These are poems written by a character in a book I’m writing called As Dead As Alive.
Waking Coolock in March
The clink of a bellbar
Spring’s springing
Bass bin booming
Revved bikes speed by
The wind freed at last
Trampoline creaks
Kids chirp like starlings
March is on the march
Big dreams; swollen moons with gravity
Their lonely tsunamis flatten the land
Rising orbits;
Omnipresent; obsessive crush
The chosen ones
Dawning too late
Behind locked doors
Hide
True stories
Of loving lips stung
Swollen reminders
Overdoses; distractions
Love like friends
Recycling reminders
The road ahead ends
There are hours when nothing enters me
Years of trouble close
With troubles overcome
New troubles I have reached for
I have not lived
Not enough
To perfect the release
That vain monster comes slow
Its wit in fallow eyes
Caresses rushing hairs
As if it is all chance
Tomorrow dance
Tomorrow won’t know me
Tomorrow always slips
Into another world
An empty cry
Those hours.
Oh, those years of hours
When I am someone else
We don’t find treasure, cos we don’t treasure
Onto the next thing, quick fit pleasure
A flow in the desert, a snow covered Everest
Hit us, we weather it, nothing bothers us
Stipped bare, don’t follow seeds
Own nothing of quality
Monkey’s laugh in the trees
Swing high and mighty
And be put out rightly
The streets are unsightly
I’m treasure, don’t find me
Dug up just to be
buried.
Darran Brennan ©
Darran Brennan ©