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Silent Poems: by Sarah O’Gorman


I heard them coming
From a hidden unlit place
Beneath the stones or
Behind the walls or
Over the hills or
Across the rivers
But I heard the words
As clear as a body’s signaled
Response to a loving caress,
Carefully annunciated to
Open closed ears they were
When I heard the words.



the days come barking like dogs
madly as if all the fire in the world
was flaming-raging in front of them
instead of me coming in thru the door,
home to Be again
sitting perfectly still but something
is not right,
thinking about thinking about things
all the time, seeing the rain
in the bottom of my glass thirsty
like a dessert after a dance
the eyes of the chair
watching the soul of the bed
where I sit, saying
God is a Great Anarchist
Living not in the sky
but behind the mountains
of the moon

then the days come again
at my door
barking like dogs



So I looked him in the eye
And I stood real still and never softened
My stare and said Look good friend,
I simply refuse to Arrange my life
The very idea strikes me as
Perverse at worst, pointless
At best – since its all
Outside the ambitious stretch of
our control anyway
And he put on an undertakers face
And touched his jaw with his hand
And mustered a great hungry sorrow
To his voice and said
My, my, my, how crazy you really are

And I laughed in offence and agreement
And we walked home alone
One watching the rainbow
One bowing head to the rainfall



Good morning airplane in morning light –
Aqua sky good morning songs on
Radio goodmorning final curtain, Good –
morning street people, work people, Saturday
people Good morning new life, old life, hot
life Good morning great leveler, good morning
ever-blissful rasa Good morning mind and
memories of moments in mind, morning heart
in mind, good morning banana in hand, books
on bed, expectation at door, good morning
dancing feet and happy face, Good Morning



The world is happy
Life is winning
Clouds are teaching
Heaven is here
Silence is broken
Love is free
I am the truth
God is gone
And in the night
Waking – troubled or
Tripping with bliss-rasa
Only the heart guru
And the endless embrace
Of the good kind universe
Will hold or be held
By you



will I convert love into art
as the romantics invent love and arts reputations
in search of the picturesque in the political
national natural beauty spots in natural
national parliaments
buildings developments architects of life
lungs to the sick sinking filthy city
layers built upon centuries
gently sewing up the fabric
of the historic soul
the medieval church of the heart
restored, repaired, and Revived
now and forever and now



Who are we but the stars
That guide and light everyday
Everybody coming with memories stories
And chocolate ice-creams to sit among the stars
To see their lives from high heights and in full colors
Modern cinema watched from the Gods
Like the wizard of oz for the first time
And days and nights night and day
Travel softly thru the slow expanse
Of time around the stars
Breaking back the boundaries gnarling at the gates
Dividing beauty from beauty
Wind from rain
Heart from heart
But the stars are gathering back children
To re-unite the sides of the gap
That’s the down and out and the jaguared fat cat
And the brother in the gutter and the senator on the floor
The hutu redsock and the Tutsi brave
The CEO dude and the welfare mom
Shakespeare’s jazz and the beat of the tom-tom
But the stars are shooting down like Irish rain
Re-drenching everybody
To grow, re-unite, re-gain
A world wide web of peace and love
Where but for the stars ..
SO Let us GO



and songs of sky swimmers slowly slipping thru
the sky blue, brightly bought and sold for
the sun, honey drop of a planet
See the smile justify the face
the sign explain the place
the soul distinguish the race
or do they? Or does the
meat filled mouth saying
Stop the Peace and
Arrest the Campaigning Angels
Belong to the first voice on top of the
World blowing out the light
In all our lives – whether we
Kneel and pray or
Stand and struggle
For Revolution.



clouds over congested cities
will last and live
spread of eagles wings
will last and live
the silence of the mountains
the sun’s blistering truth
will last and live
the rivers of lovejuice
the bursting banks to dive from
will last and live
the look in his eyes
the wonderment in this slice
of the soul
the setting of poetry to music
and of music to poetry
will last and live
love of the gamble
will last and live
guessing the way
will last and live
children and parents and absailing ants
will last and live
universe seeing eye of justice
recipes for the various breads
in the bakery
ritual rhythm of the tide of hope
will last and live
the trees the park the sympathy
in a tea cup
will last and live
the knocking at fortunes door
the counting of cosmic blessings
the fuck gestures of the hips
the impulse to integrate and see forever
will last and live
I in some other variation of form
Will last and live



Rising too the horses
gallop for the distance
The dreamy distances,
Will it all settle if I say
I have not lied,
I will not lie, I do not lie?
Is the mind moving on
If so, can it
take me along?



There once was a time
When waters were mine
And love was small change
Given and taken everyday
Without any Great Sacrifice
Or large offering up of our
Simple natures to the Lord of Complication
Who, incidentally, swooped down
From the sky one afternoon and emptied
The contents of all the drawers
In the wooden chest all over the
Little but lovely wooden floor
Where we have on occasion laid
Ourselves down together,
All over that floor that afternoon
Were the answers to all
The prayers you ever prayed


(c) Sarah O’Gorman

Sarah O'Gorman
Sarah O'Gorman
Sarah O'Gorman is a writer from Ireland and Nigeria. Much of her work is concerned with the dream-life underscoring daily-life, and the individual quest to imbue received realities with magical mythologies in order to transcend totalistic and statistical capitalist 'truths'. Sarah lives in Amsterdam with her dog, Goa, which she rescued from the island of the same name following a trip to India. She has just returned from five weeks in Senegal where she spent time learning to make bead jewellery from street children. Currently, the young, self-described "afro-celt" is working on a novel about the magic adventures of a single girl in a strange country.

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