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Steele Nov 2015
My caressing hands have stopped trying to tame the strings.
They move now more to harmony than to melodious things.
Brassy bands, drunk sailors and the sound of laughter.
The D string, the rough bar-stool clamp and clatter.
The sound of voices, raucous and hoarse with song.
The sound of voices, laughing as they all yell along.

It's a barstool anthem;
It's great and it's loud.
There're no classics here...
but Bach would be proud.
I've recently let go of my classical training (just a little bit) in favor of jigs.
Boston is a magical city, and it has pubs and sessions and fiddlers to rival any other city I know. Immensely enjoying my stay here, and immensely looking forward to the day I return. Tonight I raise a cold one to great performers, and an even better audience. So happy.
Stella Cleere Nov 2015
Nothing serves to fumble with your heartstrings
quite so well as a ceremony of the dead
(and nearly so)
where a tall man,
with black tie draped across broken heart,
wrestled with his voice;
in order not to display
what we are so practiced at hiding.
Vincent S Coster Oct 2015
Police came with blue

Flashing lights

Trouble in the house on

The corner

She was walking into doors again

A regular habit so it seems
From the collection of poems Eat Not My Brother  ©2015 Vincent S. Coster
Vincent S Coster Oct 2015
Maybe you could scold me
Tell me that you love me so
Dig my grave with your
Harsher words
But hey man I don't care

Sid and Nancy had it made
****** chic stupidity
In a hotel bed
Glazed eyes
And soft carpet touch
Like a thorn in the side of youthful folly

Keep it *****
Keep it fresh

Bleed on me
Taken from the collection The Spirit of Youth which was the third collection of poems. ©Vincent S. Coster 2012
Vincent S Coster Oct 2015
She adopted Irish words and lingo
As her moniker-  
Like the Meadbh of old, a queen
Of many talents
Her's was the gathering of languages
A menagerie of the tongues of the earth
Spoken as she lamented with crossed accents
So that her French sounded Italian
Her German sounded English
And her Irish like the incantations to old legends
In which she would have been worshipped-  
If not feared
For what is not to fear in her eyes
Which speak of a passion
Like the intensity of Picasso's eyes
That screamed his power
She is the same- A famous beauty
Like a song from childhood
Her power to transfix is in her eyes
Wells to get lost in-  
For she is the fairy queen of Hessen.

©Vincent S. Coster 27th October 2015
This poem does not feature in any collection and is appearing in "print" for the first time here on this website.
Vincent S Coster Oct 2015
***** grey fingers in every village

Every town

Etched with simple names

Of the lost sons to the new madness

Of love of land

And unknown king

Breeding hate of fellow man

For whom they prey and ****

Knee deep in mud

And jingoistic tosh

Said alike by

Tommy, Frenchman, and Boche
This poem is from the fourth collection of poetry by the Irish poet Vincent S. Coster called Poems From Another Shore Copyright © 2013. It was written ahead of the centenary of the start of the First World War and looks at the war monuments that are a feature of every town and village in England.
Vincent S Coster Oct 2015
What had you said, oh first made woman?

First born woman of my flesh?

What hallowed words had you uttered

When you seperated my heart from love?

Or from what I felt was really my due?


For I was naught but dust to you
This is the opening poem from the fifth collection of poems by Vincent S. Coster called Eat Not My Brother. It is a highly personal piece which uses the imagery of Adam and Eve to deal with the topic of betrayal and sadness.
Damian Murphy Aug 2015
In Ireland we had built a truly independent nation,
standing proud after years of strife and deprivation
But we yearned to join Europe, enticed by her charms,
and she was happy to welcome us, with open arms
Once we used to have pounds, shillings and pence,
when we joined Europe we adopted euros and cents,
We bought in to a single European currency,
and got loads of money, for everything a subsidy

Yes Europe proved to be extraordinarily generous,
the goose that kept laying golden eggs for us
Our government went mental with the money Europe kept sending,
it appeared this generosity was never ending
And our banks joined in with unprecedented lending,
we the people were happy, ah the money we were spending
We threw caution to the wind, it was pure insanity,
we paid ridiculous prices for even the smallest property

Mortgages and loans were given out like sweets,
credit cards with no limit for those occasional treats
Yes the borrowing and spending went on unabated,
sure why wouldn’t it, it was completely unregulated.
There was so much money, loans were so easy to get,
each one of us accumulated a serious amount of debt
Most of us were living way beyond our means,
had we sold our souls for a handful of beans?

Such was our success, other nations did applaud,
we bought new houses and cars and apartments abroad
Credit cards and loans bought so much other stuff,
one could be forgiven for thinking we could never have enough
We changed as a people, became quite materialistic,
we wanted so many things that were beyond realistic
we forgot what was important, which was really quite sad,
judging each other it seemed now by how much each had
A sad chapter in Irish History and a lesson for all nations
Lamb Jul 2015
So I am a mutt
And this is my poem about having split identities
And not knowing who the **** I am
I am Chinese and Irish
Got them green eyes, but eat rice with every dish
Have the freckles, but my first language wasn't English

Back in high school, people called me white washed
But then,
Pointed and called me that Asian
People would sneer, "You aren't even real Chinese"
But there are so many things you all don't see
Like how my Tiger mom screams at home
About getting straight As
Till her shrills leave me frozen to the bone
And when I had a boyfriend she didn't approve of
She yanked my hair
And I cried it wasn't fair
She yelled, "oh I'll give the boys something to stare"
I watched as she cut all of it off
Strand by strand
Like a strong gust of wind blowing all the leaves off the branches till it was bare in winter
The following day at school, my excuse was I needed a new look, so this was her
And meals I don't even know how to translate into English are my comfort food
But I can down some fries and burgers when I'm with the dudes

I embrace both sides of what I am
But people categorize me into one, *******
With my Chinese family
They straight up tell you
You too skinny, too fat, so silly
They say my accent has gotten worse
The anger builds up of embarrassment and hurt
The race makes my face so red, it's like my head will soon burst
There's this underlying feeling of shame, that's the worst
Which side of me do I need to prioritize first?
I'm drowning between the ocean of two separate cultures, I'm submersed
English is the language I think in and I curse
There's so much more I can't even tell you within this verse

Oh the irony doesn't end there
My driving stereotypes are quite the scare
Cause I'm Chinese, automatically I **** at driving
But mixed with Irish, I'm also road raging
It's probably the worst combination
Of a stereotype from two different nations
Ha oh there's more
The drinking stereotype that's for sure
Irish side could down the whiskey much too quickly
But the Chinese typically are easily tipsy
This mix is kind of risky
One turns so incredibly red
And the other can get so drunk, you'd see two heads

I feel I am constantly at war
One side always wanting more
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