Two Poems from Eoghan Lyng

Eoghan Lyng, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine

Home Thoughts From An Airport


Fingers twitched wayward queue.

Will you, won’t you stand.

A fair tree robin sits,

Geared ennui sets in.

Tolled bag carries counters,

Complete suites arise,

Hoteliers and auxiliaries

Teary eyed say goodbye.

And I walk onward,

But back. Turn over the heaviest

Of ruck-sacks complete with a Ulysses

Fiction from home.




There lies a flower,

Flooring the phallic phenomena,

Pasteurised in polemic patterns,

A paradise cooled.

Uniforms unifying underlying,

Tick tick ticketing the fumbling noise,

As a flower fulminates asleep.

Folded planets figuratively feathered.

Angling aimlessly upwards.

Foursome the foresome forces the fierce

Farcical foundations fantasised flowers

Algernorn asked in the literary form

Forms the fantasy we find.

And in this flower fantasied

Fancies me, formulaic probability,

And I catch the flower,

Caressing, pressing,

Our petals professing,

Profering, coughing,

Infantalised offerings,

Pagantries tepidly tyrannies

Tepidly, triumphantly

Ties to the sovereignty.

What was the flower, fine flower,

Where was the flower, fine flower,

Faced fulgent flower factorised,

Penalised, foliates focalised.

Flowering fidelities fascinatingly focused,

And now its undressed.