2 Poems- Stephen Byrne

 

The World is a Blank Piece of Paper

 

Silence, whiteness, thin air

craved the start of some story, for
nothing existed, nothing grew-

no song, no summer rain, no
mythical being nor mad love, only
silence and a blank piece of paper

screaming for some ink to become the voice
of the living or the dead or a million
frogs in tune to the setting sun.

And just as lyrics can break silence,
just as the whiteness of the page
can transform into a noisy planet-

the ink flowered into colourful words,
syllables multiplied as the wings of Mayflies,
meter shaped the euphony of a hymn.

War raged on the battlefields of an Epic.
The dead rose and sang to loved ones.
And a child that felt a moment of birth,

became the moon that watched
a father kneel beside its tombstone.
All stories exploded in voice

as sonnets or in the sadness of the blues
and love whispered or screamed or became
a child’s hand within the cup of a mother’s-

for the ink tore through the silence,
creating, indulging, destroying- and
the page was overturned so again

nothing existed but the silence-
no love, no wars, no wind,
nothing but the whiteness of the page.

 

 

Sweet Drunkenness and Five States of Poetic Consciousness

 

I. Drunk on Love

We are the love children of the stars.
Knowledge, a shiver down the spine-
language soaked in age-  are life stories
of birth and death in the lines
……………………………………carving the cups of our hands.

 

II. Drunken Possibilities

To have a son touch your face
and a daughter to pick lilies.
To hear the stones beg water
to drown narcissistic dreams-
……………………………………for the beloved to never leave.

 

III. Drunken State

A dog outside, hounds my ears.
Consistent waves, rocking and
pounding against my skull- the room
waltzes, begging this pile of bones
………………………………………to rise and greet the day.

 

IV. Drinking to Forget

My mother, youthful, scrubbing
the back of my ears. My lover-
her scent proclaiming the morning.
Sleepless night. The tragedy of loss and
………………………………………the child with eyes shut tight.

 

V. Drunk on a Tuesday Morning

An email with a message.
My words finally accepted.
The smell of fresh coffee and
the sound of a boat at sea-
……………………………It has only struck 10am

 

© 2013 Stephen Byrne.  First published by RaedLeafPoetry-India 2013.

 

Stephen Byrne

Stephen Byrne is a Dublin chef and writer living in Galway. His work has been published or is forthcoming in The Rusty Nail, Crack the Spine, The Dead Beats, The Big Issue, The Galway Review, Boyne Berries, The Poetry Bus and others. His first book, a collaboration of poets called ‘Wayword Tuesdays’ was published last November. He is also guest editor for Emerge Literary Journal.

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