Espalier Vineyard Seams...

Espalier vineyard seams in a caked earth canvas stretched.
Below leaves dipped in near autumn gold,
crow talons press atmosphere to dirt,
kicking up dust in the madness of an inebriated dance.

—Hopping∞Spinning—

Heads bowing in the receiving of dusted globes of fallen fermented fruit,
their sleek necks fluted,
drink of the blood and light,
in communion with nature and the smoldering horizon's hum.

—Circling∞Diving—

The choral of dragonfly chaos,
where a little girl runs free in laughing grasses.
Her hair pinned by their iridescent curiosity,
wings like stars in evening flight.

My heart light,
weightless thoughts drunk on love,
for how the sun sets within her skin,
like the tone of my voice on the day she was born.

—Blush and blossom—

First minutes of new life,
I whispered in her ear,
asking of her old soul
how she'd like to adventure in this life…

…and she sighed oceans,
and she stretched mountains,
and she forged possibilities,
giving my life great meaning…


—Giver∞Keeper∞Mother— 


E.A. O'Connell

Emerald Facets Catching Twilight...

Emerald facets catching twilight, 

illuminating life aswim in the rippling wall

Gills and lungs circling and fleeing

Swells increasing his height, shrouding an early night about her

One-by-one the stars come forth to bear witness,

his rabid foaming grins nipping at her ankles

he gathering strength, 

pulling from far and wide,

stealing her footing as the sandy bottom follows his command

She standing lone before his might, 

releasing a breath held far too long,

taking form of birds in flight,

their starlit backs

—silver coins cast—

sinking into the horizon

Impassioned threats of drowning,

his thundering voice beckoning her to fall into fears awaiting arms,

she meets his battle cry with back strong

—eyes clear of mind—mind clear of heart—heart pure of thought—

The unknown whispering her forward, 

guiding her without future sight,

she extends him a tender hand,

the stars hush,

and the world in wait,

falls silent…

E.A. O'Connell

Ghost. Ghost.

Murder of crows sitting amongst the tangle of bare branches

Plump bodies nested like ripe black grapes

One spies me and in direct line of vision

Stretches his neck screaming in a high pitched range,

"Hope! Hope! Hope!"

A second bids me a tilt of the head and a one eyed judgment

In a deep bellied rasp he sighs,

"Ghost. Ghost."

E.A. O'Connell

I Breathe...

I woke with a head aching from the dreams I attempted to slow and replay in an utterly damning slideshow— my mind is more of a flip book in forward and reverse, and I grasp for near memories that slip past, but I only seem to ever pluck snippets of lips in voiceless cadence and eyes in blink— the laugh lines…the hands of a golden sun age— waves crashing at my shins, pulling sand from beneath my feet, leaving my toes afloat on sea breezes and my equilibrium tested on shell backs and lightning glass...

There’s a wind I can see in colors of evening’s frayed, and it carries with it muffled thoughts that hum like dunes and so I turn towards it— but still you aren’t there…you haven’t been there…but in some strange twist of life you steal in unseen on the tide…the sea foam that effervesces at my heels— I feel you and laugh to the rhythm of sandpiper’s stepping...

I can’t keep a handle on the pain that sickens my gut like a phantom organ giving me hell for the excising of it from my core.  I curl up in the restless haze and the torture the pain infects, contorting my body in angles I recall from surrealist hands, and just to take my mind off the ache I laugh my way through mathematical equations constellated in my pupils— the pain that knocks me about like a vessel in a tempest— I’m a shipwreck...

...and the hands of the ticking clock wait open to receive all of me...taking everything...making everything a thing of the past...

I think of children and how they run with their arms outstretched, certain they are nothing less than an airplane in flight as their little feet carry them miles from earth— I remember miles in flight— I carry exhaustion in my lungs—I let it go...and so I just breathe…I breathe...

E.A. O'Connell

An Untitled, Unfinished Work (Short Story/Flash Fiction)

We laid in the grass by the pond, my head resting on his chest, feeling the rhythm of his breathing slowing to a serenity that transferred to my own lungs.  We silently watched as the periwinkle evening slowly slipped into a dusky violet, sinking deep within indigo, until succumbing to the pitch black; far and wide, a sky lit with star and planet shimmer, about us firefly glow.  The night birds, frogs, and insects were alive with songs of wings, throats, and legs that stirred him enough to break our silence with the hushed words of an exhalation, “Marais la nuit.”  I loved hearing him speak French, and since it wasn’t often that he did so, I closed my eyes and let the words, carried in his husky voice, nest within my ears.  I replied with a pleased, “Mmmm.” 

We lay there stargazing for quite some time in the quiet of summer, until I interrupted the silence.  “I’ve been thinking lately about something.”

“Oh?”

“When we’re in utero, we’re attached to our mothers by a cord.  This cord is our link to nourishing and nurturing, and when we are born this cord is severed and in its place a hole is left.  I can’t help but wonder if that’s how it is with all things that nourish and nurture us, when they are no longer there…be it a life or a love…due to some tie being severed, is a hole left in its place?  Keep in mind this could also be said for those people and events that hurt and drain us as well.”

“Hmm?  Why do you ask such a question?”

“Because I feel holes within me, only they feel more transparent than like an abyss…more like windows.  And I’ve begun to come to an understanding that as a window, these ‘holes’ have two views, and I could choose to stand outside looking to the past…to all the lives and loves and hurt that have contributed to their existence…or I could stand inside looking out on all that lies before me.”

“So which do you choose?  The second option?”

“Neither.  I think I’d much rather choose the third…to smash through each window, climbing down, and stepping outside into the vast unknown before me…walking blindly, but nonetheless walking, towards something, anything other than the reflections and views that have held me back and kept me stagnant within myself.”

He stayed quiet, but took his arm and wrapped it about me, placing his hand above my heart.

E.A. O'Connell  

...And From the Dark...

...and from the dark came the rhythmic descent of raindrops 

...and the train sounding its travels 

...and the hound howling at a back door

...and I exhaled...

E.A. O'Connell

The Gazing Rock (Flash Fiction)

He lay atop the gazing rock, clouds of india ink morphing against the indigo sky.  

The rolling sweet grass crashing against her thighs, tickling her wrists and palms, releasing the scent of summer heat against her flesh as she walked to him, climbing atop the rock, sinking into his arms.  

Eyes trained on the unfathomable depth of night, the sky spoke with a forked tongue, heightening the electricity between them, his hands releasing a charge through her veins.

E.A. O'Connell