Bag Ladyby Hugh O'Donnell 21/10/2006
Plumping down on the cobbles
the folded petal donned pink sunglasses
and full-stretched sticky colours
to family and friends she would meet.
As thin as a witch, the other sat,
with her hair as untamed,
in a nearby doorway, clawing
her sodden, chequered bag.
A cataract of difference lay
between them.
Hand dipped deep in calf-skin pink,
surrounded by a ring of rosey
beaming love, the fumes of sweet kernels
infused the flowery air;
her despair as cavernous
as her lice-ridden purse, neglected
by the midday sun, transluscent
to the throng, a shimmering street-prop.
Each is an inversion
of the other.
Final Haikuby Hugh O'Donnell 27/10/2006
Pound! Pound! Pound! I pound
mankind’s final resting place:
“Release the distance!”
Leaving Lisbonby Hugh O'Donnell 27/10/2006
Stretched, fury-filled hornet’s nest,
Lisbon’s artery of commerce:
traction-moving, torqued stillness
bleeds a flowing disparity.
(Swinging under, pulled, we retract.)
Bone-like Christ, his loving gaze is
turned in longing from these shores:
torn of twin ‘de Janero’ worship,
cast and bowed, his flock are saved
in dreams.
Celestial Mirrorby Hugh O'Donnell 11/05/2004
Chugging,
slowly
the constellation slid
across
the fading
blue.
Almond bob.by Hugh O'Donnell 27/09/2006
You
materialised at my doorway, framed
and fringed peroxide,
two-dimensional, save
your almond eyes and toffee-
coloured flecks.
Refining an Image.by Hugh O'Donnell (10/10/2006)
The blue stork drinks
from the rainbow.
The blue crane sips from
the rainbow.
The derelict stork sips
from the rainbow...
- puddles fill
while others are sliced
by unseen vehicles, rushing across
the Saturday evening that leaks
beyond my open window - I've
invited it in, but
under certain conditions -
from the rainbow,
the derelict crane sips.
