Achilles by Eoghan Lyng

Eoghan Lyng, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine, We Are Cult



I: The Lovers

A flower,

She brought one,

Specially picked for her love.


Many a time,

Brought them together with love.

They harvested a garden.

Sheering carnations, conventionally

Catering colours.

A flower,

Flourishing favourites,

Airports feel infertile without


II: The Strike

Political purveyors prolong paying,

Parachutes passively picturesque playing,

Painfuly punctually paused pugnacious,

Persist passers pass passive persistence.


The bodies, I recall,lined in a queue,

The bodies reflected o’er survivors, they few


Catered conditions call cognition,

Conflicted co-ops cooling conditions,

Cancer collected come cold commision,

Changing conceptions craving compassion.


A baby birthed in airport’s green flames,

A baby birthed engulfed in war games


Fearless fanatics finds fallow fee,

Famous forensics faced fractures flee,

Facilitate, flogulate, freer, foregone,

Festering feasts fall from foot-ons.


Low lie, the flames of Athenry,

Low lie, the flames of Athenry


III: The Telegram




IV: The Mourning:

Through winds they called him,

And windswept, he left the

Surrounds that unfounded him.

Breezing in the meadows,

Over seasoned beliefs would hold him

Handled boundary-less, a bell rang through the courtyard,

The dimming light led these friends through nights,

In a dreamed of world returned.

The river flittered in waves,

For a hunger still unsatisfied,

Adventures on a road gone many times,

With friends, a dawn rose reddily,

And merry were the friends,

Who held their hearts with hands,

Friends who began to listen to winds,

Winning him back for one more night.



V: The Folklore:

Richie,James, it had all been the same,

So said the man with the bomb.

The nuclear strike struck out the sky,

Red was the colour gone wrong.

Guns filled the air, didn’t they dare,

To walk into the God fearing light sun,

Asked would it end, sang now and then,

As they struck, BANG, they were gone


VI: The Report:

The Akles Monitored the machines-


Positions: Down.



Body Count*

Destruction: Productive.

Gas Light: Eminent

Power: Negative.


-Collar bone, owner Fido.

-Matchbox. Boy, aged five.

-Fleece. Brozen zip.

-Petals. Fingers attached.


VII: The survivors

Paris is pretty to peer in the red light.

A gas on the tower is eating the flowers.


*(Too Red)