Buggery by Eoghan Lyng

“My name is Roger. I’m a fan of The Beatles, the movies and being mercilessly sucked off from time to time”. Roger was a good looking chap. Brown haired, blue eyed, six foot two. He had a nice face, and a nicer arsehole. Stephen looked him up and down once or twice, downing his stout…

Sibylline by Eoghan Lyng

Salman says “mercy is the key, considered as we are in the fun filled folly of polemity”.   Solemnly, I answered his call And all I found were the warring, Tolling shades of the pastoral bells.   Through hell I waved, a man made flag gave the empire’s pleasantries of insidious severance.   Masking the…

London by Eoghan Lyng

London. It`s a city of dreams. Whether those dreams are those of luxury or poverty depend on your circumstance. Patrick certainly thought dreams were meant for waking up from, not looking forward to. Patrick lived in a hollow flat situated at the end of the Clapham Junction Railway Station, in a sodomised world of contempt….

Televised by Eoghan Lyng

Watching across the tv screen, I watch your eyes flickering, Standing beside you, the tentacles of time. As the sound of cars drifting outwards, whispering changes, Amazed we cannot sleep. Drifting we sleep. I swear I saw your face change, the mirrors savaged night’s long waters. Slaughtered, the characters are dead. Drunken debris pacified A…

Poetry: Rock and Roll Messiah by Eoghan Lyng

Long haired lothario Marry your thoughts On the mountainside air Three chord fares us Blaring the night siren.    Peaceful player Passionate pray he May we stand to  The soul of the yesterdays Fallen prisoners.    Lead wired walking Talking the nonsense  Of sequential magic Tragic the soul Who does not listen.    Clattering magic…

Poetry: A Winter’s Day In Wexford by Eoghan Lyng

North Main Street signways sideways Arches a couple’s caress confessed Pre-marital sincerities effortlessly Endearing a jesters generosity.   Fenian foxes locking hearts habits boxed Sandsian cries in a prison cell sells death capably Coffee containers measured malignantly. The night Has darkened as the eighties channels channeling Conventions, set as Madonna persists In her laden tale…

Poetry: Painted Horses by Eoghan Lyng

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,…

Poetry: Calfling by Eoghan Lyng

With her mercury mouth in the missionary times, Mirrored in echoed conceit. With her brusque bodied crooned cries, Catered below through grass willowed feet. Cow farms conceal, cattled wall wheels, Carted and out in the world. Showcased and crazed, complete in the rain, Calling a song in the cold. Merciless made me wake here, Mastery…

Poetry: Cigarettes and Photographs by Eoghan Lyng

The balloon. Silhouettes. In a ballet lain grass field dance. Cigarettes. Bursting to fire. The life from the green great balloon. So soon she flies, the sooner she dies.   One shot for beauty, the other pain. A lens cleansed sucker closes Down the flash. It ends. Still, it ends.   Wiped cigarette lashes, teeth…

Fiction: Genevieve by Eoghan Lyng

Ticking away the times and days . Watching the sunshine bright in the emerald sky. Felling the minutes triple on the vortex of your spine. The times they are a changing. Just not quick enough. Martin always found himself in the same seat in the same part of the same pub. Solemnly wishing a sullen…