Flash In The Pan

Saturday night was fun
Drunk on tequila
You, like wild jagged lightning
And me clutching your hand
Like a frightened child

A Saturday night
In August
Of last year

poem by Patrick O'Reilly
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Saint Dunstan (If I Ever I Was Tempted)

Amazing
How soon I cave to temptation
After I said I was an absolute dog,
A St. Dunstan in denim,
But a real live boy.

Get thee behind me,
Ye women of silver tongues
And smoother fingertips.
I have my silver tongs
To give your gorgeous noses a twist.
She's wearing my name as we speak.

And I don't question your virtue,
Only my own strength.

poem by Patrick O'Reilly
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Cape Spear

We took your brother's car
Down the old gravel road
A mile long to Cape Spear

And we sat in your car
Close to the edge a long time
Listening to the radio
But the reception was bad way out there
So we had to talk instead

And you told me a story
About a friend of a friend
Who was swallowed, washed away
When he went too far

And I never said a thing
As you drove us back into the big, lonely city

poem by Patrick O'Reilly
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Song of the City

Sirens howl in the street & the cafe,
Trying to pull you either way,
Like carnival barkers
Peddling heart ache & tragedy

The northwest wind whips around the corners,
Cruel & bitter, lashing the faces of us street toughs
Under the orange street lamps

It never grows fully dark here
The sky only gains a certain colour

I draw my coat up tight around my shoulders,
Shrugging, like a crow nestling itself beneath its dark wing

Never have I felt more cold
More alone
More alive

poem by Patrick O'Reilly
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The Folk Singer

His guitar hangs off of His neck
Like a tire on a rusty rim
Wooden rust, wind and dust
Rusty strings echoing a million voices
A hundred years old and underground
Dance beneath His calloused fingers.
Dance beneath the diamond sky
He is here to save us, though His knees buckle
Under the weight of His guitar
And His conscience.
He moans once,
And hollers at the facists that they are bound to lose,
All you fascists bound to lose
And then He starts strumming hard
Like it is our only salvation

And it might be.

poem by Patrick O'Reilly
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The Southside Of Town

First day of June and the wind is cold
Blow away oh i a
And it’s lay down and die or go on the dole
Blow away oh i a
Hung around, hung around
As long as I could allow
In the morning I'll be bound
From the southside of town

First day of June, my cuff is tore
Blow away oh i a
And I can’t stay here anymore
Blow away oh i a
Fields of brown, fields of brown
And there’s rust on the plough
In the morning I’ll be bound
From the southside of town

Fare ye well, pale Mary
With the alders in your rocks

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick O'Reilly
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The Tiber River

The traffic ran one way
Down the old main drag
As I stood on the bridge of the Tiber River
The traffic ran one way
Down the old main drag
And I gazed at the ruins all scattered ‘round
And there were boards on the windows
Of the musty old houses
And they were ruins, all scattered ‘round

The wind was a-blowing
It was late September
As I stood on the bridge of the Tiber River
The window was a-howling
It was late September
And I gazed at the leaves on the soft, dirty ground
And I cursed on each one
That jumped down off each tree
There were ruins all scattered ‘round

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poem by Patrick O'Reilly
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