Poetry Blog by Kealan Coady (2011)

Olfactory Evoked Recall

A perfect blue


Green on silver



Silk distance

Shard swept

Petals groomed

For the wind.


Fumed curls

From the copper


Somehow entitles

Visions of childhood.


The fragrance

Of things lost

Stands still in the street.

Infinite memories

You feel it.


Olfactory evoked recall


I ...

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The Real Hell

Fall free and slow

Into the furnace.

For every insect body crushed

Or flywing scoffed

As a child,

It qualifies


As something unique

To humans.

This torture is bliss

In its certainty.

The torture of them.


Turtleshell ashtrays,

Elephant tusk instruments,

Shark fin soup.


Refuse the excuse of instinct.

Survival can be acco...

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Skull Profit

For Commissioner Moses Binoga

Leader, Uganda Anti Human Sacrafice Task Force.


Police are pleading for sanity

In a country of wild beauty.

As concrete climbs upward

And wealth begins to form.


But what happens when all capital

Becomes rare?


When the profits curl uncertainty?




They cut off the head and genitals,


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The Moon, 2211

The sky will glow soft streaks

Of purple and green

From an artificially inseminated



It will be

An industrial colony at first.

Workers, rustbeard scientists,

Cricket legged astronauts.


Then the rest will come.

Stiff lip families and

Financiers, senior executives,

The first settlers.

The worst.


While the poor back o...

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This Poem Has Nothing To Say

Some words seem to

Fit together

Even when they

Do not rhyme.


It could be something


A quick fix

An aggressive impression


Of a clearly superior language:



That dink in the cosmic spring

Untangling the mystery

One dying scientist

At a time.


And when it does occur

At C.E.R.N.

At the BLACK HOLE ...

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Curlew On The Breaches


Current picking




Air gliding

Breeze creep.


With no

Knowledge of



There is


Too soon


To fly.

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Lung Sulk

Deep silver scene as the sun moves in.

Plastic shaded angles cover and smooth

Through the drench of branches

And multi coloured animals, uprooted

From the slow cool night

And now lung sulking in the shadows.


Creep forced by the skeletons

Of their lost relatives

Run over one summer

Or captured for entertainment.

The memories beat


And swell ...

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The Moon: Golfballs, astronaut shit

For the organic and furious

A question and a sure thing

Is divided by nothing but time.


The moon could kill us all

With an inch of its bravery

Enslave us all in wonder forever

For the simple act of falling


Further and without hesitation

Into the darkening shack

Of mad curiosity

But instead


We have penetrated

The mysteries of this...

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Sometimes I Am Not Born

Close your eyes and it is there:

The possible.


Everything you recognize

And everything you cannot fathom.


Infinite differences limp and spark

Throughout the cosmic strings

That hold it all together


Where time surrenders all impression

And what we know as life is lost

In everchanging variations.


Far away they click and rattle,


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Voice In The Dark

Sometimes I hear it

Spread its breath

In a corner of the room.


It amplifies the glow

And tint of naked silver

Breaching the vestige of shade.


Sweet tumours of noise

In the granite silence,

The perfect disaster,

A civil war of the senses.


Sometimes I hear the voice

I know does not exist

Rest its broken throat

In a debt of word...

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In The Shadows Of Mountains

Several thousand years of built up force

It takes to make a mountain.

The popular friction of time

Surging forward on all sides.


Pushing mass upwards toward the sky.

Strict, unobstructed

As if freedom exists in this form.


As if the earth, wants.

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The Plan Of Nature

An original glimpse of morning light

Cools quietly

In a slow tipped ebb


Or brim resuming

On the surface of smooth backed insects.

A familiar mist


Hangs light shades of blue

And purple diluted

On an otherwise indifferent canvas.


But a flaw in the plan of nature

Becomes apparent

When the sparks light up

In the city distance.



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I Made The Earth Uncomfortable With My Hammer

A place three fields across

From where I was living,

The resting place of a certain stone

Face first to the sun.


Whenever I felt the world break loose

I took my hammer from the shed

And brought it to that field where

I stood at the foot of the rock

And beat it quick at first


Then slow bursts with each blow

A fraction of rage evaporated.



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Now And Then

Every now and then

I get the impression

I am somewhere else.


Although my bones are in position

For the shake that will break me

There are places I have not seen.


I could have been there

Before if I had tried

And not relived the world

That whispers when I sleep.


The murmur and creek

Of dreams failing on a beat,

A single misgiving


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Infants Become Skeletons

The value of something undermines

What we try to do here.

It lives and occurs, becomes the cord


Between the dreams you serve and the dreams

You fail to receive.

You see the people


In orbit of their



As they lie down in their glue,

New for one more day.


And all the tears and smiles

For a chance of love,

From infant t...

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Look Back

The fall of morning tumbles gently

In a drift and glimmer

Of silver lightshade,

The glue sap sticking to the day

In the form of static.


Passing cars thrift an image on the wall

Of someone not looking back but

Always moving forward.


Ready for terror and joy.

All the wonderful things

Of which we have been warned:


The chokesuit and rope...

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Everything I Am Not And More

Who are you?

What do you want?

First you took my girlfriends

And now you take my sleep.

There is simply no escape

From the burden of your presence.


The grimace of your whisper in my ear

And the scenes you create

To squeeze the mind quick and burst

The very soul

I tried so hard

To keep from breaking.


Some call you paranoia

But for m...

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Ever After

Expected chaos at the break.

A slow loop resumes

Beyond the sudden fulcrum

Of skull and skin.


The light at the end

Or the glow from the start,

The same pure blur as before


Full with the colour of wonder

Occurs in refusal of thoughts

Too wretched to melt.


Thoughts that build a world

Outside this failing one.

Thoughts that exist on...

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The light there cools blue streaks

As it climbs the side of the hill.

She has her drawing pad and brushes

And slinks her way up.


At the top the view

Is neither proof nor reduction

That the world is still alive.


She begins to paint anyway

Quick flicks of the brush

Ascending scars of blue and green

Listening to the wind,

Waiting for the land...

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The Censored Sky Of The City

A few miles into the city

And things become open

Very quickly.


The sky, little delicate springs,

Even conversation.


Its most apparent at night.

The colours are justified.

A million shades of solar shadow

In a glimpse: uncensored


And the clicking of cattle

Settling in a field

Determined that nothing should happen.

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In The Fizz Of Winter

At first light the mist moves quietly

In a straggle of smoke and colour

From black to grey, smooth, unburduned

With a shudder of traffic light sighs.


A magpie strides in the background

Of an empty garden,

It starts to rain

Free form: a warning

Of the storm to come.


Branches crackle on the cool wind

When all air surges upward

And sunlight i...

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Villians have nightmares of humour

Of the way heroes 'laugh to cam'

After a massive tragedy


And then the sidekick nods

And the crowd cheer for the victory

Of the Better One.




The villian has a plan

As they do,

The master plan

Artificial natural disasters.

The villian clicks his fingers

In clear anticipation for t...

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There could be words

Hidden somewhere

Deep beneath

The surface of the page.


Little fragile creatures,

Terms and profits

Comfortable, alone.


However connections are severed

Between us and our definitions.


The words themselves resent

The beasts we have created

Out of them.


As they crackle and fizz

Then melt and dissapear.

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The Chants Of Insects

It occurs in the slur of morning

When the birds have been fed

And survivors of the feast

Wriggle and squeak on the surface.


Bits of insects roll and search

For pieces of themselves

In the bloodwet grass

As the sun bursts.


Waiting for the rain

To soothe and manoeuvre

Those that are left

Chanting on the grass.


But they are not afra...

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I have never smuggled drugs

Through Frankfurt airport

For one eyed Dominicans

Or watched pornography in 3D.


I have never lost my patience

In an argument reguarding

The burning of furniture

Even though the cold

Of that park

Was outstanding in January.


I have never cheated

In a televised cluedo tournament

However I did come second


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Children Of Ghosts

In the purest hours

Of still thought and echoes

Where questions end

And graveyard begins.


Bereaved and better people

Jig to the beat

Of lost words, confused

By the soil in which

They diminish.


Children of ghosts

Real ghosts underground

Cry and whisper

In a shadow of stone.


They cry not for loss

Or doubt or nostalgia


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He Heard The Stars

Just as the waves broke

And the shores poured in

A candle was lit in the distance.

He walked barefoot across

Beach rocks and flitch.


He heard the stars

Beating, swaying, ticking

And the lick of darkness

Broad above, spread out

In the glint of midnight.


He slowly approached the shine

Each foot forward gave clarity to the flame

Until he ...

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In The Dead Of Sunlight

Honey drip tar sunlight

Stale smoke crib fumes

Shade breaks cruel shadows

Sprawling on the wall.


Noise clinks outside

Time ticks turns under

Back to front, full

Closing further.


Face crease in the mirror

Hair falls thin ribbons

Floor filled strips

Blowing in the breeze.


Waiting for light to sigh

And the darkness take over


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With or without

                     Angles to fear


Nothing (twice)      Twice nothing

                     All things must end

                     But not everything




More importantly


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The Little Red Ball

This is not a poem.

It is merely a theory.

Just try to imagine


You are in a room

For an entire lifetime

With nothing to do

In the first twenty years.


Concrete brickwork.

Plastic windows let light it

However no images

Then a hatch opens.


A little red ball bounces in

The boredom broken, the hatch closes.

The ball brings you


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You cry for the wrong reasons.

The treatise you worked on

Failed from the start.

You shed a tear for the tulp

And backed away.


Sudden, as if by accident

You left at night

In a sulk of stars.

The apocalypse

Of your written words

Fell as melting leaves

Outside my door.


The knocking of goodbye

With no way to answer.

A hatred of ma...

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The nightbird calls, crestfallen

Covering a nest in shadow.

Slight strings of glint

Peek from a window reflection.


Everything that exists

Is somewhere out there.

The flowers and killers.

Planets, rabbits,

Stationary, everything dead,

Alive or indifferent

Resides in the space

Beyond my window.


Censored families asleep in their jewellery...

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Nothing Happens For A Reason

Nothing happens for a reason

And nothing happens all the time.

My pen tips the paper,

Ideas disintegrate.


Maybe one day

The Irish Film Council

Will fund my documentary

On the sexual exploits

Of the modern sloth.


There will be ham and wine

At the celebration.

Someone will tie my shoelaces

For a small fee.

The marshmallows shall be p...

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Early Learning

He would walk eleven paces

Do a twirl and touch the ground

When he was ten

Or he felt bad things would happen.


He could not step on the cracks

Of the pavement so

He leaped from gap to gap

Followed by the erratic

Clicking of his fingers.


The people on the street

Would see him

Twirling, clicking, leaping,

Bending down to the ground


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If Women Grew On Trees

The plant itself

Would be diverse

In its beauty.

The blondeflower

Ribbon clipped

And glowing

With the scent of blossom.


Or nightshade brunette

Teeming with starlight

In the company of red tipped

Curling petal rinds.


But if women grew on trees

They would not survive for long

With a chorus of neglectful men

Empty water cans in ha...

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Kill The System

Break down the borders

They have constructed.

Rip it apart.

End to end.


With just cause get armed,

Compose a manifesto,

Declare war on jp morgan.


Free your soul,

Become beautiful again.

Treat enemies with dignity,

You are not the new dictator.


But above all else, at least

Have a reason to riot.

The people have to agree


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Gullcry On The Harbour

What do they want?

The gulls

When they cry.

What do they need?


I hear them

Skitter and clasp

On the east pier.

Perch rich and steady


Among the unblushing

Curling of waves

And pebble scent.


Comfortable there.

Tucked in like snuggards

But all the while



What they need

They do not know.

For they are...

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Death To The Literati

What happened?

The language I used to understand

Has left

In a privilege of mist.

Now I must relate

To second hand translations.


Spoken thought was something

To be admired

But now diluted

In a flurry of gym shirts.

The words are lost

In plastic muscle and pop lyrics.


The dead are once again.

They are armed with pens

And will no...

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Wolves And Matchboxes

Awake from the same dream

You told me about

The one where you die

At Calin Market.


You drip lipstick on your skeleton

And we embrace

Under a garden of stars

Where the wolves wait

For me to leave

Then rip you to pieces.


Why do you blame me

For loss of flesh?

If not for the price

Of Asian matchboxes

I'd be eaten too.



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The Laughing Neanderthal

The first neanderthal to laugh

Passed his days in aching.


A presocratic understanding

Formed as loss

In the gully of his sorrow.


He saw the future

Of humour

Rotting in leaves and deerskull

And the dying of his tribe.


A sky too open to nourish.

The pure blue of it.

Over the ground, bones

The skeletons of friends and lovers.


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I Heard Her Sigh By The Fireplace

She set her glass

On the mantelpiece

And fixed her eyes on the flame.


The courage of the coal

As it flicked and sniggered.

The madness of its desperation

She percieved as genius.


But something was not right.

She gulped her wine

Too enthustiastically

Forced the cigarette

Into submission.


She had to walk away.

The heat was just...

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The Sadhu speaks

Enforces the sordid

Lex talionis.


Despite the mew of the public

An entire civilization

Rolls their eyes backwards

Toward the plastic barrier.


Wishing for an incident

Of petty compromize.

The plastic is the pathogen

Of inside society.


Families burning their last candle.

Pulling the curtains closed

Over the scu...

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Nothing Is Ugly In The Dark

Whats the night for anyway?

                         - Marilyn Monroe


All light is ominous.

Shadows have no standards.

See them drub and chumble

Reflections of better days.


Because nothing is ugly

In the dark.

Physical vision

Is a product of closure.


When darkness is multiplied

The numbers are wonderful.

Forty layers of shade


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I heard you mention curves

Folding the robes of your pyjamas

In the snap cold morning

With a smoke and coffee

You said you believed

In M Theory.


On silver coated grass we sat

Your eyes like event horizons.

The pull and tuck influence

Of words falling from your lips

Like animals from a ridge.


And the mist began to fill

The desperate cor...

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Turning away

From flame lust

               and flourish.


The better men wait

               beside the fire

Straggling their ends

For love.


The quaint sail

Of flame

On the rooftops of strangers.

The new mutes.


Searching for something


                Bones bending in

The fear of heat


They all wish and wo...

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Keeping You Warm

Tell me again

The wishes of you're childhood.

From the slow ebb of a dream

A racket of pang to conquer.


Ugly beside your body

I broke the rule of nature.

Curling into you

Like a terrible virus

Of your beauty.


But looking back now

It was worth it

Keeping you warm

For the better person

You deserved.

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Constuction had begun

On a four story country home.

Five fathoms from the lake.

A catalyst of shadows

From my bedroom window.


And when the staff called:

"Lights out!" I'd climb

Down from my window and walk

Through the fields of stars

Where nightbirds hissed

The gentle rush of my path.


It was quiet in there

On a bioclast chair


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Excerpt from novel.

I Will Take Revenge On The Annual Famine Memorial Extravaganza Committee.


I think I hear somebody crying. Yes. And they are.

It’s the petting zoo that gets me. A petting zoo at the Annual Famine Memorial Extravaganza. I didn’t expect shepherds. Or indeed a gerenuk. Just one gerenuk. Ripped from it’s family in Africa. Now at the height of it’s life in Sligo. I am standing up. My fo...

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The Volunteer Creature

The perfect colour

Shade grey rising

From a tired hill

In the form of smoke.


Walking for the sake

Of some frail destination

With echoes of graves and lovers

Covering the paces.


Every breath dreaming of relevance

Until a silk of stillness

And strangle of flowers

Beats the path finished.


A feint light forms

The brief, naked ima...

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The Burning Of The Sting

He stood for an hour in silence

And tried to recall

The last time her glance

Had shadowed him.


Flat back in the park

He remembers

The unfurnished blossom

And copperfumes

Of the smelting city.


They were happy then.

Swatting off wasps

In the brazen heat

Of that afternoon.


But a wasp landed quick.

Perched on his elbow


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