S. Quinlan. The Early Chronicles: Without Even a Torch. Poetry Anthology

Poetry has always been a part of me. Whether in reading it or writing it, it touches a place inside of me that I cannot explain, it heals wounds from 20 years ago that I was only just starting to learn I owned. The power of poetry is known only to the reader, but when you know a little about the writer, it can become even more beautiful.

These poems have been collected since I was a young teenager and so, some do explore the darkest periods of my life, however, without this outlet, I would not be the person I have become. So here is my first fully put together anthology:

Without even a torch.

Wasteland

“INCOMING!”

“I DONT SEE IT”

“LAND OR SKY?”

The shadows beg and others cry

“THE GUNS ARENT WORKING”

“WHERE THE HELL IS IT?”

They steady they’re weapons

Only breath can be heard

Silence befalls even the birds.

“SIR!” Someone shouts

“SIR! IN THE FOG!”

They begin once again firing spark-blasts

But the fear is drowning, the graves unmarked

“ARGH” one screams! Dissolved into the dark

“WHAT DO WE DO?” It picks them all off slowly.

They continue to howl ghostly shrieks in the night

Hazy blue smoke in the distance ignites

All hope despaired, the mirage disparaged

And once again, left

To peer upon the damage

The lonely waste.

Untitled

I am not prepared to say goodbye.

Not even when “it’s time”.

I’ll be the one to keep you alive,

To you, I will never say goodbye.

Blinking over me, day after day,

Wearing the same face that shrugs “I’m okay”

My dragon, We’d fly to every land

Reading our stories hand in hand.

I don’t care that I don’t fit on your shoulders,

Or that you had a “good life”.

I will never say those words

And then you will never die.

What words? I’ll put my hands over my ears.

I can feel your fingers wipe my naive tears,

‘I’m not gone yet’ I’ve heard you say

And I refuse that you’ll be gone ‘some day’

For I will never say those words to you

It’s not goodbye.

It’s, I’ll see you soon.

Break

Let the earths turns stand still

And the wind forget to chill

Let the flowers stop drooping

And the trees evergreen

Let the clouds form a roof,

And the cats sit aloof.

Let them all stop for a day.

Let the world stop today

Let the oceans be like ice

And the clocks less precise

Let the birds sleep

And leave the mornings in peace

Oh let the world stop for a day,

Please

Goodbye, hello

Goodbye old friend,

Goodbye.

We both know that it’s time.

That place to hide,

Where we’d reside,

No longer need it’s warm darkness

Goodbye old friend

Goodbye

Goodbye old friend

And all you gave

More than just a name

But with wide eyes

And the world beside

You and I, we are not the same

Hah, you and I

Goodbye old friend

Goodbye

Hello stranger, I believe we’ve met

Time to move forward, but assuredly, with a question mark over forget

Buds

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Except they are pink and orange too

Each flower is different and each one unique

Each with the ability to make you think

Of beauty, of love, of change and of hope

Every colour petal allowing a scope

Of emotions to enter the onlookers mind

And skin colour can too, if we could all be more kind

Roses are red

Violets are blue

But No colour describes

My love for you

I would buy you a meadow

But no flower could express

The way my heart beats around you

And as I begin to digress

From focusing, once again today

Getting caught in those eyes

Everything else is delayed

So I can lay in this bed

Curled around your frame

For I would stay in a moment

And let my life slip away

If I meant I could love you

For just one extra day

The Comfortable Liar - S aged 14

It’s a game of the mind

The lying kind

A new story to tell

From a world not known so well

A parallel universe

Every person cursed

To tell a tall tale from the other earth

The one where the things you say did actually occur

In that world you are actually ‘busy’

And your mum did really say no

In that place you do love your partner

And the hiccys you shouldn’t have don’t show

You will call her back, and meet her next week

And when you stayed in that other girls bed ‘all you did was sleep’

But in reality you’re a liar

A social pariah

Whose ‘love of their life’ lies awake

Wondering what they did to push you so far away

And Why every story you tell is so fake.

You’re a comfortable liar

No sign of guilt

With no one to question the bed of lies that you’ve built

But Your fantasy land will go up in flames

And of your stories will all fly away

Because you are paper, and all made of dreams and paper cannot hide shame

I am not one story. S aged 15

I am not my past.

I am not what you know of me

I am not defined by your memories of me

I am not made of a few minutes a million years ago

I am a thousand stories exploding into one ginormous sun

I am every emotion and every feeling dramatised all at once by all my favourite actors

I am that image of my smiling parents standing over my crib, a small tear falling down their faces as they imagine me conquering the world and holding it within my tiny hands triumphant and smiling as I present my kill to the ones who gave me everything.

I am that Saturday in hospital

I am that Sunday cooking as a family

I am that boring gentle day where all we did was drive

I am the ash that falls from my cigarette

I am the smoke that fills the air

I am the floor I fall upon drunk, and the pain that fills my stomach, unsure of whether it’s from alcohol or from laughter

I am every atom of my body and my mind, I am every memory that fills my eyes and those of whomever surrounds me

Every story

All at once

Exploding into the darkest moon

And fading from your shadows as you remind me of which story you believe I embody.

No. S aged 16

Neck high, heels low, invisible to society.

Not conforming, stereotype, female reality,

Pretty, thin, jaw, cheeks, smile; set.

Short skirt, low shirt, lots of leg; check.

Over-sexualised, skin, skin, skin.

Jaws dropping, mouths drawling, we are women.

Personality? Not needed. White grin, please!

Not asking but suggesting, the difference wears thin.

Jumpers heavy, trousers full, the answer is still no.

Conformity is normalcy, until no stops meaning no.

In my fully clothed condition, less skin, more eyes, judgement on every part.

Growing numbers in the know of the broken and unbroken hearts.

And then I realised

My biggest fear isn’t all the things I’ve always thought it was

It’s that on one rainy Thursday morning you’ll wake up, and I’ll be sleeping next to you

And you’ll look at me and… you’ll see.

You’ll see all the things I see

My imperfect skin

My greasy hair

My grossly bitten nails

The stretch marks that draw lightning strikes over my entire body

The hairs I can never get rid off

Or the fact that I sometimes don’t shave

My stupid random freckles

Any of it

Then you’ll climb out of bed, and stare at the dull morning sky sipping the luke-warm coffee you just made, and you’ll know, that suddenly, you don’t love me anymore.

A Happy Moment - First Published Work- 17

The stars shone with a pure white light

And crept across the gloomy night

Clouds scarce and storms to thunder

But they and I, we lay asunder

Rubble warmth and thickening moss

Lay to rest in sickening loss

Late night calls, to a machine

To hear a voice lost in a dream.

And hear the music that used to play

On some rainy, sunny day

And less a fool with no staring eyes

To dance among the moonlit night

Dampened cheeks of rosy skin

Softer than the silk she’s in

Metallic taste to bite the tongue

To hold the cry so soon to come

Eyes shut tight, to spite the night

To feel her arms embrace so light

And step in time to a tune so old

Too young to love, too young to know

A box step tread lightly with a small smile

A happy moment

Lost for a while.

Down the Rabbit Hole

A walk in the forest, soon to show

A packet of cigarettes

A lighter, a match, a spark, a glow

Fire, to breathe, grey to exhale

A rabbit to flail

Blood, in the trap, foot, in the trap

Running, but not moving, life, in the trap

To free, to escape, to run

To follow, to flee, to find

A rabbit hole, not far from the edge

Fag still burning, almost burnt out

To shrink, to a few inches tall, and to crawl along the edge

Sadness, memories, alcohol, death

Shouting, crying, falling, mess

Bad decisions, all to see, in the open, you and me

You, who broke, you, who shattered, you, who stopped me knowing I mattered

Flick, spark, light, breathe

Cigarette air, in the darkened heath

Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep

Not bathing, not washing, not caring, thief

Stole life, stole hope, stole light, stole me

Wondering, how to continue to bleed

Carrot, sausage, onion, skin, not skin not skin, not skin

Slice, slit, gash, wrist, not skin, not skin not skin

Not pain, not hurt, not bleeding, still

Seeing mess, not feeling ill

Happy, ecstatic, exhilarated till

Here, home, family, spill

Him, her, they, them

Then, there, when, where

Blurry eyes, not seeing much, forgotten, friend, enemy, such

Suck, hand, on my head, above my neck, on my wrists

Growing, not a few inches tall, a few feet

Walls enclosing, exhausting, heat, fag gone out,

Gloom, murk, shadow, dark

Bye bye rabbit, bye bye …

The Sufferings of Conflict - S aged 15

Worried eyes stared back at me

From under the school desks

We held on tight to each other

And gripped the table legs

We'd been sat here for hours

Hearing that roaring noise

That sliced, mutilated and murdered

And utterly destroyed

A monster roamed our halls that day

And his machine cut through all

I watched my friends battle, but the blood ran down the walls

I heard screaming from the room next door

And pleads of mercy and sharp wails

But this monster was not human

And could not adhere to human quails

I knew our room was next, as the tap, tap, tap of his shoes

Slithered down the grimy hallway

As if a parliament snake with news

The door swung open with thunder and lighting

And a new type of rain fell down

As the beast roared his victory, as if he had just shot his prey down

My classmates broke in all different ways

Wailing and screaming that I could still hear for days

Some ran, some rolled but most stayed still, either dead or crying, the life count would be nil

Three of us remained in that treacherous room

All three of us hidden, silent as a tomb

But then, I noticed, my foot was exposed

So I tried to move it so that it wouldn't show

And God knows I tried to stop that chair make a noise

But it wanted to be heard, it had its own voice

And as soon as it happened the bullets rained down

And the girl behind me would never wear a wedding gown

Death upon death, and useless life wasted

This monster kept going, his revenge not tasted

His actions so mimicked that of society

Immature and wasteful with no sense of propriety

For there is no balance where there is violence, as balancing on a knifes edge does not end in silence

But this untaught lesson will be learnt

In fire and anguish when all we love is burnt.

Sanctuary - S aged 16

I built myself a house of flowers

Surrounding myself with colour

Thinking that the pretty showers

Would make my mind rest at last

But then you came along

And set my house on fire

And I let my flowers burn thinking I could build another

But there were no flowers left

So I built myself a house of cards

To keep me busy when I felt alone

Matching ace to ace and suit to suit

But it was just as flimsy as the last

And when you came

You knocked it down and I was left in the cold again

But this time I didn't try again

I built myself a house of water

But the water wouldn't drown me

And the alcohol wouldn't numb me

to save me from the pain you caused

The pills didn't work and eventually i found this house too sad

So I moved

I found a house of glass

Thinking this was strong enough

I placed all my things, neatly around the room

But when you came, you shattered it

Leaving me cut and cold

Nowhere was safe from you

So I built myself a house of bricks

One you could never break

And no one could enter

Alone I would stay

Locked in this prison

Safe from you.

Letters to a Dead Man

Place the rose upon the bed side,

He sent it in the post,

The smile upon your face remains,

The unremembered host.

A letter sent that first began,

The never ending stream,

Of back and forth between us both,

The gap, never as long as it seemed,

Love came pouring from each word,

‘I’ll see you soon my dove’

But years have past and still have I,

Yet to see my love.

He needed small amounts of things,

Like shampoo, fruit, and thread.

But most of all he always asked,

For packed up lines of lead,

He sharpened gently with a knife,

And drew his every dream,

Of seeing me and Home again,

And a babbling little stream.

We used to sit and talk for hours,

And pick all kinds of berries,

We loved that place, you and I,

So that’s where you were buried.

I sent so many letters,

Without ever a reply,

Until the man came knocking,

And said that you had died.

I had the package ready,

and had hung up all you drew,

Hoping when you came,

You’d come in and you knew,

That I had missed you oh so dearly,

And to hear that you were dead,

Brought me down to nothing more,

Then to throw away your lead.