Monday, December 26, 2016

so lately

the sex life has fallen off too
much to suit herself   my

bad   entirely   i knew she was anxious
for it last evening    i hadn’t

blessed the bishop
in quite a spell so i could

perform somewhat though
it’s been downhill since

diabetes struck a while back
snipping the critical nerve endings

in the machine   and big
pharma has been zero help

i keep thinking back
to when we simply couldn’t get enough

the drunken first few years
but then pregnancy and sobriety

and somebody never resumed ir-
responsible drunken cavorting though

the slut was still about
wanting   wanting   wanting   wanting

but somebody else found parenthood
anaphrodesiac, a rank cliché surely

but never wholly remedied and of
course it’s too easy in the high tech present

to practice the universal secret porn addiction
even though the NSA is monitoring

i’m such a huge fucking threat
pardon my french

december 2013

copyright © 2013 by patrick o'hayer

for too too long
i took the big heart
for granted

we quarreled
sharply over . . .
nothings as

it turned out
two old men
pissing straight

into a wind
that never 
cares . . . and

it seemed 
as if the great 
round head

karen misses
so much, the
head i thought

he valued too
proudly would

outlast us all
like the big
house he loved

like his roses
like his aged 
beautiful wife

now in 
sadness that 
will not cease

her afternoons
now ablaze
with worry

that her 
lover, JR,
might miss

the evening
meal made
by her hands

these sixty
perfect years
and more

and so much 
much more, my
dear sweet trudy

copyright © 2016 by patrick o'hayer

May fleas infest your mistletoe.
May sparks and flares your Yule Log throw.
And may each needle on your tree
Just dry and drop right on your glee.
May Christmas stockings come unwound,
May carols make a scratchy sound,
May all your Christmas cards be late:
For hoped-for gifts I hope you wait!
May Christmas cookies burn and chip,
And those that don't can burn your lip;
And let your Christmas cheer turn glum
As Christmas guests drink ALL your rum.
When Santa down your chimney drops
Why, half way down, I hope he stops,
And when he's stuck, I hope he shrieks
And decks your nerves for weeks and weeks,
And after Santa chars his ass
Find reindeer doodoo on your grass!
And then agreement I shall hear
That Christmas comes but once a year.

Copyright © 1976 by Patrick O’Hayer

Friday, December 23, 2016


for CFK Jr

1988 october birthday brought
a packet of 20 chapbooks
8 POEMS, by yrs trly,
a present from my old editor
somewhat estranged then

but always my editor!

we had quarreled about the beastly art
but had come to terms more or less
i liked calling it
a pirated edition
made me feel grand, as when
i found my first collection
at the local used book store
in urbana
--i had arrived . . .

got my first national publication
from the piece that closed
8 POEMS, a story about 
divorce and dirty diapers

oh, in re 8 POEMS, 
i forgot to mention 
that some years ago 
i ordered a new edition 
of 100 copies--no longer 
'pirate edition'--but it 
makes for a good story 
at the coffee shop

been handing out copies 
for xmas, at coffee, 
at the Eye-talian 
restaurant i frequent

poems to retirees, to trump-liking 
small business owners, 
to the barmen, the lovely barmaids, servers, 
the busboys, the landlords
the ex-communists, especially the painters

ellen's 24 surviving cousins
poor patti dead in her sleep at 43
like danny boy the thief, 
woke up dead, gone too soon
nobody turns down free 
poems, 8 is just 
the right number
a belated thank you 
charlie, thank you
very much!

i owe you a bottle of dago red

copyright © 2016 by patrick o'hayer

Thursday, December 22, 2016

my sister married a guy
my brother brought home from high school
a real character, he played

hockey in 1954 at the ice arena
by the CBS building on mcclurg court
--before the stadium started selling out--
the old ice arena in what they call
today river north, his sister dreamt
of an olympic ice skating career before it got to be
all about the jumping--thanks dick
button, you asshole, thanks for starting
the modern period in which
everything has turned
to shit before our very
eyes and there's nothing to
stop monstrous Fox News and and equally monstrous Nancy
Pelosi--old-school mobbed-up Baltimore
pols who were, back then, at least employing
the doorbell ringers, whereas
rahm emanuel reports to corporate
and let the fucking ringers fuck
themselves, if they can, i'll have 2
tacos al pastor, no salsa, por favor
the hockey player painted classically
lurid paperback book covers, in 1962,
just before sis kicked him out for
dallying--artists and models
his later fame, not to mention
fortune, devastated the 5
kids when he died, barely recovering these
many years later
the poet says
old friends, bookends
copyright © 2016 by patrick o'hayer--

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

ode to sluts

which of us
ever got
on merit
joie de vivre
not warren b
our rock hudson
not jack
maybe dennis hopper
if i was a frail
i'd fuck dennis hopper
maybe coyote
sam shepard
but joni's
always searching
out material
no regrets, coyote
even irresistible
his monica
favorite slut
line i
ever heard
'i never
on the first

copyright © 2016 by patrick o'hayer
the wise old cop and god

WOC: 'the 2-quart-a-day men are all dead'
G: 'so are the pioneers - takeaway?'
WOC: 'i am so fucked, either way'

copyright © 2016 by patrick o'hayer

Monday, December 5, 2016

have left
ex post

copyright 2016 © by patrick o'hayer

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

occasional poem

"first thought, best thought"
~allen ginsberg

holidays approaching again
my first wife dumped me
xmas eve 1976
a bicentennial break-up
which i richly deserved
fill in the blanks

i rented a truck
retrieved my gear, my books,
with 3 now-estranged friends
but i left behind my record albums
now known as vinyl
a shy acknowledgement
of fault, maybe, or
maybe just a typical
p. o'hayer fuck-up

sorta half-rhymes with break-up

life went on
i won the lottery
so many times since then
i probably owe her a cut

presently headed to kansas
for the holidays
with KW, new beginning
horizons expanding
and i'm no cowboy
but i did love "wyatt earp" on TV
in the Fifties
dodge city
when westerns ruled the day
and gunplay settled every dispute

thank you, ex missus o'hayer,
where ever you may be
thank you so very very much

hope you're playing my
songs of leonard cohen
which i bought 
when it dropped
december 1967

on this sad sad sad day

november 2016

copywrite © 2016 by patrick o'hayer

"Christmas is for kids."
                         THE WISE COP
sheer lunacy, 
sheer brilliance,
either way, wife
and daughter agreed
with papa
to forgo xmas
gifts as a sane
response to hyper-
consumption, result
of a family group rant
on the day however
it seems that i alone
recalled the anti-prezzie
               the girls
were very angry
and tearful because
the world stopped spinning
then and there, dad
deep in the dog house
probably forever
but after issuing
a lengthy brutal reprimand
the girls adjourned 
to the early show
at the multiplex

meanwhile papa sought redemption 
at a 24/7 walgreens
purchasing several trifles
peace offerings hoping for
redemption, or forgiveness
a few functional do-dads
a note pad that affixes
to your windshield
some paper dolls, 
some deluxe crayolas
to make up for the error
as papa was checking out
the girls arrived
to do the same