Bette O's Poems

Saturday, April 07, 2007

FEATURED POET OF THE WEEK



I am very pleased to say that I am the featured Poet of the Week on the
  • TWIN POETRY My Space site.

  • This is a brilliant site that promotes poets with recordings on My Space. Not long after they asked to be my friend and then added me to their links, my profile hits skyrocketed as did my listens. I've also had requests from other poets from as far away as Australia and it is extremely exciting to hear and read other poets.

    I almost feel as if I am still part of the London poetry scene, which I miss more than I can say.

    Saturday, January 27, 2007

    Thursday, September 28, 2006

    WHY FISHERMEN CAN’T SWIM

    Bury me under the wintering sea
    call forth storms replete with lightening,
    howling with thunder to serenade me
    beckon a tsunami, unleash a monolith
    to cleanse my soul, set me free

    Conjure winds, the breath of eternity
    shrieking my epitaph, proclaiming my demise
    serve me to the fish, that they may dine on me
    voraciously ingesting my flesh and bones
    creating a transmogrified legacy

    Stand upon the shore, gaze upon immensity
    a vast and swollen ocean cradle
    rocking my grave endlessly
    summon Neptune and entreat this boon
    beseech him to whisper my name, lovingly

    © Bette O’Callaghan

    Friday, March 24, 2006

    THE NAKED AND THE DEAD

    Kobrinsky, The Naked one, and I, The Dead one have been working together so to while away the hours whilst waiting for someone to answer their phone we have been writing poetry together. Here's the first two of our collaborations.

    AUSTIN AUBADE

    It feels like a hungover morning
    nebulous and clumsy
    I need my coffee black
    it’s not the drinking…
    I’ve been thinking too much
    even the smallest bean
    an elusive enigma
    dripped into a cracked cup
    pressed to my bleeding lip
    with a kiss like this
    nothing could acquiesce
    kissing is overrated
    I flip my fag into my cup
    a broken nicotine dream
    a gentle lover’s spoil
    a pledge to give up thinking
    and drinking… for awhile


    © Sarah Kobrinsky & Bette O’Callaghan



    POWER HOUR

    The querulous grackles
    frolic on fronds
    as Texas hangs her hat
    over the sun
    and the cars, buildings,
    all the pedestrians
    let out a satisfying sigh
    time is no longer timorous
    it quivers in anticipation
    of that orgasmic moment
    when we seize the power
    and steal away with the hour
    abscond to that dark bar
    where lovers whisper
    over candles and cognac
    where you and I can
    do the same
    two friends from far flung places
    powerless together


    © Sarah Kobrinsky & Bette O’Callaghan

    Friday, December 30, 2005

    ALMOST A LOVE POEM

    MEA CULPA

    Tonight I'm going home to dream of the whale
    when we knew love as big as the ocean
    I'll taste the salty tang of the tides
    remembering your kisses, deep and rolling

    Tonight I'll dream of where the sea meets the sand
    the touch of your fingers floating over my skin
    sweat drowning our eyes from the labours of lust
    till submerged we sink into the depth of contrition

    © Bette O’Callaghan

    Monday, December 05, 2005

    ALWAYS LEAVE 'EM LAUGHING














    JUST LIKE THAT

    Tommy Cooper is my hero
    I never quite got his humour
    or his hat, but
    he was charming for all that
    Tommy, as a star, ascended
    in my sky
    when I saw a tape of his last
    show, there
    he was in the middle of a joke
    fumbling through one of his inept
    magic tricks, when he
    fell down upon the stage
    the exquisite cleverness of his stillness
    captured me, whilst
    the audience was laughing, thinking
    the dive was the punch line

    Good on ya Tommy
    what a way to go


    © Bette O’Callaghan

    Saturday, December 03, 2005

    LIFE IMITATES ART

    LIFE IMITATES ART

    When I was 59 I took Dorian Gray as my lover
    it happened without my knowledge
    I awoke one morning and he was in my bed
    he’d stowed his valises under my eyes
    heavy bags with no ticket for redemption
    scaled the Everest of my cheekbones
    where he puffed up plump pillows for his feet
    donned his spelunker gear to excavate
    the deep hollows of my cheeks
    draped his weighty blanket around my jaw
    and tenderly tugged to achieve perfect sag and droop
    then laid tracks across my forehead
    a contingency for a fast getaway

    Dorian Gray loved me because...
    I was as pretty as his picture

    © Bette O’Callaghan