The Early Signs of Infatuation

Eyes like a monarchs wing

Trapped inside a glass orb thing

Lips like two rose petals

Lain side by side

That with a grin

Open wide

And hair as black as the ravens wing

Swept along like a stray feather

Caught in the current of the wind.

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Generation Y

The plush upholstery is torn

A tell-tale sign of other nervous fidgeters

That bore this cross before me.

Accosted by the jarring noise

Of the tip of a swordpen

That cuts the flesh of that massacred oak

I sit.

‘I feel bleak,’ I say

Anxiety, Stress, Depression

I already see the words appearing

Bleeding onto the page

Those words linger in their boxes

Shaking like a live thing

Shrödinger’s cat purring

Waiting for me to decipher

If anything is really there

‘A numb, apocalyptic kind of feeling…’

I trail off…

Letting the words hang there, as I too hang my head

‘A hopelessness, quite soul eating, I’m slowly deteriorating’

The pen drops, and a dull, ripe cackle is borne to the air

He shuts his book and stands erect

Handing me my diagnoses, underlined in red

‘My dear, you’re suffering from the reality of the century!’

This was nothing more

Than the millennial effect.


-Esther Kearney

February Forecast

Knees up

Blankly I stare across

The pent up landscape

And dream of the frivolous wild

The tumbling moss

That like a toddler clumsily runs across

Racing the rivers

Towards the naked trees

Whose limbs stand up proud

Stark and unforgiving

Bewildering to our own humanity

Hidden within drowning clementine jumpers

That engulf our icy English veins

The sky dissolves

As do my daydreams

Though, I know

I’d much rather be

Straggling through some forest afar

Than to be on  the crude, obtuse radar

Of the 21st Century.


-Esther Kearney


Picture Credit: by R. Gilbert found via tumblr


Her memory flourishes

Like a spring time bloom

Reminiscent of her signature scent

Jersey soap with honey

And the encompassing nature

Of her small slender arms

That like ivy

She drapes around me

Wiping away half formed crocodile tears

From scraped knees

Or a first break ups dark abyss.


Instead, she encircles me

With her magic hope

Found in shiny green runner beans

And the velvety soil

That she so lovingly tends

Casting a spell with her knowing gaze

Crafting a magnificent manifestation

Of hot berry pies

Fit for cold winter nights

Or Sundays swede

Mashed with glee

By visiting grand children


… Always watching

For her secretive wink

That translates into this one eternal truth

That she will never stop flowering.


-Esther Kearney

Funeral Clothes

Dark vapours

Cascade out of the cold, sharp blouse

The linen chafing me

I twitch uneasily and scan the aisles

The masses upon masses

Of unidentifiable shadows

All sombrely marching

Like an army

Destined to fail

Death hangs in the air

Seen in the single magpie

That stares from the grass

Or the black cat

That hovers in my peripheral vision

The lady of the eternal nightmare

We all know attends

And secretly we all wonder

Who she’ll claim next.


-Esther Kearney


Flowers held against your chest

Unfurling, burning

Feel their throbbing life force

Soak up the golden nectar

That seeps into your care

As love weeps with you

Into that




Blackened with depression

That prehistoric cave

Where love once lived.



Romanticise Me

Stick me in feather pillow dreams

Fantasise about my

Deep emerald eyes

Burning green, burning fire

Envision the –

Plump rounded ass

Heart shaped and as enticising

As cupids arrow.

Romanticise me.

Plague me with Byronic dreams

Whisper dove-like soft things

In my ears

Watch me blush

Feel the tender flush

Creep from my cheeks

Down, down beneath

Watch my legs open up

Be the honey bee

To the crushed violent petals

Of my Eden

Which gladly welcomes you in

For a syrupy sweet victory.



Melody Blank

Empty heavens

Full of eerie cherub statues

Melody blank.

Earthbound, evergreen lusts

Full of the car engines buzz

And the honey bees flutter

Like an engine starter

Sombre affairs

That lay bare  naked truths

And longing stares.

Yes, affairs of the mind

-For melody blank

Distraught bliss

That paradise that exists in jealousy

For your neighbours wife

Or the cherry red lips

Of the young red head

Melody blank.

The unformulated desire

That lives in your heart and mind

Until you die.




Picture: Saatchi Art

Manic Pixie Dream Girl

He observes her

As every shade of rainbows end.

Wants the mania

The despair

That golden brown parcelled stare

“Do you want me?”

It beckons

And he, like a newborn fawn

Stumbles clumsily.

An enticing fantastical daydream

Beautiful, crazy and all  things female

He almost doesn’t see her.

She’s so high up

Tottering on that dangerous pedestal.

Unable now to reach her

He placed her too high

Forgetting, like Icarus

That he was unable to fly.



Down he falls,

Down the rabbit hole.



Missing You Already

You took a train today…


…It took you far away

From me.


Almost a month

But I can wait.


And yet I still see.

The embers of your personality.



I still smell your scent on my pillow case.

The laugh lines that paint your face.

Your imprint on the bed

So much left unsaid

How do I even characterise

The perfection in those amber brown eyes?


And you nibble on my ear

And you laugh when I laugh

And you cry when I cry…

And we both try and try and try.


You’re my entire world tonight.

Haunting my thoughts

With the ghost of your presence.


‘ Cause I hear your voice

Clear as day

And feel your warm breath on my neck

As I’m writing this post

I imagine you calling to me to get in bed.


But we had to say goodbye today.

That train that took you far from this place.

Like a thief, it sailed away with you.


Please just remember how much

I love you.





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