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
IN MEMORIAM: JR

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

mistakenly
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
HAVE A VERY SCROOGE CHRISTMAS

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


THE BEASTLY ART

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

THURSDAY REMINISCING
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
burly 
beautiful 
gents
ever got
lucky
on merit
looks
charm
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
bubba
required
his monica
favorite slut
line i
ever heard
is
'i never
come
on the first
date'


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

mingus
started
out
on
cello
should
never
have left
it
madness
anger
such
sadness
all
right
genius
ex post

copyright 2016 © by patrick o'hayer