Martin O'Neill

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
...

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

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

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

Picking an invisible hair from a lapel
With a half smile.
Leaving a hand behind a second longer.
The blatant yet imperceptible nod
...

With a wistful smile
She deftly tucks the blanket in,
Whispering as she does so,
'There, sweetheart, there.'
...

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.
...

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

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

Her world softly, silently
Implodes, as the import of
The doctor's words, delivered in
Quietly apologetic tones, echoes
...

Lateral imposition of a calculated
Force applied tangentially whilst
Simultaneously describing an
Extended arc in a vertical
...

Rewind, if you will,
Here, I'll help, hold my hand as
We walk with the Gods across
The vastnesses of existence to
...

Saw my name above Pablo Neruda
Wow! could the world ever be cooler?
An' below that was Charlie Bukowski
I mean, how is that not fucking wowski?
...

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

My mind squats
Inscrutable
A Japanese Toad.
Ugly, immovable, obstinate.
...

A tennis ball, once hit, cannot be recalled.
Similarly, when Audrey's foot slipped, her car also,
Could not be recalled.
...

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

I don't hold a candle
For religion.
At least, not the sort that
Threatens, frightens and
...

Not quite ghosts, they slide
In sussurations of slippers
Across vinyl passageways
Through rooms, trailing echoes
...