Patrick O'Reilly Poems

These places are always scary at night.
Dark and demonic,
Grey and grimey,
Forlorn and lonesome.
...

Thursday morning, sweep the dawn in
You're over the fields of Saskatchewan.
I miss you like a city, like a long-lost limb.
...

Goddamn them all!
I was told for just one summer
We'd go to Flanders
And we'd march back home
...

As the ship dragged his body down,
He sailed back to those rugged coasts
And the sagging house on the hill
Where a worried woman waited in her chair,
...

The rust tin leaves
Crush 'neath my feet
The sky is already turning a dark, dusky blue
And filling with a forest's worth of chimney smoke.
...

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
...

Since you left
I have been staring at the ceiling,
Lying on the floor,
Tearing out my hair out of boredom,
...

I took a ferry across the St. Lawrence to take me to the North Country,
To the ore mines where even the newborns hack iron dust,
And their eyes are tinted iron red.
...

The floor of the apartment,
The fifteenth floor,
Cold and sterile against her withered cheek
...

Darling, it is very late
And the sleep hangs from my lashes
Though now it's hardly worth sleeping at all
But because you only want to argue
...