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Best Poems Written by Orma Sullivan

Below are the all-time best Orma Sullivan poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Ripe Peach

This morning's succulent pregnancy
holds infinite possibilities of a 5 am kind--
ones that tickle the fancy
before ten thousand thoughts rush in.

Be embraced by the unspeakable
that tells all, says all, and more.

Be held in a thimble, completely full,
yet, never runs dry;
heavy, yet light to bear;
gold-embossed,
as grace's sweet tongue licks her lips.

Everything is gratitude and understanding--
at the deepest levels.
Just ask a ripe peach.

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Ten Thousand Songs

So tender, so sweet,
The attention.
Beloved shines through
The out-breath
Into creation's sunrise.

Experiencing the body-divine
Throws open the gates of seeing, of sensing.
Royalty becomes my second skin.
I rest upon the throne of grace
While listening to ten thousand songs.

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La Belle Et La Bête (Beauty and the Beast)

The sweet neck of her life came adorned with dazzling jewels of the ages;
jewels imbued with holy virtues, long before she was born.
She rose, alone, Venus veiled above a sparkling sea,
her love light flashing wherever she gazed.

As she spun her cosmic spiral, a tiger, hungry with anger and bitterness,
tore at the veil, hoping to claim victory—fire and passion.
Each time she dipped her head, trying to free herself from the ships of ancient
torments that lay anchored at her throat, the tiger roared for more,
devouring jewel upon jewel—fire upon fire, passion upon passion.

She lay, alone, her carotid adornment shortened by the tiger’s every move,
her virtues struck down until she was left grasping at a choker
‘round her throat, her life soon to end.

Then, in the billowing clouds of her torment, she saw Diana rising from the sea.
She stood on an iridescent ivory shell, her arrow poised to strike.
The tiger raged, but could not pierce the clouds.
A red fury filled with fire and passion shot from its hell-born eyes;
its massive jaws spewed hot saliva that set the sea on fire.

The sea itself cried out, “Golden Diana, make your arrow swift and sure;
the world in Venus is quickly fading.
Strike now, the tiger, and restore all aright!”

Even while the prayer was being uttered,
Diana’s aim proved its power as the arrow found the tiger’s heart.

In a flash, Venus was restored,
her long strand of jewels aglow,
the tiger at her side.
Together they stood in a deep, iridescent ivory shell
and made their way out to sea
with a wind that was sure and true.

All was set aright.  All was free
as they sailed into the rising moon,
her Venus jewels lighting the way.



Written in contemplation of Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee around a
Pomegranate, One Second before Awakening, by Salvador Dali. (1944)

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The Importance of Wearing Gloves

The importance of wearing gloves.
The importance of putting them on, just so.
The quality of this gesture shows the world
one's good breeding, set apart.

The importance of putting fingers and thumbs
into their proper place,
done poorly, there's a chance of being caught,
committing a grand faux pas that would scandalize
the year's social season.

The importance of proper adjustment, alignment,
achieved with a quick, firm push between the fingers,
securing a place on top of the hand for the three,
tightly stitched ridges.

The battle cry of the country club set
is heard as women line up,
ready to go to war for the sake of appearances.
Did Athena wear gloves?  "Pray, tell me, quick."
Some semblance of mythic history is needed,
or my friend's mother will have shot herself in vain.




*For a high-school friend who lost her mother in 1966.

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Acupuncture

Acupuncture,
Needle work.
Charging the chakras;
Happiness finds a home.
Breathe.

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Cafe

Cafe
Au lait.
Milk and caffeine caress
In an ecstatic embrace,
Drink me.

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Beckleigh -For Lenny

He heard the crows, 

morning-cawing-crows,

morning-language-cawing-crows. 

There was for him, 

always, uncertainty in the cawing, 

an uncertainty he couldn’t hear,

though he tried for most of his life. 

There was brotherhood, yes, brotherhood— 

an association-brotherhood, a knowing, an approval, 

with only one man to answer—himself.


If he could be the man with the answer,

he would really know the crow-uncertainty-language, 

then his own, yet unknown need for approval would be released.

He thought, Oh, to be in the crow’s nest at feeding time. 


Magnanimous tutors all, crows, Kafka-ing their way through life, 

with K their jackdaw father— great approval there.

He thought, Don’t wait for that one. 


He wondered if he’d been under a spell,

the crow-uncertainty-language-spell 

of Beckleigh, beeches, bluegills, 

shrubs and lightning bugs that sang their own cawing-choruses 

in waxed paper covered mayonnaise jars. 


Beckleigh, where he and neighbor children

called out from tree-castles,

from every named and friendly bush, 

and in mimetic blessedness 

that flowed from every child’s heart, 

cast their primal caw, caw, caw in tones that pleased the earth itself. 


Each step they made, each caw that came 

pledged allegiance to some truth, 

with approval from below shooting up their legs, 

and wind and sun sweeping it into their nostrils. 

Dedication and commitment never fell out of season. 


One day after years took hold of 

Beckleigh, beeches, crows and caws 

he heard the distant cry of uncertainty,

like Echo, throwing her voice across the chambers of his heart. 

He sensed an essence, perhaps love itself—he paused; 

morning-cawing-crows, 

morning-language-cawing-crows, 

caw, caw, caw. 

Oh, to be in the crow’s nest at feeding time.

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Seneca Nation

People flock to Naples.
Monday, lunch-crowd
Says, "I'll take the 
Graveyard--'Bob n' Ruth's' special."
Seneca chiefs continue
Their conversations.
Symbols speak in
Passionate tongues.
Who's listening?
The Bristol Hills know
That every tree and vine
Has a tale worth telling,
"Forgive us,
Our dearest Seneca brothers."




A chief of the Senecas  chose to be buried in Naples, NY in the late 19th century.

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Peaches

Peaches.
Bifurcating succulence.
Tastebuds speak delight.
Summers-past ice cream dreams.
Yum.

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River Conch

If you want 
to hear the Amazon,
hold a banana
up to your ear.