Monday 21 November 2022

Three Poems by Darren Lynch


The Dust of Heaven


A million thoughts echo the surrounds of a million dreams

Incipient pain resembles in the origin of all

Torn familiar streets to the center gracious fall

Once able to these lands roamed 

Have turned wrong in the field of eden 

Too rest the somber head on its white gates 

In hope for a sweet bliss to replace 

The irons of cold day

Upon everlong winter 

An infant in orbit 

Too the winds of shade 

For all too human the constant test of starlight seams 

To divide devotion in the name of desert prophecies 

To have pity upon one who called for all 

Shocked when answered in the death of silence too leave

For you were the mariner with taste for sea 

Upon voyage with lay of claim

So fretful icarus now in the eyes of flame

With the words too taste the dust of heaven 

Under the lucid reigns of alive race 

Clarity as to the vague conviction 

Of satellite masquerade 

With the flavour of sweet displace

In perfumed garments 

Impelled in a labyrinth

Of fitful uncertain breeze 

To scale the tempest wild

The succulent departure of kind.



The Dance of Eventide 


Jewelled succession

The gentle awake

In honour of carefully laid streams

The morrow lives now

Reason in the clenched 

Now illuse

Rapture of peace bounding an eternal youth

Promised pleasures fabled so rich 

In sanctuaries of light 

The moment time bells shall ring in clear heighted echoes liberating

The sign of chosen escaping in the structured labour fields 

The hands torn in messaging

To find entry in new begining love brings well 

Mended in the wide smile 

Perched in the colours to find us

We can leave cold obedience ode in the creed of life 

Dressed in touched heaven 

To witness the immaculate dawn 

Images of evoking filmic perception arise 

Loosely gathered in warm feast 

To dance through eventide 

The soul welcomes night 

An assembled prospering to roam 

In the reason of radiant dreams.


The Requiem House


Twins on lunch in the balcony frame 

Naked in divinity 

Waiting in royal song 

Sitting in twisted flowers 

The servants brought sun 

Smoking in dust 

The wild green dream 

Left in wise feast 

So far gentle the chiming old lovers on the first wine 

In the hidden seduction of a divine message 

Electing concentration was at birth 

In a stiff driven canvas of the artistic seeds 

In a fine selection of seated imagery

Cast chosen by the first born daughter 

In a smile carefully aware of begotten tales 

Such due hesitance awakes only in matrimony 

Gazed in the dwindle of fading youth 

For how the idle swan ever too lie heavy in the wanted repute

For too fate 

The too sweet eclipse of words 

For you alone in the fading embers 

In a house built for truth


By Darren Lynch, Dublin, Ireland. 



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