"October", "Hourglass", "A Costume of Lavender", and "Fainting Lights" by Darren Lynch

October

I enter with my season in candlelight 

Three burgundy kisses , westward 

From a splintered jar 

Seeping into oceans 

Goodnight is cried ,

Damp lights assume prophets ,

Recoiling in the flustered breath of desperate inquiry 

Those who have lingered with soft oath 

And shape with delicate rebellion 

Taste temptation in tragedy ,

For only with eyes and lips daring 

Does laughter dissolve trespassed ,

A poured world into the mouths of mystery 

Dawn is pale 

Your lips will echo ,

Tragedy can be golden 

If the season carries the night slow. 

Hourglass

We are held to the wind 

And stiffened where frames croon heedful , 

Timber dressed furtive 

And gardens enchanting light , 

I am tired , 

And though bones gnaw their secrets 

As chandeliers bleed through velvet , 

I remain effectual to the brushes of this polished brick , 

Sands rest gradual ,

Measured ribbons of centuries , 

Yet still the avenue inhales me , 

Passing me through in a silhouette of espoused haste ,

The thread of infancy 

Borrowed lengthwise , 

Figures dissolving into sudden dust and gilt 

Cruel , as by splintered step in glass ,

Haste and its time 

Ticking wax that falls fading from the lacquered oak 

We may dream into its portrait 

And bruise with its frame 

To dare pursue its gilded vanishing.

A Costume of Lavender

With lavender through the railroad 

He sits with demons 

And the clamorous abode of aching wheels through the day 

“Summer, I thought you'd never come” 

As jars begin to clink from the swallowing rust , 

His chapel is the residue of midnight in a green chapel ,

All beginnings can change the world 

When crows are your witness 

And the stillness from spring echoes as a furnace 

Of acquired drowning rain , 

And all your flowers are birthed in tunnels 

As souls of lending light 

With quivering petals , 

A station 

He moves to the stem and purple , 

Only to breathe. 

Fainting Lights

There is a shadow , 

The rose 

                Its vine 

Please forgive me my dear.

Darren Lynch, aged 25, from Dublin, Ireland, is a writer whose work attempts to delve

into the corners of the modern mind. Experience, imagination, and fascination are the

keystones that help shape the poems he offers to his readers. From a very young age,

Darren was immensely inspired by the poets that came from the same small island as

him. From Oscar Wilde and W.B. Yeats to James Joyce and Eavan Boland. His inspiration

was drawn from the poetic atmosphere they planted within the soil of Ireland.

Darren is currently finalising his first chapbook of poetry titled ‘The Neighbourhood of

Madness’ which is the culmination of poems written on his travels through the rest of

Europe. Each poem within this maze has been delivered with the purpose of finding

breath. A vessel, if you will, to carry the reader into a space of nothing but pure thought.

As such, Darren has received multiple publications, which can be found through his

Linktree and Instagram below. As always, Darren is happy to be in the same space as

fellow writers, so please do not hesitate to contact him if you find his work enjoyable or

even puzzling.

To finish with a quote from Oscar Wilde ‘We are all in the gutter, but some of us are

looking at the stars.’

Stay Groovy.

Instagram: @darrrenlynch

Linktree : @https://linktr.ee/darrenlynch23