Poetry of Existence

More is Less




How memory once spoke

Of its travels

From one glimpse to another

Finally reaching the tip

Of your tongue

And letting go.



The time

When memory took off

Danced away with a stranger

Without a cue

To hang out

Somewhere else.



what you do not,

When you

Searched for her

Under hazy street lamps

In shadowy alleys, blurry

Winter fields and muggy

Summer walkways. And


How you didn’t

Rightly recollect

What she reminded you of

Even as she appeared in half-light,

Selfishly reminiscing,

Taunting, nagging, retaining

Pictures and diary only

For herself.


You are it seems

Someone different now.

Memory mocks you

From a distance,

Memorizes new details

Then vanishes again

With all your relics.



Siobhán Ó Mócháin Breathnach ~ March 4, 2015


Would you recognize

your beloved's shoulders

in a line up?

Could you find

his blue

in a book of eyes?

Would you 

read his heart

in a manuscript of poems?

Would you

walk his legs

across a field of poppies?

Would you mourn

his bones

in a murder of crows?

Yes and Yes and Yes!

Siobhán Ó Mócháin Breathnach                        



A Spanish dancer

   crossed my path

between biker’s road

   and sewer grate:

a scrap of pink lace

   against the tar.


I felt her presence

   a parallel time

face masked

by shimmering lines


Life stole her dance

   but left for me

a fragment apparition

     upon my walk

along this road

    March 17.


Siobhán Ó Mócháin Breathnach       

March 17, 2011






My Love is the Poet


My love is the poet

            I am simply

the wordsmith

cranking out lines

            he echoes in my dreams


My love is an epic poem

            I read

late at night

under moonlight

            beneath his unfurling flesh


My love is a lyric

            I sing at daybreak

as flowers hum a morning song

and birds on high wires

            dance out loud


My love is a cricket

            leaping into my arms

from the black night of joy

chirping notes of delight

            as I rest in his fore wings


My love is the poet

            he lives the words

I craft



Siobhán Ó Mócháin Breathnach  









Like the blue flowers

of the licorice

            I taste sweet

root myself

in the marrow of your soul



remain at arms length

            as if I am


for special occasions



I am your

            lie detector

your liege loyal

to the end of bitter


I lien on you




Siobhán Ó Mócháin Breathnach  




Letter From Triton


I seek a close encounter with you

my beloved Neptune

I am your Triton moon

captured in the glow

of your magnetic field

pulled toward you

for all times


With Voyager zipping by

invading the sacred silence

of our love I journey

in my orbit around you

hundreds of heavy years

from the heart of my life


on my cold distant moon


You are

my beloved Neptune

a mystery a vast universe

I do not wish to conquer

only to know I peek

through white clouds

of your atmosphere

pass through massive storms

to glimpse the ring surrounding you

the gentle band

that gently binds me to you


Blue Neptune,

I yearn to give you

a moonstone

for your starlit eyes

to dream upon

through infinity


Resonating particles of passion

on my odyssey of true love

I bathe in liquid lakes

of nitrogen

against tidal forces

I prepare to transmit the intensity

of my lunar longing


My mission

loving you

shapes my life


Siobhán Ó Mócháin Breathnach  


All that really matters


our last conversation

Who speaks

Who listens

How all our living


each word.