Summer Mountain Poem

                Summer Mountain Poem by Patrick Pomeroy                           If I could show you or tell you where I have been                         You might know the sun, moon( sometimes full)                         And stars as I do…as friends I’ve looked up to                         All these years from so many places                         None of which I chose.                          If I may please show you or tell you where                         I’ve been you might excuse me for my motorcycle                         And beer.                                My cold neat gin and ridiculous repartee                          You will never see or know where I have been                         Because while … Continue reading Summer Mountain Poem

A Day in the Night at Bellevue Hospital

 A  Day in the Night at Bellevue Hospital by Patrick Pomeroy  She escaped Bellevue Hospital’s office for Social Security Income in a winter dark only a cat-fight might know.  Being inside all day  she sometimes became static as if cotton was stuffed in her ears  and cucumber slices  placed on her closed eye lids just like she did on Sunday mornings.  A hundred different faces lining down the stained hallway like a painter’s pre-arranged color scheme. She thought of central casting and musing gently, she smiled to herself.  A feeling returned. The one she knew too well. The same one … Continue reading A Day in the Night at Bellevue Hospital

Night’s Veil and the Wicked One Hundred

Night’s Veil and the Wicked One Hundred  by Patrick Pomeroy  She left her office In the kind of dark Only a cat-fight might know.  Shocked by the brilliant day And what was real to her.  A hundred people with their exhaustive energies. Saturating her with grievances And plight.  No lover’s hands or drink Could empty her conscience To break free from the madness that was her day.  A hundred blighted souls grabbing as if blinded and forgotten. Her air sucked away by their fury.  She hurriedly meditated to stave off the demons that returned again and again…savages in her nights.  … Continue reading Night’s Veil and the Wicked One Hundred

While We Sleep

While We Sleep  by Sean Patrick Leary She has two more hours to go, in the bowels of the city. All that is flushed in the night swirls through the funnel, and she waits at the bottom trying to catch the debris, and sort the deposits. They all come at once: in the first room a premature birth while another is dying next door, compressions and a tracheal tube on an unconscious man, a morbidly obese opioid addicted woman in room five with chest pains and a history of heart attacks, room ten’s 19 year old mother with fluid lungs … Continue reading While We Sleep

Ponderings from Massanutten Ridge

Ponderings from Massanutten Ridge  by Sean Patrick Leary   When a man with peace in his heart is told by a man of violence that they will revisit their encounter and one will need to take the life of the other, is it right for the peaceful man to dampen his soul with the study of violent arts?  When a nightmare filmstrip plays on a loop inside a man’s head and the broken volume control is set to amplify and echo: pain, agony, frustration, and anger, how can he look out at those with him and project Love?  How can … Continue reading Ponderings from Massanutten Ridge

Rain Muse

Rain Muse by Sean Patrick Leary   If only I had stayed we’d be together. You’re still my muse, But now it rains when I want it to shine. I never expected this.  I stumbled onto your homepage today. It was beautiful, I was devastated. You were so content, and I was so absent. I was elated at your beauty and joy. You took my breath away, And the pain kept it from me, Now the pain is as real and lasting, As the surprise image of you on you wedding day.   ‡ Continue reading Rain Muse


  Vinotok by Sean Patrick Leary   Breasts overflowing from medieval garb, dance through my high altitude alcoholic haze, along the shadows of the dark lit street, seducing me to give in to the autumnal equinox, and follow the Green Man.  The maidens circle his staff, passing bottle and glass, singing, we’ll toast your wine, and drink your brew, and maybe we’ll make love to you.  They spin in flowing dresses to the beat of a hand drum, toward the four road intersection for the trial of the Grump.  Under the Crested Butte, backlit by harvest moon, before a council … Continue reading Vinotok