Ghost

 Your ghost haunts my mind 

Your ghosting chills the silence

You're gone but still there

Mike O'Leary - February 2026

Stress

When stress comes knocking 

Answer t'door, admit it 

Lest it knocks you o'er

Mike O'Leary - February 2026

Autumn Leaves

Rustling, russet leaves

Brittle, broken, lives ended

Downward, descended

Mike O'Leary  - 24th September 2025

Sack 'em all

 Sack 'em all

Sack 'em all, sack 'em all

The Tories with stories so tall

Sack all the liars and all truth deniers

Let's see the whole bloody lot trip and fall

Let's be saying goodbye to them all

The Tories with taxes so small

Sack the promoters, place trust in the voters

Cheer up and take down the red wall

Mike O'Leary - January 2023

A short burst of optimism prevailed 

Bless 'em all is the tune in your head as you read it.

Peruvian Hat

 Peruvian Hat

I'll pack a few things for the beach

Shall I wear my alpaca hat?

I do feel the cold in my head these days

It'll be warm enough in that

Not the weather we'd hoped for

When we planned our trip abroad

No South American sunshine

In the package we could afford

We walked the sands without afternoon sun

Wrapped up, well enough to cry

Looking for fossils and shells I saw one

That immediately caught my eye 

Look at this George

Well fancy that

If I'm not much mistaken

It looks just like my hat

Well the treasure you hold in your hand

Resplendent in all it's glory

Is called a Peruvian hat

And that's not just my theory

You can see how it got it's name

It looks like it's made to be worn

On the head of a native of Cuzco

Dark silken locks to adorn

It's just the right shape

With it's ear muffs as well

I know my sea shells

Though I say so my self

Put it somewhere safe

Let's see if we can see some more

It's a sea shell you don't see selling

On the sea shore that's for sure

Is it worth a lot of money then?

Is the dalai llama from Peru?

No he's from Tibet George

Mike O'Leary - 2015

One of the first poems I wrote in Steve O'Connor's group. I think we were given a topic and about 10 or 15 minutes to come up with a poem.

Pyramids

 Pyramids

Pyramids pasted on board with

Pharaohs planning escape

Images of Ancient Egypt

Inspired by geometric shapes

Colours setting their space in a

Coagulation cascade

Triangles crossing tramlines in a

Theatrical backdrop parade

Undulating rhythms rocking in

Underground waves of 

Rouge and denim washes

Rudiments of jazz and rave

Ecstatic with rhythm in time

Ekphrastic awash with colour and rhyme

   

Mike O'Leary - May 2020

An ekphrastic poem written for a collection published by Dionne Hood.

Buns for Breakfast

Buns for breakfast

Buttery cream

Light and moist

Patisserie dream

Made in Bingley

By our chef petite

Buns for breakfast

What a treat 

Mike O'Leary 

Written for Claire Rookes, our lovely Art teacher, who provided the buns for our Art Class.

What a Performance

Poets gathered in communion

Forgetting to bring the bread

With no transubstantiation

We broke the wine instead

Mike O'Leary - October 2014

I attended a workshop with Chris Tutton at Bradford Central library. During the session my bag fell onto the floor and broke one of two bottles of wine. I wrote this little ditty as an apology.

Walking with Wordsworth

I wandered freely as a cloud

Reading poetry out loud

Lost as I roamed twixt south and north

The poem distracting as I moved forth

Where will it take me

There’s rhyme but no reason

A map and a compass

More befitting this season

Head in the clouds

Sight clear as mud

Four lines of verse

And then I should

Take up the challenge

To find my way home

Leave Wordsworth behind

When you go out to roam

Mike O’Leary - April 2016

I'm Leaving Behind

I'm leaving behind the Romantic sixties

I'm leaving behind the Kerouac fixes

I'm leaving behind the rarified air

The sweet smell of freedom it's chains laid bare

I'm in retreat from Romanticism

I'm in retreat from romance

I'm in retreat from the end of an era

And those who despise my class

Stepping back from the edge of the abyss

From the leap into infinity

Clearing my head, clearing my heart

Refusing to play my expected part

Returning to familiar faces

Returning to warm hearted places

Making the return journey home

Welcomed like the prodigal son 

Seeing my origins anew

Seeing that sense of belonging too

Seeing the roots from which I'd grown

Seeing a place that is now my own

Saying goodbye to things that I'd loved

Saying goodbye to things from above

Saying hello is a wonderful sound

Hello to having my feet on the ground

Aware of the sacrifice made

By my parents and their generation

Just as 'Do your own thing' exclaimed

The extent of selfish penetration

Class defines me not Art

Classical and not Romantic

Making a brand new start

No tripping, but the light is fantastic

Mike O'Leary - September 2014

Disillusioned at the end of the Romantic Sixties and returning to my working class roots (soon to be disillusioned again)

Kyrielle

Kyrielle

8 syllables

At least 2 quatrains 

aabB
ccbB

Subsequently 
ddbB etc

All meaning in life had been lost
My searching was bought at great cost
In anguish I cried out to thee
By your mercy I am set free

You invited me through your door
You welcome the rich and poor
Beyond ME I am truly me
By your mercy I am set free

I remember Allan Holdsworth

I remember Allan Holdsworth

I remember Allan Holdsworth

The guy from Thorpe Edge Estate

Who became the revered guitarist

That the world’s best musicians rate

I remember he did an album

Called ‘Igginbottoms Wrench

A musical voice from Bradford

That for some might as well be in French

I remember his swift elevation

With Nucleus and Ian Carr

In Tempest he blew with Jon Hiseman

Hazard Profile a Soft Machine star

I remember him joining Lifetime

Tony Williams and he played sublime

One of my favourite drummers

He played with most in his time

I remember I bought an album

UK was the name of the band

Bill Bruford and Allan inspired

The best prog band in the land

I remember the solo albums

Never willing to sell out

His music was always a credit

His bank balance suffered no doubt

I remember he liked a pint

 A gifted but modest man

Never content to follow

Always seeking the Secrets of Sand

Everyone comes from somewhere

But Allan was one of our own

The 4:15 Bradford Executive

Finally bringing him Home

Mike O’Leary April 2017

A poem written on learning of the death 

of the brilliant local guitarist 

 Allan Holdsworth 

 

Shared Words

Words shared on the finite path...
Enjoy the Spring fruit
Winter is soon upon us

Mike O’Leary - 6/10/2016

Without Consolation

Ghazal 1

Without Consolation

Joy once evoked by memory
Now revoked by memory

Once bound together in bliss
Now only yoked in memory

My spirit rows an empty boat
Soaked by stormy memory

My heart breaks a slow beat
Stroked on the snares of memory

Michael, without love’s grace
Cloaked only in memory

Mike O’Leary - April 2016

My Old House

My Old House

Memories occupy stone walled spaces

Stalking the very fabric of its rooms

Ghosts of the centuries display their gloom

Lives unfulfilled leaving vapour traces

Heart of oak beams take the strain with good grace

Remnants of galleons surviving booms

Rescued from battle weary watery tombs

Ancient mortise and tenon out of place

Memories of my life in this dwelling

Mingle unashamed without fear or fright

Feelings ancient and modern awoken

All tell a story worthy of telling

All interweave the darkness and the light

All stories are told no words are spoken

Mike O’Leary - April 2016

Longing for Spring

Sonnet 1

Longing for Spring

Wondering will spring ever life bring forth
The garden being decidedly grey
Winter's presence seems reluctant to stray
Finding solace amongst the dead wood’s worth
Not making way for the season of birth
More than content to feed on summer's hay
So for each new day I can only pray
For an end to this season the year's fourth
I long to see the dance of daffodils
With their bright yellow plumage my heart fills
Bright Phoebus their reflection overhead
In his sunlight winter’s shades soon are fled
Spring bring me the things in which I delight
Vernal Equinox light this last dark night

Mike O’Leary - April 2016

Bouquet du Vin

Rondeau

Bouquet du Vin

Bouquet du Vin is all that’s left
The crystal cut glass now bereft
An empty bowl devoid of wine
Drunk in haste by a friend of mine
With smelling he couldn’t be effed

At drinking wine he is most deft
Quaffing or sniffing never cleft
Intoxicating smells from vines
Bouquet du Vin

Alluring aromas they weft
Raising his glass as if to heft
Nostrils awash with citrus fine
To smell is human, drink divine
To waste drinking time would be theft
Bouquet du Vin

Mike O’Leary February 2016

A Rondeau on the theme of wine tasting. 

Your round I think.

My New Brother

My New Brother

I'm going to get a new brother
My Mum says he's coming soon
I didn't ask for a brother
I'm not even sure we've got room

I'm going to get a new brother
I hope he won't take my place
Cos I am still only little
I hope he won't get in my face

My Mum says I'll love my new brother
But I'm not really sure about that
Cos when he comes home to live here
I might have to sleep with the cat

My brother came home yesterday
He's alright but he's wrinkled and small
I suppose I'll get used to him one day
But I've told Mum, no more, that's all

Mike O'Leary - January 2016

Written in a poetry workshop with Chris Tutton

Ancient lives reflecting

A Haiku for all Seasons

Ancient limbs creaking...
Budding fruit of young men's lives
On the vine dancing

Ancient ears straining...
Peal of fuchsias crimson bells
The noon sun parades

Ancient eyes glazing...
Glimpsing frosty breath, rustling
Russet paths are trod

Ancient minds wander...
Footprints by the holly bush
Life's traces leaving

Mike O'Leary - October 2015

A set of haiku...

Came to rest upon my page

One cold, crisp morning

Howling Again

I saw the best of my generation
Addled from sniffing glue
I saw the best of my generation
Lobotomised in the dole queue

Amidst war torn industrial landscapes
Refugees from industrial strife
The best of my generation
Crawling through the nightmare of life

Amidst the mantras of aspiration
And the lessons that must be learned
For the best of my generation
An honest crust could rarely be earned

I saw the best of my generation
Forced into working for free
Punished by the parish
In the name of charity

I saw the best of my generation
Crushed and lifeless just like the worst
In a world of winners and losers
All that matters are those that come first

Mike O'Leary - October 2015

Written in a group session with Steve O'Connor. I was tasked to write as a punk poet.

On the 60th anniversary of Ginsberg's 'Howl'. Written in it's shadow and spirit.