john o'connell

john o'connell Poems

a clarinet
brightening up
the night
in the cheerful

a failure.

the harsh note of reality
had crept into his voice -

You are like a well
of fresh water
in a desert
of desolation.

3 in 1,
1 in 3,
all being


none of this
is important.

after sun and sea.

the rush to the station,
back to the town;

a soul on fire.

the village, this morning,
a snowy world

outside my window
the blur of a november fog
hastens up eternal ghosts, hades-like,
from gardens bleeding with pungent odours.

as children
we played

a human voice,
a Slavic magic
storming into
the dried out

a piano sonata
from the valleys
of a heart's

a cool breeze
shaves the contours
of my face
in a night lit

2 girls
full of joy,
arm in arm,

march winds
scurrying across the bending tree tops
high in the watery heavens

I am not
in control anymore;
unidentifiable powers play
with the furniture

the dregs of a late-night
hanging over one,
the aftertaste of alcohol
and tobacco,

I must be mad -
up the whole night,
a favoured night,
writing and writing;


the savage will's sinking fangs
bite deep down into the bubbling head
of the madly laughing larynx

monday morning
faces, schulptured in sunken gloom,
throng the streets
in despairing and anxious haste.

alone again
in the nochturnal
with pen

john o'connell Biography

live 30 years in Holland and hold proudly the Dutch nationality.)

The Best Poem Of john o'connell

A Clarinet

a clarinet
brightening up
the night
in the cheerful
of its numerous
makes the heart
as if it were
over fields of spring.

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