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Stephen Quinlan Poem
How long do you wait with no journey to make?
Low sun dries the morning dew
alone on a platform you feel a dull ache
that tells you its long overdue
Autumn’s coming or is it the fall?
The leaves on the line make you wait
The phone’s in your hand but there’s no one to call
And tell them you’re going to be late
Malevolent images have messed with your mind
Like a hard drive of short painful slides
But today you’ve chosen to leave them behind
On a journey that ends in suicide
The world doesn’t stop there’s no bolt from above
A lorry is emptying bins
Your mind can’t control all the things that you love
Your mind can’t absolve all you sins
You make the first move there’s no going back
You feel a sharp shift down below
There’s strong smell of oil and there’s **** on the track
And you stare into oncoming yellow...
Life goes on...
with a minor delay
as they bag up your things
as they wash you away
your actions made at least 55 late
let them wait
and call you inconsiderate
life goes on...
Copyright © Stephen Quinlan | Year Posted 2012
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Details |
Stephen Quinlan Poem
I’ve sipped my tea then let it fester
Now I search in vain for a wrigleys extra
The seminars over but I’m stuck to my seat
Preferring death to the “meet and greet”
Just how does ‘one’ learn to talk shop
stop...(look, listen)
then thoughtfully digest?
Press the flesh
feign genuine interest
On a range of subjects I loathe and detest
Sparkle (effervesce)
Then work the room like a stale breath sex pest
You’re oozing B eau as you move through the room
Your Pink shirt and pin stripes pre-ordained in the womb
Your hairline
your i-phone
your chin like a shoe
Still when I grow up I’d like to be you
Copyright © Stephen Quinlan | Year Posted 2012
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Details |
Stephen Quinlan Poem
Woke up at four then with each passing train
Been waiting all weekend for Monday again
Saw two magpies but one of them was dead
Is that sorrow or joy for a superstitious head?
anxiety and worry is all about me
I’m all on my own yet surrounded by family
My age is now greater than my waist
So there’s less time to waste on a wrong mental place
Copyright © Stephen Quinlan | Year Posted 2012
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