Afterthought In The Afterhours

Afterthought in the afterhours

In the farthest reaches of your conscious

I collect the ashes of thoughts

That burn through your mind

Waiting for your hands

To take hold of my spine

Your pattern always

Flipping through my first few pages

Skipping to my very last

You like to revisit how I began and how I end

Sometimes a half thought as you put me back

Others a distracted shove of the hand

In a measure of certain adoration 

You like to know that I’m always there

And in the afterglow of our half life 

I am

I am

E.A. O'Connell

Thunderclap Migraine Shrapnel

Thunderclap migraine shrapnel
Exhausted in exhaustion
Weighing heavy like a radiation shield
So this is where my mind falls victim…or is it my heart?
Dreams bring him to me but reality makes a clusterfuck of clarity
I think I’m insanity in the sugary froth of an over ripe peach
Bite and juice runs through my fingers trailing the shorelines of blood theorems and complexities of single-cell laughter
I think I’ve gone mad…or is it merely my want?
A shadow of comfort stoic beside my dreaming self
And I, first over the shoulder glanced before rolling to him, embracing a single leg in my arms
His fingers ran my hair and jaw line 

His voice soft with, “Sleep, baby, sleep”
I don’t dream in my armor, but I sleep in its guard
Wonder of wonders to my conscious mind
A hard metallic echo as my entire self jolted

Body naked and armor strewn about the floor

E.A. O'Connell

Quiet As The Breath Of A Field Mouse

Quiet as the breath of a field mouse, she steals into the meadow, bare feet and a natural glow.

Toes to stones, she navigates the banks of the winding stream in an airy dance, sinking into the water as a fiddlehead spiraling into itself.

She is inhaled in the wind’s pickup of sweet grasses thrashing at the backs of one another under the obsidian after-hour thunderhead sky.    

Her soul divide kicks up dusty cyclones that displace decay and origins of life, as the humid spirit of her feminine divine stands guard amongst the silver forked-tongues striking around. 

Her body slips under to sway the silty floor, sustaining life in the electric charge as the raging bass coils trunks and shifts bones. 

The persistent beat unhinges her rib cage, freeing captive thoughts that sink heavy like sickness, allowing her body to float freely to the surface.

As the two fuse again to one, her silence is broken.

Her lips speak with the voice of a fever breaking sweat, in consonants and vowels blushing as they’re threaded into sentences, taboo in the heady want of her soul’s language.

Under the storm’s watchful eye she returns to land, slipping through tall grasses as fluid music, awaiting a reply in the natural chaos of the afterstorm approaching.

E.A. O'Connell

Sugar Cane Sweetened Sunlight

Sugar cane sweetened sunlight
Under cicada earthrumble

Tin echo waving loop of arid rain

Language of Zephyrus’ breath on leafen flesh
Hot matter the sweaty take

Roots gilded atop ruby fire
Shoulders bronzing speckled eggshell tone

The cerulean basin from which thoughts saturate

Loosening gravity

Rapids of particulate river shed skin

Giving rise and path to soulprint trek

E.A. O'Connell

They Walk Amongst Us

They walk amongst us.

Those who glow with an ethereal light unlike anything man could mimic, unlike anything seen in Earth’s nature.  I met such a person in a coffee shop once.  I walked in and was immediately in awe of this short, thin man in vintage summer style that suited the beauty of a tropical paradise more than the concrete suburb of Southeastern Pennsylvania that we both found ourselves in that morning.  I looked at the few patrons inhabiting the café, but not a one was as transfixed by this man as me.  He spoke with a soft sweetness that I can’t identify properly, except to say that it has a defining color we haven’t unearthed yet, or rather we haven’t remembered.  He tipped his vintage, sueded hat and smiled at me.  He was missing a significant number of teeth, but my stars, when I tell you that his smile was radiant and captivating and was the most honest and beautiful warmth one could be greeted with by a stranger.  His eyes were alive and aware, he saw everything, he enjoyed taking everything and everyone in, you could tell by how the lines around his eyes smiled of their own accord. 

I watched as he caught sight of my three month old baby girl quietly tucked into her car seat.  The two studied each other with equally wide and dark eyes and then Hazel gave him a broad, open smile which he reciprocated.  He looked at me and spoke to my heart.  “She is a blessing.”  I smiled at him and answered, “She truly is.”  Still looking at Hazel he spoke again.  “She will be very important in this world.”  I agreed.  “I believe so, too.”  It caught my ear immediately and has stayed with me that he said “THIS” world, not “THE” world.  There is meaning here, biblical meaning, but I’m not going to expound on that. 

What adds interest to the story is the origins of my little girl.  It would seem, or so I know, that she wasn’t technically supposed to be.  In the medical world, she shouldn’t have even been conceived and carried to full term, and in my personal life, the decision had already been made to have my tubes tied, so trying for a third was not going to happen.  I found out I was expecting shortly after John’s and my decision.  Even more interesting, I found out I was expecting only a few months after a woman with third eye wisdom told me I would have a baby.  I tried to politely say that wasn’t going to happen, but the third eye sense wasn’t backing down.  She smiled and laughed as if she had been witness to something I had missed and simply ended the conversation with a pat of my hand and the words, “Have the baby.” 

The pregnancy was smooth, but delivery was challenged by a few factors.  I spiked a very high fever and question of a virus or infection began to swirl.  The baby’s heart rate was slowing and dropping off, coming back slowly and my fear compounded by medical professionals poking, prodding, injecting, and adjusting things all around me was creating tension in the atmosphere.  The doctor finally opted that natural birth be attempted before prepping for an emergency caesarian.  My baby girl came into the world quiet and blue with the cord wrapped tightly around her neck, but to the amazement of all present, including myself, I didn’t have to push to birth my daughter, my body and the baby were in charge, bringing her into the world in such a manner that I thought it was a hallucination from the fever until the doctor and John assured me that it truly did just happen.  As they tirelessly worked to get the baby to take her first breath, I looked on through the flood of medical professionals, unaware that I had begun to hemorrhage.  Minutes passed and then from under the voices of those around me, came one soft cry that seemed more of a quiet greeting.  The baby girl didn’t issue forth any other sound, but her color grew rosy and her eyes wide and alert…a blessing in so many ways bestowed upon our family.

I believe I’m able to point out old and new souls fairly well…Viola is an old soul, very old, while Jack is relatively new.  Hazel, on the other hand, is a mystery to me, I haven’t an idea of her soul’s age.  Hazel issues forth a different type of energy, one that I can’t identify, but I know she is a great benefit on all our lives.  It’s not my place or job to define her soul by a term or age of any kind, and so I let love rule.   

So back to that day, to the coffee shop where that beautiful stranger nodded his leaving with a smile and stepped out into the morning.  I was only seconds behind him, but standing on that sidewalk I realized no amount of searching would produce what I was looking for.  I wasn’t meant to follow him, nor was I meant to find him.  I haven’t given up, though.  I look for him every day and everywhere I venture within and without that concrete suburb, but I haven’t caught sight of him yet and deep inside I honestly know I won’t, but it doesn’t stop me from hoping. 

We never know when nor how they will alter our lives.  They come into our worlds abruptly, we happen upon them accidently or rather what we assume is accidentally, but it always seems to coincide with something we are searching for or need answers to, whether we know it consciously at the time or not.  Our interactions with them are brief, and when we are touched by them it is profound and all too swift, but it’s comforting to know that they walk amongst us…and of this…I am certain.

E.A. O'Connell