Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dylan Barrett Jan 2020
The sky a low ceiling.
Below a tapestry of blues, greens and greys –
Woven in shrub, stream, stone and lichen.
Mount Brandon.

Mountain spirits, dressed in wool.
Suspicious beady eyes.
Hoven feet that read silently the land.
Mount Brandon.

Fog boils over the mountain –
A breath that makes night of day
And ghosts and spectres of those who dare.
Mount Brandon.
HeWhoExplores Jan 2020
We marched into the thick of town, laughing and hollering like
Jovial soldiers of the night. The sky was dark & poetic , as we succumbed to its drunken beauty. Night's like these were meant to be enjoyed, savoured- for what was yet to come, we could not escape.
Staggering around town like a drunken platoon, we ended up at the Ulster Sports Club, a place so decadent and mysterious we had to sell our souls in return for a one way ticket. But, it was worth every penny of it. With low hazy lights that aligned the corridors and a special style of liveliness like that of the 90's- we were on cloud nine.
Electro beats and foggy disco lights gave the place a retro vibe, as people of all ages and shapes boogied and grooved as they became slaves to the music. It was utterly beautiful. Beer was guzzled and shirts came off, as we staged an act of defiance against social conventions- this was our paradise, and rules were meant to be broken. And as the lights came on, a chorus of "One more song!" erupted. We staged a rebellion, for the night was not over yet. Eventually, the time to retreat came upon us, as we threw down our conquering swords to surrender. We grabbed our things, our bags and coats and made off; walking into the dead of night like soldiers returning home from battle.
HeWhoExplores Dec 2019
I saw him again today, that man
So clothed in mystery
He was quiet today,
Just like every other day
Probably hoping to be left alone
But, we'll never know
And I'll never ask

I saw him again today, that man
So clothed in mystery
Yet, for reasons I can't comprehend,
I often see myself in him
Staring back, trying to figure it all out
One passing day at a time
Stop thinking.
The thought of you is poison to my Love.
my real Love.
You are but a thought - a what if lingering on the tip of my tongue,
there is no use wasting thoughts on what if’s.
Nothing good will come of it
Nothing good will come of us - there is no us.

Stop thinking
You are a virus, a fading voice, a fading joke, a fading laugh
that’s all we had.
Nothing more - but not nothing,
unspoken, unheard.
Yet, I saw It in your eyes
and I saw It reflecting in mine.
Stop thinking.
I love to place myself in the mind of a character I’ve watched or read about and write from their perspective.
Conor Martin Oct 2019
You've got that caramel charisma
That sweet tooth personality that leaves me wanting more
Where have you gone, I wish you were here
It's time we left the factory and came to see a world brighter than the glass ceiling allows

Sweet, No sweat
Its banter no barter
The high road not often spoke
A message among the common folk
Whispered love beyond the time
Around the reason of this rhyme
It's all I've done to ignore the signs
You should be mine
And will be holding hands
Along the river lagan
And our throats ache from
Songs over sang

Urge, Desire
Perception of the rain on our lips
Feeling sadness on finger tips
We know one night is all we get

Love then life
What is it worth
Grains of potential
Gritty like the dirt
We wash clean to
Bare our skin within
The linen cloth warmth
Of sultry affluence
A lament don Ghaeilge

A language
in my Blood
but not - on my tongue.

The prose and poetry of my ancestors
fallen - on deaf ears.

When did we accept this anglicized assonance,
to marr the seanchaithe tale of soil and air?

The Land of Saints and Scholars -
speaking words from others tongues.
fiachra breac May 2019
look outside yourself
for twenty minutes,

breathe in the creation
find some inspiration.

not content to sit idly by
while the world speeds past:

green and grey and beautiful -
sodden with yesterday’s life
dropping off leaves and
into open collars.

leaky futures flood across
the backside of our minds.

cascade -
gently at first:

a trickle, a dribble,
a hand to hold.

lay down those sweaty palms
dry the crease of your smile,
for the world is full of wonder
if you stay for a while.
ó ag siúl abhaile inné
fiachra breac Apr 2019
soaring peacefully,
far above our heads.

you keen and dive,
move and shake,
you dance.

careful now -
don't let go,
keep the string firm in your grasp

she is strong,
and she pulls hard -
lifting us up from our feet.

o! to be a ribbon,
fluttering in your breeze,
swirling and twirling beneath
your gaze.

o! to feel the tug
of that thin white line,
wrenching us forward,
dragging us on -

tied to the pit of my stomach,
you yank what's left of my insides out
You and me, and Molly Malone
In Dublin city, so far from home
Looking over the Liffey
That's when it hit me
My love for you, had only grown

In Galway Bay, we couldn't stay
The loyalty, love, and friendship day
Rainbows at the Cliffs of Moher
The Blarney Stone we can't ignore
Waterford Crystal and...Cabernet

You and me, and Molly Malone
Is the memory, that I've carved in stone
Dancing in Dublin
You've got my heart bublin'
My love for you, had only grown

Guinness, whiskey, cider
I got sick on chowder
Hanging out with Wilde
Don't forget that child
Ten thousand years and...no they're not

You and me, and Molly Malone
Here comes the time, for us to go home
Even though we're leavin'
We will leave here knowin'
My love for you, had only grown
(My love for you, had only grown)
In memory of my 2017 trip to Ireland!
Most of it is self explanatory. one memory was of me and my boyfriend looking at a famine statue. a local Irish dad and two of his sons were passing by, when the youngest son (~8) shout out "those statues have been here for ten thousand years" the older brother (11) playfully pushes and quickly correct his younger brother and informs us that "no they're not"

I suppose we stuck out as tourists!
Ray Dunn Mar 2019
in a field of four leaf clovers—
i’ll await your three leaves,
my dear

you’re my goodluck charm—
mixed amongst non-scented flowers,
my love
Just  thinking back to when I wore my grandmothers necklace, an Irish symbol with  marble from homeland of Ireland, and lost the pendant in a field of clovers by my school. Makes me very sad to remember, hopefully I’ll find it one day
Next page