Tag Archives: Matthew A Oshea

The Constant Salesman

By Matthew A O’Shea

Enough.

Enough of the repeated vibrations of a cell phone,
of the lack of vibrations from a cell phone,
of empty inboxes in empty homes,
of full inboxes in empty homes,
of unexpected bills, pouring through doors,
of the unexpected running out of pills,
of the ticking of digital clocks,
Enough of the endless knocking.

Mock the salesman.
Ignore the scratches, find safety in static.
In the low hum of background noise.
In laugh tracks, in old hacks, in new quacks,
in the constant clacks of keys.
Find the mechanical, find routine, find ease.
Fill the chap, fill the chap, fill the chap.
Drown out the chapping.

I click my pen to the tick,
tock, of the clock
and hope the spring
survives.


Matthew A O’Shea is currently having his existential crisis in Scotland. He studies Philosophy and Theology at Glasgow University, which he believes isn’t helping. You can find him on Twitter and Instagram.

DNC CROCODILE DUNDEE

By Matthew A O’Shea

My friend felt so sorry for alligators
that she wanted to die. Suicide — 
death by croc. And she tore into me 
about not wanting to come along. 

She said that I had benefited just as 
much as Lincoln and Irwin and the other
privileged few. I said I would attend but
not participate. Gonzo martyrdom.

She leapt up onto the pulpit besides
the enclosure, with a bat that’s never 
seen a ball and a cigarette holder 
that’s all no-smoke and mirrors. 
exclaiming Pluto’s not a planet anymore.


Matthew A O’Shea is currently having his existential crisis in Scotland. He studies Philosophy and Theology at Glasgow University, which he believes isn’t helping. You can find him on Twitter and Instagram.

Prayer

By Matthew A O’Shea

Arms spread eagle
screeching parables
preaching, avian, predatory.
Pontiffs upon pulpits
direct the huddled mass.
All plans, all plots, all schemes.
Fire, brimstone, no between,
“Welcome to His lair”

Warriors kneel
awaiting blessings
silent, bloodshot, solemn.
Divine sovereigns
salute thirsty deities
with bone, with sinew, with regime.
Death or glory, no between,
“Give the ferryman his fare”. 

Desperate men
begging gently
broken, pathetic, guilty.
A thousand voices
glide into the void.
All fears, all hopes, all dreams.
Wishing, pleading, sacred screams.
All of them in prayer.


Matthew A O’Shea is currently having his existential crisis in Scotland. He studies Philosophy and Theology at Glasgow University, which he believes isn’t helping. You can find him on Twitter and Instagram.

The Anatomy of Distance or: A Study of Cartography

By Matthew O’Shea

if cartography is the study and practice of drawing
conclusions then surely   distance is the pen and 

parchment   time spent mapping every freckle is
time lost observing the external landscape   oral

traditions have a peculiar way of sucking   all of the
tension out of the usually revealing geographical 

attractions   an unbalanced compass often implies-
-magnetism   which as you know   can lead only to 

bias analysis   the depth of the trench   is best
observed from an   impartial angle  or one may risk     

a prepossession which haunts our professional
detachment   and honest cartography should be art

not seance   exploration of the anatomy of volcanoes
at ground level   can cause third degree friction

burns    instead the budding cartographer should
record the physical characteristics of any given

phenomenon   and place them to    one side in favour
of the abstract    and vastly more pragmatic

toponyms or political boundaries which separate
man from beast and allow the patient to trace

mistakes made by amateur    land lovers who
were too distracted by the   beauty   of the world


Matthew A O’Shea is currently having his existential crisis in Scotland. He studies Philosophy and Theology at Glasgow University, which he believes isn’t helping. You can find him on Twitter and Instagram.