"leary" poems
Under silver wing
San Francisco's towers sprouting
thru thin gas clouds,
Tamalpais black-breasted above Pacific azure
Berkeley hills pine-covered below--
Dr Leary in his brown house scribing Independence
Declaration
typewriter at window
silver panorama in natural eyeball--
Sacramento valley rivercourse's Chinese
dragonflames licking green flats north-hazed
State Capitol metallic rubble, dry checkered fields
to Sierras- past Reno, Pyramid Lake's
blue Altar, pure water in Nevada sands'
brown wasteland scratched by tires
Jerry Rubin arrested! Beaten, jailed,
coccyx broken--
Leary out of action--"a public menace...
persons of tender years...immature
judgement...pyschiatric examination..."
i.e. Shut up or Else Loonybin or Slam
Leroi on *** gun rap, $7,000
lawyer fees, years' negotiations--
SPOCK GUILTY headlined temporary, Joan Baez'
paramour husband Dave Harris to Gaol
Dylan silent on politics, & safe--
having a baby, a man--
Cleaver shot at, jail'd, maddened, parole revoked,
Vietnam War flesh-heap grows higher,
blood splashing down the mountains of bodies
on to Cholon's sidewalks--
Blond boys in airplane seats fed technicolor
Murderers advance w/ Death-chords
Earplugs in, steak on plastic
served--Eyes up to the Image--
What do I have to lose if America falls?
my body? my neck? my personality?
June 19, 1968
4.5k
Becoming... hmmm...
what am I... becoming...
is this the enlightenment
of my trip? hmm...
journeying through the seasons
of inner time and place...
therein which lies... a space....
not that sort.... not the sort of the
spicky icky spacky... space...
it's the... hmmm... sleepy space...
I sit and wonder... this place is where I... ponder...
fabric... the fabric of this life...
I AM FLOATING INTO THIS CHAIR
CONCEPT BANDS
CONCEPT ALBUMS
THAT'S WHAT I WANT TO SEE I AM JUST LIKE TIMOTHY LEARY
... but that... that is only a character.. the outlook I assume in..certain moods...
that state of worry... that's what I mean.
I am the wind
the sea
...
speak friend,
enter...
speak...
speak to me.
'I see we meet again... hmmmm...'
The music keeps changing my moods, you see...
Subconscious... I must be more mindful...
'Increase mindfulness'
I must bring the feelings... out
don't shove them away...
don't shove me away...
on this normal
squashy day
Love your dark shadow love the wolves
streams of consciousness I must cut up all of these streams
I worry too much about the future... am I crazy? or just afraid of being...
telepathy
Here's this concept that I have that represents all of these feelings that I have that I tell
to you and you receive as whatever feelings you associate with said concept
and hope they match up
I only write when I have something to preach... a sermon, you see..
yet I write every day...
to preach a sermon to me
'Does it make me bad?' this way I am?
does it make you.. mad?
mushy swampy bog filled mushrooms
I sag into the soppy plants in me
this world is my swamp
and this swamp is me
into the swampy swamp I romp
All day I ravage roam
I stomp
jive my vibe...
Exotic exodus execution
into the deep reeds
paddling the little cellophane canoe
Must... move...
Must... go...
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
phoebe will remain my hostage until
four barrel's hipster overlords hear my plea
we're all made of sparkledust and turkish delight
and if you hate drinking sonoma butter and
having money, my doctor Archmage Overlord
said the the "happy drink" element you seek is
less like strong coffee and more like the invasion
of normandy with turkey slaughter in the background
kfc's new turkey flavored chicken tried looking
for drugs in the neighborhood but
timothy leary, his suave excellency, sheik knight of nee
abstained from the devil's coffee with headaches and brain fog
anyway, that's why i attacked the
complimentary peanuts and russian balloon juice
FURIOUS POSTSCRIPT
"no one can understand the truth until
he drinks of the feline's frothy goodness"
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
Back in my rebel days (yester)
I sported a spelunking bumper sticker
On my 1972 VW pop-up camper van
That read Free Floyd Collins
Totally apolitical well intentioned humor
Concerning one of my pasttimes that surprisingly
Never maimed or killed me
Whilst reporting for an official call for jury duty
The uptight and obviously a **** (did I just say that?)
Prosecutor enquired during jury selection
As to whether any of us prospectives
Had bumper stickers and if so
What they might say
The NRA sticker guy next to me
And the I'd Rather Be Fishin' and NASCAR
Sticker guy next to him
Passed with smugly flying colors
(red needless to say)
While the 72 year old nun
With the Amnesty International sticker
Didn't fair so well
And was promptly burned at the stake
(I kid you)
Needless to say
The long-haired Harvard educated
Native American
With the Doctors Without Borders
And the Remember Wounded Knee
With a not so discreet AIM sticker thrown in to boot
Also got the boot
Pondering the merits of the court stenographer's
Shapely fingers while judiciously confidently awaiting my turn
It never ocurred to me that Mr. Collins might be
So wrongly accused as to have me
Rejected and summarily ejected
From jury duty
A travesty of justice
I say
If for no other reason than I was so looking forward to
Sticking it to the Man
You can imagine my surprise and disappointment
As I wandered down to the Shamrock
To catch Terry O'Leary do a slam
And raise a glass to
Bobby Sands
r~ 22Feb14
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
#1. What in the world
possessed you
to do that!?@#$%^
My god . . . that was so stupid and careless!
#2. Why? . . .
I trusted my intuition.
My heart believed,
emotional logic compelled me.
Fluid, spontaneous from the gut.
#1. You’re crazy.
I would never
put myself at risk like that.
#2. What risk?
Getting harrassed
by the mind police?
They don't own me.
#1. But they punished you.
#2. No, just a little
desperate flaggelation.
#2. But look at yourself
all boxed up,
stigmatized and branded.
#1. You mean the labels?
Those words they use
to define me?
#2. Yes, you’re a bad person.
#1. No, I’m not.
#2. Yes, you are.
... and they argued til dawn
neither knowing
nature does not declare winners
but admires innovation....
like when Magellan sailed off no edges
when Einstein confounded everyone by sailing in his head
when the Wright Brothers lifted off
when Tesla moved electrons
when Christ embraced the centurions
when Gautama just sat down
when the librarian refused to take Catcher in the Rye off the shelf
when Lenny Bruce swore on stage
when Leary and Alpert left Harvard
when Joan of Arc refused to recant
when Gandhi and friends burned their English wool
when Jung declared a spiritual psyche
when the UFC earned a huge Neilsen
so be your own guru
take kava kava instead of Prozac
barter with your hair stylist
and when someone says
you are wrong
ask them why
there are no dinosaurs
in the Bible.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 9:18 AM UTC
"Buried in the Sand" by Terry O’Leary
A beggar clump adorns a dump, his pencil box in hand -
With sightless eyes upon the skies he’s lying there unmanned.
He’s fallen down in Shantytown, his knees too weak to stand,
With no relief and bitter grief too dark to understand.
The Bowery blight is hid from sight, it’s covered up and bland,
And Robin Hood and Brother Hood lie buried in the sand.
"A Rebuttal" by Marshalg
So Hood lied low, despite the show ensueing without help,
One would have thought a British sort would spring forth with a yelp!
Would spring ***** to help deflect contusions which occurred
When beggar Clump adorned the dump confusing all deferred.
Whilst sister Ant, attired in scant, ran forth on spindly legs
And brother Frog with shaggy dog said **** and drank the dregs.
It all became too much, as such, a meelee did ensue,
So all called HALT and as one did BOLT...to the local for a brew!
Phew...that was FUN & hard work!
M.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
Beautiful lofty things; O'Leary's noble head;
My father upon the Abbey stage, before him a raging crowd.
"This Land of Saints", and then as the applause died out,
"Of plaster Saints"; his beautiful mischievous head thrown back.
Standish O'Grady supporting himself between the tables
Speaking to a drunken audience high nonsensical words;
Augusta Gregory seated at her great ormolu table
Her eightieth winter approaching; "Yesterday he threatened my life,
I told him that nightly from six to seven I sat at this table
The blinds drawn up"; Maud Gonne at Howth station waiting a train,
Pallas Athena in that straight back and arrogant head;
All the Olympians; a thing never known again.
1.8k
Sang old Tom the lunatic
That sleeps under the canopy:
'What change has put my thoughts astray
And eyes that had s-o keen a sight?
What has turned to smoking wick
Nature's pure unchanging light?
'Huddon and Duddon and Daniel O'Leary.
Holy Joe, the beggar-man,
Wenching, drinking, still remain
Or sing a penance on the road;
Something made these eyeballs weary
That blinked and saw them in a shroud.
'Whatever stands in field or flood,
Bird, beast, fish or man,
Mare or stallion, **** or hen,
Stands in God's unchanging eye
In all the vigour of its blood;
In that faith I live or die.'
1.7k
There are many people clearly
Who dislike Michael O Leary
And his company Ryanair
Who offer flights abroad, low fare.
I have to say I am a fan,
I have great respect for the man
For how he built the company
And boosted our economy.
When with Ryanair I have flown
Very few problems have I known.
What I pay for is what I get;
The have never let me down yet!
And they are always improving
With passenger numbers proving
Many like to fly Ryanair
Despite all the bad press out there.
Let's give credit where it is due,
To Ryanair and Michael too.
Ryanair is undoubtedly
A great Irish success story.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 6:37 AM UTC
What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone?
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You'd cry, 'Some woman's yellow hair
Has maddened every mother's son':
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they're dead and gone,
They're with O'Leary in the grave.
1.3k
My guru skinnydips in multi-colored waterbeds.
Listen!
A pop festival blows bubbles in free flashbacks.
Dig it, brother!
John Lennon overdoses on the agony of paisley bellbottoms.
Will the Grateful Dead give shotguns with laid back madness?
Eric Clapton quivers in Janis Joplin's windowpane.
Oh, how Timothy Leary plays lead with strung out drug busts!
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
Once Sadie O’Leary’s dementia
Brought her to ‘Whispering Pines’
A nursing home at the edge of the woods
Where she played in earlier times
Her loving son bought her Nikes
For Sadie was sturdy and strong
Her sneakers got quite a work-out
Whenever the door alarms bonged
That happened almost daily
Sadie escaped out that back door
Into the woods she scampered
As I raced to fetch her once more
A good headstart down the timeworn path
Now overgrown and winding
While I just turned 30- so winded
Sadie’s ahead at 90
Sadie O’Leary kept going
So wiry and wiley was she
I heard the alarm bells ringing
Far away from Sadie and me
Sadie, wait! Where are you going?
She was determined like no other
Her nostrils flared when she declared,
“I’m going to have lunch with my mother!”
Finally able to reach her
Grasping onto both of her hands
Remember she died years ago?
Your mother’s house no longer stands!
"Don’t you think I know that?!”
Glaring into my eyes brightly
Turning round to go back
Sadie gripped my hand so tightly
A comfortable symbiosis
Her foundation by the stream
Tomorrow we'll go together
Who am I to spoil her dream?
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
Aborted ideas rule this realm
Injecting truth from a needle's point
Floating in a sea of desperation
My mind runs in circles again
...and again
...and again
...and again
The trees grow tired of childish games
They move in close to strangle my dreams
Orange sunshine driving me insane
Nothing makes sense or so it seems
Locked in a battle for my mind
The acid gets stronger with every crime
I witness the death of all man kind
A simple rhyme about the end of time
Hofmann's ghost haunts this life
His soul on a sugar cube
****** my mind with deep insight
These walls don't like me much
Storm clouds rage and curse my name
The lizard king preaches in vain
Dreams where Lucy guides my hand
I remember when I was sane
This ocean of blood calls me near
Telling me to join my friends
Bodies float by, with smiles in their eyes
I wonder how well I can swim
The horsemen ride by Leary's side
An onion shatters on the floor
Lies of peace fill my heart
Rage soon floods them out
A plastic Jesus sits on the shelf
Condemning me through dust covered eyes
A conman watching with deep disgust
While I savigly **** Alice again
...and again
...and again
...and again
Open the doors to my perception
Grant me sight beyond sight
The dead pile up quick, it's quite a collection
Why am I shielded from his holy light!?
Endlessly searching for my mind
The acid glows brighter with every crime
This sick joke labeled mankind
A simple rhyme about the end of time
HOW LONG DOES THIS ******* LAST AGAIN!?
...again?
...again?
...again?
...again?
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 8:49 AM UTC
WHAT need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone?
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You'd cry, "Some woman's yellow hair
Has maddened every mother's son':
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they're dead and gone,
They're with O'Leary in the grave.
1.1k
Waiting for this Leary to bake.
I am baked.
I finally have time to reflect
on last night.
Like a kite
up in the air I flew
confused and okay
just simply being with you.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
My heart is a burning city
Held up by pillars of salt
No one's sure how it started
A cigarette astray?
Catherine O'Leary's heartbreak?
Job lives in a house on the hill
On the teetering outskirt of town
He visits twice a week
And carries a purple umbrella for the ashes
Can pity turn into love?
Can saying it make it real?
Are we doomed to dream of a lucid skyline stained orange?
Slaving over carting wheelbarrows full of gristle
Of the burning tower I used to be
My silhouette on the horizon
Is the hunchback of New England
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 1:30 AM UTC
When I retire in Ireland
I'll be fit and sixty-five
Then I'll ride the DART for free
and explore the country-side
I'll rent an old thatched cottage
Buy a bicycle with gears
Tool along Connor Pass Road
Out to ****** drink some beers
Eating the Irish breakfasts
Drinking too much Guinness to mention
Uncle Sam sends my social security
I'll collect my teacher's pension
Mornings I'll write a novel
About my Irish sojourn
A boat to Blasket Islands
Some Gaelic I'll be learnin'
I'll check my geneology
The DART to Cork and I go
Fitzpatrick's, a talented family,
Doctors, fighters, writers in the know
Always an ear to the music
Familiar faces all around
Perhaps some long lost relatives
Still in Cork who could be found
Yes, I'm in love with Ireland
The Cliffs of Moher call to me
I'll go hiking west of Doolin
Rent an apartment in Dun Laoghaire (dun leary)
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
Elegy in the courtyard of lost souls
oh ye whose souls grow leary
on this day so grey and dreary
searching for your mate of life
fruitless and futile so weary
raise you eyes up above
searching the heavens for love
your dreams and hopes have flown
on the wings of a snow white dove
down on one knee you pray
hoping to make one more day
this elegy for souls who are lost
so yearning to fill your alms tray
Gomer LePoet ....
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 10:41 AM UTC
The air is cool
The Moon sits high
The night is black
As here I lie
The silence is eerie
My ears are alert
The sounds make me Leary
I'm scared and I'm hurt
Sleep forces itself , upon my eyes
I dare not close, for here what may lie
I here the crack of some branches behind
My dangerous plight , and my breath I cant find
The pearly white teeth in front of me glares
The coyote it growls, and at me it stares
Then just when I pray and think I am done
Is the lone wolf of silver, in the midnight sun
With movements so swift, as that of a hawk
He faces my enemy and as a shield he does block
With his head to moon, he cry's out a howl
The coyote backs off and away he does prowl
As the beautiful wise wolf turns his head toward me
He's mysterious but scary and I just want to flee
With a powerful leap into the darkness he's gone
This wolf save my life and now he's off in the dawn
Written by E.M.Rushton
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
You came to me
at an impressionable time
I was young and heart weary
some would have called it leary
of a kind face and a gentle word
I was not pretty or experienced
my facade a concrete palace
my body scarred with malice
No, I wasn't pretty, I never looked
to be sure
but told enough times,
so I heard
You rolled the dice
and came up with snake eyes
I wasn't surprised
I got lost in the world
but I never saw myself
You came to me
in my dreams, in my fantasies
reflected in the rain
on my window
and in tears of pain
collected in jars labeled Sorrow
you continually asked me
how I saw myself?
Truth denied, I just hide
I have never seen myself so
how could I know?
All mirrors I have looked into
are just sheets of glass
showing me faces, staring at me
pointing and laughing and joking
and never once with any hint
of emotion
Like Love or Sincerity
or Acceptance
I just continually tend to expect
Less, you know?
because I've never seen how people
see me...
I've no reflection of me
just opinions, you see?
The ones that stand on the other side
of the glass and judge me
are my own eyes looking
straight through me
Then you came to me
standing in the bathroom
head down, pretending
the faces behind the glass
weren't mocking me for once
and you stood behind me
with a hand beneath my chin
and raised my face to the glass
and asked
Tell me what you see?
I saw your face, all angled grace
with glittering eyes
and winsome smile
and an expression that begged of me
to see what you see
then I looked into the mirror
and replied with aching truth
Between the furrowed lines
and scars of time
I see people laughing
taunting that you couldn't
possibly want me
I see...
Me
Everyday since I've held my head high
and looked at that sheet of glass
waiting to see your reflection behind me
and I ask myself
How could I see your eyes
looking at me, glittering
but when I search for my own
I only ever see
faces in glass, jeering me
but I never, ever ask the glass
Why I'm alone
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:07 AM UTC
' ^
' / \
' / \
' /<o>\
' / ___ \
'
I heard there was a secret orb
it's ovoid laid and it’s for the horde
but they don’t really care for vaccines voodoo.
Well it goes like this just close your fist
a minor thrall of the aged list
the muzzled crowd reposing hallelujah
hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah
Your mate was wrong so you were aloof
you know she’s scathing about your proof
her baulking of your insight over threw you.
She lied to you which wasn’t fair
she spoke alone and she didn’t care
and sipped more ale her hebrewed hallelujah
hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah
You say I look as if in pain
I'm pinched as salt not in a grain
But if I am then silly, what’s it to you.
There’s a craze at night all round the world
to some it matters we’re not a herd
the whole of thee a token hallelujah.
Hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah
I beat my breast your out of touch
I will not kneel I will not slouch
I am a sleuth so I cannot let them fool you.
And even if it all goes wrong
I’ll stand before the mighty throng
with nothing in my veins nor hallelujah
Hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah
hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah.
Ryan O'Leary 17/08/2020.
Aug 17, 2020
Aug 17, 2020 at 6:48 AM UTC
*Response to a poem by Terry O'Leary....
of lost promise,
of the damning futility of war.*
Of War you speak, in tongues of pain
You caste the colours darkly red,
You paint the atmosphere as rain
Of crimson tide to drown the dead.
Of twisted souls, you etch and faced
The passions felt, in tears of shame,
You sculpt the lines of guilt misplaced
Accumulated shards of blame.
Where hath the innocence flown of late ?
Where is the concience worn?
Why hides the love in tiers of hate
Where hope's catharsis borne?
What chance tomorrows tender tear?
What chance of helping hand?
Were man's intentions once made clear
In Boa's war locked land?
M.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
I like to rub her righteous
Rubber baby buggy bumpers
While her Sister Susie
Sells seashells by the sea shore.
Susie works in a shoeshine shop,
She sits, and she shines all day long.
She confesses with too many esses
It lispers up her whispered song.
Peter Piper picking peppers
Putting pickled peppers in a ***
Woodchuck chucked wood,
Chuckling, chucked the wood he got.
Susie’s sister Betty Botter
Bought a pound of bitter butter.
Betty was a bit of a ******
She said her butter was better bitter.
I thought of a thought, thinking
It was a very difficult thing to occur.
Thinking, busily thinking;
Blinking, and winking, thinking of her
We made a date at a quarter to eight
Said, “I’ll see you at the gate, don’t be late.”
Lucky and plucky, my ducky doo,
It was a heavy date, and a heavy gate.
Leary of a really weary *****
We wandered in our wandering leathers
Wondered if whether wetter
Weather were better to weather together.
We celebrate our late date
We didn’t skate, or deliberate our fate
Suffice is to further elucidate
And cheerily chewed the churros we ate.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC
From sunrise to sunset to sunrise again.
The truth on why we stay awake
May linger within the very nature of our breath
May very reflect the nature of the wave
For these night are set upon the stones
Of our light rebirths
From the very nature of unconditional love
Is where im speaking from
Light floats on so clear
On the feelings that seem to be real
And the fire its just burning there teaching us to stay aware
The memories of our time
Roam around in this endless conciouss mind
Seeking what in this life drives us all here
Sitting in this car?
No other reason for which I can explain
Than the need to seek the love within
This very root appears to be getting hooked
Between all my fellow phsycadelic spooks
Finding fulfillment
Withing the very sound of air
For we have started to rebel
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
Free falling, gasps, shallow breath.
All inspired eyes gazing in wonder,
where life leads next, anticipation.
Leary yet Eager to learn where pieces fit.
Left now, in astonishment here I sit.
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 4:06 AM UTC