Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Another Winter

Sunday, December 19th, 2010

Young men fighting an old war in the woods,
Clad in cast-off coats of another oppressor.

Walk down a valley of quiet women and no men to work
The mine they guard - truck tracks between the pines.

The morning rays warm the heartland,
House on the hill glows saffron once more.

Bus Shelter

Saturday, December 4th, 2010

WEDNESDAY
YOUR LOVER
OF 29 YEARS'
IS WAITING
FOR YOU.
THIS WAR IS ALL FOR LOVE OF YOU
TERESA+

MR H
TELL TERESA
+ KATE + THE REST
I'LL SEE THEM SOON
YOUR BODYGUARDS

HAM U. YOU TELL "CURLEY" ILL PUT HER ON MY LIST I'LL SMASH HER FACE ILL PUT THAT GRIN ON OTEER SIDE

Short Message Stories

Monday, October 18th, 2010

Three very short stories, written a number of years ago, each structured to fit in one text message on a Nokia 3310 (title not included).


Man In The Chair

Facing the wall today. He prefers the window, even when it rains, not that they know. He'd turn aside, but- The impotence is maddening, mist fills the gardens.



M2

M2, clouds of spray to Belfast and on to Dublin. Whin at side, trees beyond, blue-barriered bridge. The inevitable Ford Mondeo. Wet road, verge, fence, church.



Lying Ring

Home from his conference in the sun, she holds him. She always worries, and he can fix the sink. He takes off his ring. She cries at his finger tanned beneath.


Escape velocity

Monday, May 3rd, 2010

Outside the city,
The scientist thought was safe
Lies now, falling leaves.

Fourth Parallel, T 127 432: July Evening

Sunday, September 27th, 2009

A tank trundles past and into the trees -
And disappears quickly out of sight,
And there's no-one round who sees
The tiny and flickering prick of light.
Some soldiers pass, running at a trot
And yet still no notice is shown
The soldier lying on the ground is no longer hot
And from his lips escapes a moan.

He has what every poet hates, in spite
Of all the loneliness and devastation.
Oh, Alexander Selkirk knew the night
And the dark and cold and no circulation.
Lying at a tank track, but no-one sees the ring
His broken body and every bleeding thing.

John Lunney
2003


This poem is a parody, of sorts, of a very famous Patrick Kavanagh poem, Inniskeen Road : July Evening, which can be read here.

Re-posted from the old johnl.org

Reds in my head

Monday, May 18th, 2009

The man on the park bench
Was a spy.
I know he was,
Because he said he wasn't.

Somewhere in my apartment
There's a bug.
But I can't find it,
They're too good at hiding things.

One time at night I heard
A click on the phone.
They're listening now,
So I don't talk any more.

John Lunney
12/04/2009