Sean O'Gorman

Different kinds of poems.
Right outside.

Right outside.


Sometimes all I have

is the look on my face,

that instant reaction

splitting the way you see me,

like my answers were standing behind me,

taller than me

and knowing you’d see them,

like dust

in a sealed room,


waiting for a single breeze. 

I think I could watch the movie Hook a million times.


I don’t know

where I am right now,

all I do is sail the air

and keep finding

excuses in my hands

like sign language directions

were my only way to apologize .

This life I’ve lived

was never a part of the plan,

but more apart from

who I wanted to be,

but still

I am someone with a story,

someone open to everything,

yet still connected

to the pieces I leave behind,

tethered to everything

that makes me

who I am. 

Got a shout out and video in a pretty awesome online arts magazine. Check it out and after take a look at all the cool stuff they have in the archives. You’ll find music, art, photography and poetry.


I’ve asked myself before

and like tips

my answers are always positive.

I never give myself

the hard

sandpaper truth,

just the reflex

that keeps me smiling

and the tone

that convinces me

that I’ve never done anything wrong.


There’s always something going on,

distractions that focus our attentions

like lengthy lines of excuses

perfectly cut with razors

and inhaled into our brains.

In each pill there is a small roll of paper you can write a note on.

In each pill there is a small roll of paper you can write a note on.


The quiet bars here
all blast nineties love songs,
caught in some
testiment to a timeline
where favourite things on repeat
never wear down,
or become lost,
or show signs of regret
when memories
become more realistic
than the moments
we’re living right now.