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Best Poems Written by Martin Mcloone

Below are the all-time best Martin Mcloone poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Solitary

Cold walls, 
solitary confined, 
trapped within this
solitary mind, 
not much to do but 
out the window stare, 
watching dreams, 
that never where,
watching the light
fade from the flame,
feeling my energy
drain just the same,
feelings that can't touch,
a hollow aching shell,
trapped in a paradox,
trapped in a cell,
never to be the
youth that tried,
only thing remaining
is the youth that died.

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Myths and Mist

The rain will never cease never rest a peace, 
the misty dew a hydrated fog, 
rolling upon open plains til the horizon's crease. 
Beyond the unseen and what's never been, 
were the wild faeries dance in the trees, 
and the nights are full of life and the dawns serene. 
All the magic and myth descend like mist,
nothing but ourselves in this dream. 

Night's dark is death as we nestle around the dragons breath,
owls hoot who as crickets chirp and chew,
living within your length and breadth.
The lizard crawls as our sleep falls,
insects burrow and cranch under leaf and branch,
a forest full of mating calls.
All is real to touch as if its living as such, 
until the light breaks through crumbling walls. 

Martin Eoghan 02/05/22

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Daffodils

As I sat nestled in the brush,
could I knowingly cast doubt,
no other creature was in a rush,
only humanity wanted out,
poisoned rivers with toxic landfills, 
decorated with dying daffodils.  

All that was garnered through toil,
those long pressuring years,
renewed like crops within soil,
nourished with wantoned tears,
bury me deep under foot and hills,
to rise with blooming daffodils.

Living on luck and a little chance,
darkness transcends to light, 
planted tulips a budding romance, 
sun set reaching out of sight, 
when winter winds bring those chills, 
return beneath with the daffodils.

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The Embers From Burning Leaves

Glowing Ash of yesterday's leaves,
crumble as they fall upon skin, 
wrapped within your satire sheathes, 
the sadness behind a leering grin,
the embers from burning leaves, 
twirling across the sky upon the gust, 
wind rushing through and trailblazing,
like hate and pain giving way to lust, 
within the glows is were a phoenix rose, 
flaming feathers rekindling the blaze, 
behind eyelashes witnessing my world turn to ashes, a godless wrath from yesterdays. 
 
Martin Eoghan 25/06/22

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Fascination

She stood along the lonely door frame, 
watching the crackling wood fire, 
beset with a sudden burning passion, 
that only her heart could desire, 
hair of straw that was golden spun, 
blows gently as a mild breeze whips,
in her gaze is the reflection of flames, 
she says more with her eyes than lips. 

Come to her grace with hat upon hand, 
she never plays pity to the fools, 
although she be fond of a game or two, 
as long as you can play by her rules,
she is not conceded nor cursed with vanity, 
just has a particular taste, 
if you're honest, kind and unique of mind, 
she won't let it go to waste. 

Every movement is worth it to watch, 
how beauty transcends to life with ease, 
what secrets lay in a heart shaped box, 
if only we could possess the keys,
yet still there is an echo, a thumping pulse, 
racing and I know it will never cease, 
just to take awhile to return your smile, 
like a puzzle with a missing piece.

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Never Changing

As much as time changes, 
what remains is the same, 
the same dirt on the ground, 
scattered around and above,
devil's chasing and catching, 
injecting and dispatching fake love, 
sympathy sweet on strings of violins,
laughing at violence in symphony, 
why listen when voices wallow, 
they are hallow lacking substance, 
lies are sharper to yourself and cruel, 
oh and pity those who believed, 
left bereaved of the truth found in a fool.

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Derry Poem

This place is me, 
one and the same,
collecting bonfire wood,
set our hearts a flame,
growing up tough,
rough with the war still on,
living a long life quickly,
before our childhoods gone,
although it wasn't at all bad,
some may think it bonkers,
but the girls had the playsets,
while the boys played conkers,
those are chestnuts to you,
whacking them was good craic,
glad I have these memories,
oh how they take you back,
as if it was yesterday, 
I do so hold them dear,
if I could be from any place,
I'm glad it was here.

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The One-Eyed King

The death knell, ringing requiem bell,
a saddening sound,
archways they pass, tears flood the mass, 
deep and deathly profound.
Of what we know, strange seeds we sow,
returning to us with a taunt
a tree of poisonous root, bares similar fruit,
wrinkled, pus filled and gaunt.
Lessons to learn for the freedom we yearn,
paid for in blood and gold,
lounge in the chateau covered with shadow,
and wait for the truth to unfold.
For we all have plight it doesn't make it right,
to wallow, fester and judge,
waste deep in sewage when the torrent deluge,
rushes in thicker than sludge.
Clumped altogether for worse or better,
seeking the price of the unknown,
soaring in flight then catching the sight,
of the one-eyed King on the throne.

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The End

Coming to the end now,
not of the road,
not entirely sure,
the rain is beating hard,
almost blinding the windscreen,
no closer to an abode, 
this twisting winding road, 
must be coming to an end now, 
raining so hard as thick as fog, 
flooding the nearby bog, 
or at least it used to be there, 
not much in sight, 
only the palest white, 
with the grey silhouettes of trees, 
yet nothing living among these, 
must be coming to the end now, 
I can hear a horse, an echo, 
the cart visible within the headlights, 
the driver a dark shadow, 
waving with a slight grin, 
ushering through misty air, 
raising more than arm hair, 
I can feel the end now.