vincent-s-coster
Vincent S. Coster is an Irish born poet, writer and artist who now lives in the UK. He began writing poetry as a way of venting the frustrations of being an outsider in a small rural village in Ireland when he was twelve, but it wasn't until he was nineteen that he decided to take up the vocation of poetry as a serious craft. / / Since then he has tirelessly worked on developing his poetic voice with a determination to take up the mantle as the ''Poetic Oracle of his nation,'' which was his original mission, and sees himself as the heir apparent to Seamus Heaney in the line of great Irish poets stretching back beyond his great hero W.B. Yeats. / / / He has published five collections of poetry. / / The Folk Hero Midget (2001) / There Are Words (2009) / The Spirit of Youth (2012) / Poems From Another Shore (2013) / Eat Not My Brother (2015) / / You can learn more by looking at his website... http://vincentscoster.blogspot.co.uk/
How you always wake me up early in the morning
Standing on the roof of my house while the house sparrows
Chatter among themselves in their sweet frenzied way
Arguing over food, and space and all the other things that
Siblings squabble over
They flutter around and you pay no attention to them
But like Zarathustra on his hillside, you continue to call out
And demand answers with that strange rising intonation at the end
A rising arpeggio of riddles asking of me in the morning-
Who-who, who-who, who?
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
Pretty little mushrooms
Growing in the sky
8 feet, 50 feet, 100 feet high
Blasts of radiation
Blows us all away
When it turns to midnight
In the middle of the day
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
The sea crashed on the shoreline
Like the whisper of a lover
Telling the secrets of her deepest being
To the deaf and silent land
The waves rushed in and hardened the shore
And no one dared to touch the sea
But fixed angry glares on her murderous swells
Relinquished only with grudging
With the cold grey morning
Heaving on her stormy *******
Men and birds alike find a living
In the cold cruel mistress's hands
The sea like a field, yields its fruit
Mere morsels to keep her lovers enslaved
Bound in sluggish wedlock
Tempestuous, cold
The men made hardy by her rage
And drunk by her salty kiss
Hearing her call when at night in their beds
Or by the fire, they take stock and rest
For what the sea gives, she demands a return
And for another lost lover, a candle shall burn
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 9:47 AM UTC
For Robin & Emilie Stammers
They say the universe is full of smells
In fact tests on astronaut's suits
Have indicated this much was true
It seems- they say- that there are faint
Traces of metallic smells you see?
Not the stink of leather and bourbon
Which emanates from my friend Robin
Or the sweaty funk that lingers
Where my obese neighbour goes
There are- to put it quite simply-
None of the rich earthy smells
That one associates with life or living
In the cold realms of outer space
There are just the smells
One would find in a science lab
In other words metals and the
Faint perfume of vaporous gasses
Seeping from stars and planets
In perpetual extra-terrestrial fartings
Out there- where there are
Strange cosmic happenings that
Would blow your mind-
The universe they say is positively stinking
Reeking to high heavens
You could say...
Though of course, we can really never know
For sure
And that is what bothers us-
Humans, in general, that is-
We don't like being reminded
Just how finite we are
When we are surrounded
By all that marvellous infinity
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
The father you know
Is a construct made up from
Odd parts
Like some Frankenstein's monster
Put together by you
From things you heard
And impressions you have
Based on his actions
His intentions you knew nothing of
Nor of the sorrows
He felt over the decisions he made
And how they were not always his
To make
But were often the results of
Consequences out of his control
You will see over time
How he mourned for you
And how the father you know
Is nothing like the person
He really is
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
The metal blade
That kissed your skin
Will nor remove the pain
Nor form scars
To match the ones
Formed by betrayal upon
Your heart
The seeping blood
So crimson
Enticing
Will not wash away
They way that tears do
The sadness you may feel
Spent on people who
Mistreat you
But they are fools
And so beneath you
And their razor blade tongues
Cut into you
But you will rise above
Their hurtful words
Like blood red roses
In the snow
And from the ashes of
Your broken self
We'll see the fire of
Your beautiful spirit
And we'll have roses for ashes then
© 2011 Vincent S. Coster
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 4:41 AM UTC
Eat not my Brother
For though his skin is darker than mine
His tears are no less salty
Nor is his laughter less sweet
Eat not my brother
Treat him not unlike a man
For though we are not alike on the outside
Humanity is not only skin deep
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
We sat around the fire
While the old man read the poetry
From a battered old book
Held together with strips of
Ribbon and shoelaces
Bound around it like a cord
The light flickered and danced
To the beat of spitting wood
Shadows stretched across the room
We hid in them like a duvet
Eyes fixed elsewhere
Saw not how I placed
Her hand in mine
And felt the delicate pulse
That betrayed her feelings to me
And mirrored my own feelings
For her.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
I saw them growing
In the damp squelchy soil
Soaked and sodden
With the rains that fell
Over winter
At first they shot out of
The ground
Green shoots unseen among
The green grass
But upwards they jutted
Reaching into the sky as much
As such things could
Exploding into blooms of yellow
Leaning over like bells
Ringing out in peals of colour
The joyous celebration we all
Waited for eagerly
Through the darkness of winter
"Spring is here at last- ah
Spring is here at last"
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 2:13 PM UTC
I take deep breaths
And plan a ******
To **** the bird that flew
Over the crow's nest
On a summer night
I feel the warmth
Of the day not yet done
The sound of laughter
Is all around me
This is cool- I say
I find myself lying on a surgery table
Holding an apple in my hand
I throw it against the floor
And landing there
It bursts into a million
Children of my mind
Spreading into every
Country on the planet
I am the new master
As my children grow and grow
Still in rags I speak
And throw my thoughts into a bin
Their work is finished you see
Still the sound of laughter
Carries on around me
Living is easy
With your head
In the clouds
I saw- and still I hear
The giggles and noises
Of delightful romances being
Born
These should be mine
But they are not mine
Such things are little more than
Mist or whispers
Promises not yet realised
My children sympathise
And bringing me a woman
To sit with me in the tall grass
Together we shall
Plan a life instead
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC