Martin O'Neill

Martin O'Neill Poems

An extraordinary time you have waited
Quiet, in no kind of rush
You must be pleased now that it's over
Your time in the African bush
...

Uncork the bottle and pour me a drink
A long one
A strong one
I don't want to think
...

The wind circles round, laughing
As she dances with it
Trailing sparkles and spangles
And giggles in the air.
...

Three hundred and twenty years in the making.
Lovers have met
Battles been fought, won and lost
And the afternoon heat
...

Slowly, softly, silently stalking
Stepping, slinking, squeezingpastthe
Shining, shimmering, scintillating
Bars of gold that threaten to
...

November rains wash the dreams down the drain
And a rainbow lies bleeding in the street
Where it gets splashed by car tyres to the edge
And on to red shoes on a young girl's feet.
...

I sit here
Sifting my basket of Junes
Birthdays and Sundays
And picnics
...

A shopping shark shimmers
In the city centre seize
Picking off the bargains
With a practised, fluid ease
...

I ponder the axle of my truck
Invisible to the naked eye
In depths of mud and water stuck
And wait for the recovery truck
...

She's an outbreak of gloom in the corner
An affront occluded by pain
She could moan all four legs off a donkey
And persuade it to walk off again
...

The barrister's wife was unfaithful
With one of the Chambers' young lusties
An abortion performed
He remains uninformed
...

Vodka, the cheaper bottle from the corner shop in
A clear bottle, you can see the wallpaper
Through it on the other side of
The world.
...

13.

Alison is going to be late
For her train connection
Because Peter changed lane
Instead of radio channel.
...

Scrunched into a corner
An emotional squall
A tight knot of pain
With his head on the wall
...

Dust motes float, trapped.
Suspended in the timeless amber
Of a sepia Wednesday.
The cheap carriage clock, tarnished
...

IC means in charge
In the Army
I swear
It's true
...

Black polythene bags disgorging detritus
An urban comet trail along the path
Limned faintly in morning frost, cars passing, oblivious.
There, below an incongruous vermillion balaclava,
...

I feel I ought to explain that this is a Trigee poem, two short poems that can stand alone and may also be combined to form a third. I'm not sure of the origin of the style but it's fun to play with.
...

I would have brought flowers
But it seemed wrong, somehow
To cut down one beauty
In memory of another
...

It's next Friday
Is that ok?
Do you mind filling in this
Short questionnaire?
...

Martin O'Neill Biography

Engineer, thinker, observer. I get taken by surprise sometimes by a thought, a phrase or something someone says and my mind goes for a walk. Sometimes an object triggers a veritable gold rush of words that scatter and run around my head as I try to catch them. This is when I curse not having pen and paper at all times. It can also can be a problem when driving! I love seeing and hearing new ways of expressing ideas. I love modern dance and sculpture by the likes of Rodin and Fellini. I have also enjoyed pottery and art to a limited degree - there are only so many hours in a day! I don't try to develop an identifiable style or a modus operandi, I write what I feel at the time whether it is a polemic or a whimsy. I feel better for that than trying to fit myself into a strait-jacket of some genre or style of writing. I love the diversity of poets such as Roger McGough. I have found others here on this site. I love reading other people's poems. We all have different ways of seeing and sometimes we all write a little gem. I love finding those. It's like finding a five pound note in an old suit pocket. I also adore intelligent debate, just the sheer sparkiness of it, whether or not I agree with one side or the other or am a non-partisan observer, I find it thrilling sometimes to watch sharp minds spar. Like boxing but with intellect and no brain damage. I am currently enjoying the philosophical meanderings of A.C. Grayling and the blood and thunder of Rugby Union.)

The Best Poem Of Martin O'Neill

What Price Literacy?

An extraordinary time you have waited
Quiet, in no kind of rush
You must be pleased now that it's over
Your time in the African bush

The grass stalks that rippled around you
The animals passing you by
The fierce yellow sun beating down
From the blue of your African sky.

When you finally burst into flower,
In blossoms of yellow and red
The eight year old girl who unearthed you
Couldn't read the notice that said

Achtung! Minen!

Martin O'Neill Comments

lottie Harris 06 April 2012

of course you can use my konky word i like the word peculloid too :)

3 0 Reply
Jacqui Thewless 13 July 2009

I'd appreciate some biographical details about this poet.

4 1 Reply

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