسم
فرشته کمک نخواست
من می خواهم کسی باشد که حرف هایم را بشنود
My mom is kind
I want the sky either
In my room, I draw birds
I love your small eyes
I love my mom's hands
I play with mommy's scarves
I can feel the smell of her bag
I remember my childhood dresses
She bought me colorful shoes
Our hands reach the sky
I hold my mom's hand in my tummy
I'm pregnant with my mom's hands
Mommy is not like granny
And I'll like my mom's ******* in a ****** relation

مادرم مهربان است
من هم آسمان می خواهم
من پرنده ها را در اتاقم نقاشی می کشم
چشم های کوچک تو را دوست دارم
دست های مادرم را دوست دارم
با روسری های مادرم بازی می کنم
بوی کیفش را هنوز احساس می کنم
لباس های کودکی هایم را به یاد دارم
بعضی از روزها برایم کفش های رنگارنگ می خرید
دست های ما به آسمان می رسد
من دست های مادرم را در شکمم نگه می دارم
من دست های مادرم را حامله ام
مادر من شبیه مادربزرگش نیست
و من
در رابطه ای جنسی
...سینه های مادرم را دوست خواهم داشت
i love my mother... :)
 Mar 2017 Terry O'Leary
Poets, you are my people
I tried to pretend not
But here we are
you and I

Tea in a cup
Dishes stacked up
Books, sleeping on the table

Observations of dust and sound
smell and feeling
Too many cats

We are one
Standing in our gardens,
attacked by awareness
It was an atmosphere.
It was an atmosphere.
It was oxygen mixed with southern fog,
Southpaw gloves tied in sailor knots,
Waves of golden grains in ocean wind,
The rolling hills behind property lines.

It was the question you asked,
It was the question you asked,
Not with words but in the way you breathed against the window glass,
While I leaned against your Corolla,
And we sang under the overpass.

It was graffiti,
It was graffiti.
It was the cavernous concrete cats with purple
hair and acid wash jean jackets,
Melting the light of their city's street lamps into the obsidian void of moistened pavement.

It was the way the reverb spread the major 7th across the sky with burnt orange cascading into the violet of the minor 9th which reminds me of crickets and summer nights (and violins and cellos and midwestern jazz bars), and how bar chords are a guitarists way of flipping off a crowd,
Surfing the web for an answer to why I'm still single-
handedly the handsomest man in my car currently.

It's the cloth in my empty passenger seat,
soaking up the air of my A/C heat.
And the scent of the soil spilt from the succulent I was given at a wedding last fall,
And now I don't know if my trunk will ever smell clean at all.
It was how my energy dripped away into the floods of San Jose,
And how her eyes began to sink into her iPhone 7's screen.
It's in how I long for prolonged eye contact,
It's in how close the answer is but never slips,
I'm not interested in the electric work of fingertips,
I'm interested in connection.
Inspired by the poetry slams of Livermore, amongst other things.
For my mate Ernest W who cared....

Invisible in silky strands, a gossamer of lethal thought,
Drifting through the nether regions, touching on my mind.
Complication’s vagaries encroaching on the circumspect
Magnifying well beyond solutions I can find.

Nervous in the groundswell now, I feel it all inflating,
Inflating to a curtaining beyond my self control,
Waves of peristalsis in a shrill persistant keening,
Locking out the sanity in holding logic’s goal.

Waves of peristalsis in a bath of perspiration
Panic in a rupture at the coccyx of my spine,
Ravenously eating at the fabric of all reason
Ravenously gnawing at this rationale of mine.

***** in a puddle on the floor beside my footwear
Cloying is the stench of the ***** in my drawers,
Lost are the vestiges of any thought of decency
Gone is the differentiation in my flaws.

Clenching of hands in a bind of blue confusion
Catatonic slowness in arresting the decline,
Vaccilating eyeballs are rolling for the camera
And utter desolation is a flavour on my mind.

Why be concerned with the shaming of tomorrow?
Why come to terms with the maunderings of late?
Why face the music of the mirth and derision
When there’s a more practical direction to take?

Glide to the realm of the smooth overflowing
Slide in the slipstream oblivion makes,
Slip the bonds of your sad  mortal tenure’s
Awful array of destructive mistakes.

Glide to the realm of serene independence
Glide far away from the troubled and hard,
Gone to the gossamer web of the ether
Gone to the nether world’s silky facade.

...........: But what's the guts Courageous,
You happy with your deed?
Are your friends all overjoyed
To see your suicide succeed?
Is your family unaffected
By the loss and guilt remorse,
Your sudden grand departure
leaving kids without recourse?

Did you think about the aftermath?
The chaos and the pain
And the long term implications
Of your shattered families' shame?
The guilt within your partners heart,
The kids who are confused
And the ****** dissapointment
Of your mates.. who feel abused?

The mess you left behind you
And the tangled web you wove
And the bruising of good memories
For which, you once,...had strove.
Your painless, quick demise, you thought,
Released you from all this.....
But the sadness in the silent eyes
Condemns you as ....remiss.

In an effort to understand why?
....And explain why not !
9 December 2010
An oldie of mine regurgitated, again, by the necessity to present the full picture to a young associate of mine who is horrifyingly, teetering on the cusp.
War & Peace  

We agree most of the time war is caused
By capitalism, nationalism, in fact, any isms
Demagogues and murky propaganda
These entities can't fight wars without soldiers
And there are too many young men who
Simply love the idea of wearing arms and fight
They go to war the survivors are veterans
They know now they have fought for nothing
In despair, they take to drink and drug and sink
To the bottom of the human heap
Aldous Huxley spoke of something in the water
That takes the aggression away….Good!
Only one has to be careful not making them into
Zombies with no ambition to the point the world
Disappear in the morass of apathy.
We can't stop wars happening but we can try to
Prolong peace and make wars more infrequent.
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