Response to Illustration 01

Back To Back With Shadows...

It begins
Again with its
Infamous whiff of woe
Caressing the nostrils
Leaking through the eyes
Gravitating the heaving heart
Towards the abyss of despair

Souls begin their lingering
Memories hover and anticipate
Their re-enactment
As his soul splinters in
Silences slumber
While tears dry in their
Flight away from him

He
Is no longer
The reflection in
The mirror of truth
He will give in to all perplexing realities
He will sit back to back with shadows
He will wait for redemption’s call...
That may never come...

'Rooms'

Hi there! , this was a poem I wrote a while back but i feel it works with the image!

'Rooms'
I have sat in the most colourful rooms,
staring at sunsets that don't exist,
and reality was but a daydream.

I have sat in the most colourful rooms,
not far from the gaze of heaven's steps,
and for five, six, seven hours,
it was the perfect world.

But i have also sat in the darkest of rooms,
dried up, lethargic and lost,
where emptiness could be harvested in abundance,
and freedom was but a daydream.

Illustration 01

Hi there,

Can I propose an experiment?

I was thinking of posting an image from my sketchbook. Maybe someone of ye can put words around it. It would be like the process of the Rhyme Rag publication but reversed.

You are free to do whatever is suggested by the image and, once you have it, you can post it (I will add the image to the post later).
Hope this makes sense.


Let me know what you think.

The Drunk and The Devil

This is my most recent poem. I have some more lines and rhymes floating around the place but nothing as substantial as this.

The Drunk And The Devil

The Drunk and The Devil walk hand to hand,
They lie toe to toe,
And from time to time
Talk face to face.

The Devil says it’s love,
The Drunk thinks the end is near.
Thoughts have turned to decisions,
And decisions back to thoughts.
He doesn’t want to make a fuss,
Whether that means he settles or
Starts to feel the way he should.

On the night they met
The Drunk was drunk
The Devil seemed to him
An Angel.

But the Devil has no fallen grace,
Which can’t be said for her partner.
So who’s to say The Devil is she

And The Drunk is not the both.

Schizophrenia

Strangers wait for me
omly when I do not want them
they call to me when all others
are silent

I find them there
in my safest hiding place
waiting to assail me

There is no escape
I am forever pursued
by those I do not want to meet

They follow me
because I cannot leave them
I speak to them sometimes
but not visibly

I find them there waiting
when I go where
no-one can reach me

They wait for me
and reveal a part
of myself
I did not know before

I fear them
because they truly know me
and I cannot
begin to understand them

they come to me
and I'm left alone
with them
to think

I am left alone
to think
and they are my
only company

They do not physically
and so,
I fear them

My poetry

Hey everyone, all my poetry can be found on facebook in the group "Poetry by Diarmuid Hunt" feel free to join and comment.

My Junilant Schooldays

A poem of no embellishment,
A story of quiet imprisonment.
I walk to school,
knowing my fate,
trudging a lonely path,
a journey forced by faith,
I enter dreary and bleary,
walk past sneers and mocks,
to my bleak locker,
and watch popularity and her flocks,
I hear a harsh shriek,
as the bell shows its pain,
walk into class, open books
and learn which keeps me sane,
The sweet swan who sang,
bringing music to my ears,
now shrieks and moans aloud,
a harbinger of vast fears,
My lunch once filled with glee,
which was a haven of peace,
is now a time of dread,
I never feel at ease,
Later, should be joyful,
but I trod out the gates,
eyes drilling my back,
homework a burden of great weights.

By Diarmuid Hunt

Vacant, Lonely

Vacant, lonely, empty eyes
ringed in silver blue.
Wet drizzle dampens the earth beneath.
All words are lost in tremor.
Where we once stood,
sunshine cannot reach.
Frosted flowers beneath
the rubble, of our fallen statue.
Vacant and lonely, it lies in chill.
The frosted petals, preserved,
so that we may look back, and cry.




Hope you like!

'Wake up'

Encased in such comfort,
as a child in it's mothers womb.
Outside the soothing hush of rain,
slapping the slates, and making sleep
seem all the more worthwhile,
O' but such joyful bliss can bring a man to ruin.

...You'll notice when you wake up.

...one touch...

hello, tiz sorcha reilly here, thought i might as well post some poetry of my own aswell ^^

...one touch...


a heartbeat, at first,
beats slow and calm,
rythmic to the sound,
of breathing. gently.

with a single touch of hand..
the breathing stops.
the heartbeat quickens.


hope you all like, :)

Poetry~!

Right, seen as no-one else has, I'll be the first to post a poem!! I have quite a few poems that i haven't published that I'll be posting here, so this is a poem i wrote about a week ago:


Forgotten

Your hand, at the back of my neck
remains unmatched.
The safety of your arms,
unsurpassed.

The happiness you brought,
unscathed by doubt.
The butterflies in my stomach,
persist in flight.

None were as soft,
as your lips.
None were as kind,
As your smile.

You were all I ever needed.

Launch of Rhyme Rag

Next Wednesday, the launch of the fourth issue of Ryhme Rag will take place in no.72 John Street. Everyone is welcome. Previous years it has been a fantastic night buzzing with energy. Make sure you don't miss it.