Poetry: Painted Horses by Eoghan Lyng

Eoghan Lyng, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine

A parvenu paints prettily,

Poetically placing the ponies

Pedestrianised. Pontified.


She smokes scantily, scarily

Scanning the scales of the horses

Sanctified. Socialised.


Two riders together

Tearing the lands responses,

Lovers who once were

Eternally sure. Stood on their floors.

Mared and married together.


Heaving hagriophies harnessed heavily,

Handling hearsays and heresies harboured,

The lines of white horses raging disastrously,

Clinging for life in the water.

Blood in their nostrils carnivorous,

Cancerous beasts in a cool caliagraphies,

Herds unheard in their drowned proportions.

Scatttering enemies, validities, sanctities,

Asking the questions irregularly incestified.

Endurance indolence enraptured among thousands,

The hoof graves lie vast in their many.


Grass roots rejuvenated blood spattered militants,

Aggravants asking the wrong way of thinking,

Milking the lives of the poor suffered herdless

Children inseparably, adults indutiably

Followed their young neath the water.

The paintbrush is telling the tale of the

Cubicisms, caricatures in columns

Confused unduly surrounded by viciousness

Mastered by cowardice, complete in magnificence.


The horses stopped running for one second they shaped,

They asked for their painters; yet left it too late.


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