Sunday, April 8, 2018


WHAT'S HER NAME?

the barista sports some
extravagant get-ups
but best is her
black chunky boots, torn
fishnets with black
micro-mini skirt, usually
under a flowy large sweater
leaving much to the drinker's
imagination--yes!
a public service!


copyright © 2018 by patrick o'hayer




SMALL PLEASURES

a night cool, crisp 
cloudless

tomorrow a full moon but
tonight my beloved
egg shaped 

moon returns, severe
dazzling and white-silver

it obscures the half-dozen
brightish points 
cosmologists call

stars, cosmology 
my weakest suit 

no stargazing here
in a suburb of the great
american city, no 

only swirls
of smoke from my

unfiltered american cigaret
if i relax my gaze
the antique streetlamp

at the foot of my driveway
comes out of focus

and light swirls
as in a later van gogh
small pleasures

they . . . sustain


copyright © 2018 by patrick o'hayer

Monday, July 24, 2017

SUMMER 2017

cicadas chorus in waves, soft, 
then loud then louder still
cho-weet, cho-weet, CHO-WEET
then soft, then softer still then 
quiet until the next round

the neighbors' elegant detritus
fills the parkway since the deluge
the YOOGE inundation, their new digs
drowned by rain penetration in the 
summer of Trump, sideshow

for the yahoos and greed mongers
oh, yes, we deserve his worst
as the soft yellow-green
fireflies, the females, settle
in the grass awaiting copulation

after which they devour the mate
or so i read, incorrectly i hope,
nature red in tooth and claw
as alfred the lord tennyson had it
when his young friend died young

death is in the air one way 
and another - my wife's demented
mother delusionally says her dead
husband is alive but missing
then she reverses herself and says

it's all made up, she was just fooling
and apologizes deeply until 2 minutes
later when she says it all again, then 
again, then again, almost cicada-like: 
oh, yeah, my beloved clancy is dead


copyright © 2017 by patrick o'hayer

Thursday, July 13, 2017

THIRTY-SEVEN

even true love
encounters bumps

here and there
broken promises

pet peeves
disappointments

imperfections
unmet demands

even so, even so
true love persists

strengthens
mysteriously

some promises
are kept, some loving

and then the 
grand surprises



copyright © 2017 by patrick o’hayer

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

KANSAS POEM
Empire poolroom opens at 9, so i'm
killing time at the Merc, deluxe
grocery store/food-art museum for the
health-and-beauty- and nutrition-crazed
comparing prices, all so very high,
while ogling a tall local college town
goddess--LA ain't got nuttin' on lawrence, kansas
at 71 little elvis sings rarely,
half time, half mast, so no old
fashioned cavorting, the biology
running low but the mind
annoyingly
like Yeats in the LAST POEMS
buzzing but athwart time,
he tried the questionable
steinach surgical fix
to get back into the game
but i remain a natural
accepting proper reductions
memory loss, sore knees, nouns
and names disappearing
day by day, nature's design
perhaps even though
the mind always disobeys
copyright © 2017 by patrick o'hayer

Saturday, June 10, 2017

SONNET FOR ELLEN

I've trapped you in the Bouncy Chair. You just 
complain, you won't accept your precious need
for sleep, mine for rest. Sometimes, oh sometimes
I recall you will not be for long be my
"Potatoes Maroo," not for too long, no,
no; soon you're a woman with a woman's
prerogatives; and I'm, I'm not your old
Pops, but something like your Parent, lucky
to be a consultant. And then you're, oh,
hauling your own oats, you won't need old Pops
to warm and grind your lunch. Like for me now
living will be your problem. If I'm still 
in town, I'll help; I'll miss not lifting you
off an edge, rocking toward the sleepy deeps.



Copyright © 1983 by Patrick O'Hayer

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

AFTERNOON

cleared 2 drains today
do-it-your-self-er

pal charlie built a new bathroom
while siring sons

and longing for cute-guy assholes
the marriage broke up

but he remains an icon
of home repair

some cliches are pretty weak




copyright © 2017 by p. o'hayer