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Oisín Breen

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Member Since: Before 2003

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Featured Book
Soldier's Gap
by David Schwinghammer

When high school principal Jerry Egge is brutally murdered, Deputy sheriff Dave Jenkins begins an eerie investigation. Just about everyone in Soldier, Minnesota, is a sus..  
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Recent poems by Oisín Breen
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Tremble! – Tremble before the maturation of the arch fool.
Who searches holding hands starry eyed under beaten up suns.
Who searches for mirror girl enchantresses.
Who hears cawing jackdaw whimpers.
Who worships Revelry The Beast.
Is The Great Revelry, The Great Beast.

Eugene Clay, he got up from himself to wonder the edge of the world.
To wonder humanity.
Awe-struck, he saw it created hollow from stars.

On marble floors he trailed delirium’s lost sense.
He never spoke again.
The wind said it all.

He cast himself as prophet gazing through ceilings to reds, whites – doorway blues.
He chanced upon notions of immortals.
What of immortality, when it’s heyday’s come and gone?

His day’s closer.
He floats eyes to the vapid sky – mumbles Proust and Sartre to angels.
With one hour’s sleep in endless daze till summer’s end, he longs for rain’s downward draw.

Tremble! – Tremble before the maturation of the arch fool.
Who searches holding hands glassy eyed under dawn sun.
Who worships Revelry The Beast.
Is The Great Revelry, The Great Beast.

Heal up his sanity’s rift, else he disappears.
For old revolutions twist, bend heads to new understanding’s white hall Mecca.
Then new days come – earth goes blue – revolution’s face away – disappear.

He’s a prophet gazing through ceilings hearing wisdom’s fool voice.
He’s the plastic pastiche neon backroom manic fantasy.
Tremble before the maturation of him, the arch fool.

Eugene Clay, christlike, is haunted by dreams.
He waits – waits with a hole in his head for his prophecy’s truth.
The truth – that we’re all mice and lions.
That we’re all conditioned fantasy.

Still he’s waiting, trembling before a statue’s eyes.
The statue’s the earth, his father, his lover, mother, friend and enemy.
Still he waits, kneels before a statue’s grinning face.

Copyright © 2003 Oisín Breen. No reprints or distribution of any kind sort in any form in this or any other known universe or dimension or medium without my express permission.



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Reviewed by Adam Walsvik (Reader)
My qestion to myself would be: What is it a statue of?(to?)

Adam
Reviewed by Regina Pounds
And when he matures, he will rise to his feet, recognize the statue's limited value and walk away.

Superb insights, Oisin.

Gina
Reviewed by Mariah Rowse
One cannot help but think that perhaps Mr. Clay is being judged as he stands before this statue of sorts. To say this poem was excellent would cheapen its value. It is so much more than that.
M*
Reviewed by jude forese
excellent poem!

"That we’re all conditioned fantasy"
deep observation... excellent imagery...
Reviewed by Katy Walsvik
Em, Oisin.. You would need to crack my skull and peer in to know my brain's response here.. you'd have to look into my eyes and watch the twitching around my mouth to grasp what I can find no words for... this is not about subject matter..or form or meter.. it's about full-out sensory impact! Jaysus! Sometimes you can be damned mesmerizing! katy.
Reviewed by Erin Kelly-Moen
Cooly done, Oisin! Perhaps we are all prophets, in our own way... Good to see you! :)
Reviewed by E T Waldron
Hi Oisin, powerful gripping apocalyptic write.
Reviewed by Lady Peg (Reader)
Oisin,
This is an awesome piece.
Missed you here.
Peggy
Reviewed by Nicole Davis Vergara (Reader)
Ooooo I agree a most powerful write indeed!
~Nikki~
Reviewed by Tinka Boukes
Very powerful write Oisin........hi buddy!!
Howziiiiiittt!! Cooooool on this side of the world!!!

Take care Okay'sssss!!

love
Tinka
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Of Life and Love by William Lowenkamp

A book of contemporary poems written in the 1970's and first published in 1983, now in its second printing...  
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