Five Poems by Darren Lynch

 

The Green Veil  

 

In the tails of heavy torrents  

The buildings face a wooden chest, 

 

An expansion to an end of feat, 

 

Shock runs the gentle wave  

And onto this sight  

Madness,  

 

Written and spoken  

Soft and calm  

With a banquet of lunacy, 

The earth is born  

And fed to the water, 

Sailed and contrived  

With the promise of genius  

Through healing tide, 

 

Sheer and sought  

To the gracious union  

Of the impetus croon, 

 

As such fusion leads endless waters  

To be spoken  

And to be written  

By the unveiling of the mind.  

 

 

 

Motions by Moonlight  

 

Resurrected,  

The clothes of hindrance  

Beckon to the droplet of chance, 

 

A train, to the equity of motion, Powering,  

In the first step of dividing endurance, 

 

A thousand kings fail to rest, 

                                                The garden overflows,  

                                                                                        By the windblown sea  

 

A steely roost omits genesis  

To mix with the clouds  

My eyes blend to yield, 

 

Drudgery torn to fraud, weary  

Vigour erected in the name of reverie  

A turn to old as such at no time finer  

Breath was among desert dreams, 

 

The wishing chymes of permission  

Of vocation in certainty, 

 

A pharaoh's pride  

The greatest recognition alike, 

 

To be resurrected, to the impetus exertions  

Of hasty precisions  

Unfolded  

By the drunken lullaby.

 

 

 

A Stroll by the Moment  

 

Down by the beach  

Down by the youth  

And down by culture of a surfaced epicure, 

 

I hold a dollar,  

To the lands I have not yet reached, 

 

But look upon the skies as if all, 

All behind the eyes  

That convey a weight of royal sheets  

Beyond a circumference of thought  

In reason by flair, 

 

Those lines amount peculiar  

Of chronicle diegesis 

That one ambler holds fair, 

 

For it is heat and it is seeking  

That drives pleasure fair.  

 

 

 

The Concrete Tempo of Dolly Fair  

 

Shall a requiem judge, 

 

The hours upon which we proliferate, 

 

Are we listed by sound  

Of the squallers  

Who brood by the musing to fate, 

 

The trinkets of absurdity in a minacious pure  

Rattle and observe  

To dare not blemish  

A reckon of fur to the congregate, 

 

For to be, 

Fresh to the lapsed  

A witness to the steps, 

A novice in awakening  

Rest to thy concern  

For be it of this day  

A vested illusion  

For to the selfsame, 

 

The tempo of dolly fair  

The bells of recurrent back-cloth fame,  

 

Shall thy procurement  

Solicit a step  

Upon fathomable fame. 

 

 

 

Lust before the skies 

 

The curving touch, 

 

Whiter I to hold  

You to seek  

Is bound to redemption, lost to evasion  

 

A ponder of assignation  

Is to the road  

Of where shall we born  

To come to such guileful favour, 

 

For the curving eyes  

That whiter by moon  

To that assembling of lusting consume.  

 

 

 

 

Darren Lynch aged 24 from Dublin , Ireland is a poet who for the last three years has been immersed in the Irish spoken word scene. Having a background in music , poetry emerged over the last few years as his main focus. Darren has numerous publications and is currently writing his first collection of poems.