The following are three new poems from Francis Reilly whose work “Chaos To Silence” was featured in Issue One of Minus 9 Squared – The Place Issue.
Fantasies
All my fantasies are filled with people
who are not me, controlling my heartbeat
as if it was their own with actions I
could never even dream of achieving
by myself because I am simply not
able nor worthy. They carry hopes of
nations upon shoulders incredibly
broad, and they do so with the freedom
and movement of children gracing us with
the presence of their imagination.
And it makes me sad that some are younger
than I, and so much more gifted too, with
a grand stage to exhibit their talents
on; and it only serves to remind me
of my own inadequacy and my
own failings in my own life, here, in the
real world, where real things happen or do not
happen, depending on whether one can
speak up or sit down when the time is right
or wrong or never to be; and it soon
becomes apparent that my fantasies
are actually living nightmares that haunt
me night and day, and morning and evening,
tearing me to pieces to put me back
together, just to pull me apart once
more, just to piece me back together again,
like some sort of sick jigsaw puzzle which
has a jagged part that does not quite fit
because it is never allowed to end.
***
All the Old Friends
Oh, there’s my old friend Karma,
A broken scene as the interest soared.
Cutting through pretension to grant an extension
To a time and place without record.
Oh, there’s my old friend Hope,
Temptation is truly the fabled sin.
Appeasing forever those with endeavour
So they always have reason to begin.
Oh, there’s my old friend Love,
Intervention of the well-worn friend.
Inhaling to choke on those flames you stoke
With shortened breath to comprehend.
Oh, there’s my old friend Silence,
Thickened walls offer no reprieve.
Yelling to pray while I watch as you sway
In a drunken attempt to deceive.
Oh, there’s my old friend Lies,
Trickling stream of an age-old river.
Sitting on your throne while the film is shown
As you wait for me to deliver.
Oh, there’s my old friend Logic,
Calculating prowess a point of assault.
Though you control parts of my soul
In you I can see no fault.
Oh, and there’s a new friend, Being,
Realisation cracks the white mask.
I open my eyes to reveal our guise
And find you already took me to task.
***
Rankle
Agitation of my wringing hands haunts
Those around me as my voice shrills higher.
Thickened glass drowns yells they wish to ignore
As the situation becomes dire.
Simplicities of intimacies lost
Still rankle as the world holds out on me.
Gaping mouths and tear-stained cheeks plead in vain
To deaf ears as I refuse to wait and see.
Taken flights and clouds of ash restrict my
Breath as my friends’ pleas begin to cower.
Cigarette stubs and empty cans litter
Life like indifference without power.
The long walk back to the start goes awry
As the path vanishes before my eyes.
Keep them open, keep on walking because
It is all so short, are their anguished cries.
Pleasantries and patience, all I extolled
As I dreamed of reaping returned rewards.
Yet here I sit empty-handed as I
Realise that we all fall on our own swords.
***
***
FRANCIS REILLY: is a reluctant final year Journalism student in DCU. Once he has completed his degree he intends to do everything in his power to not become a journalist, while still finding a way to get his writing out to the world. He and his poetry can be found here day and night, waiting for somebody to strike up an interesting conversation: http://peaceinacrackden.blogspot.com/
Fantasies
All my fantasies are filled with people
who are not me, controlling my heartbeat
as if it was their own with actions I
could never even dream of achieving
by myself because I am simply not
able nor worthy. They carry hopes of
nations upon shoulders incredibly
broad, and they do so with the freedom
and movement of children gracing us with
the presence of their imagination.
And it makes me sad that some are younger
than I, and so much more gifted too, with
a grand stage to exhibit their talents
on; and it only serves to remind me
of my own inadequacy and my
own failings in my own life, here, in the
real world, where real things happen or do not
happen, depending on whether one can
speak up or sit down when the time is right
or wrong or never to be; and it soon
becomes apparent that my fantasies
are actually living nightmares that haunt
me night and day, and morning and evening,
tearing me to pieces to put me back
together, just to pull me apart once
more, just to piece me back together again,
like some sort of sick jigsaw puzzle which
has a jagged part that does not quite fit
because it is never allowed to end.
Minus 9 Online 