She Was An Artist And A Socialist
written by: Eoghan Lyng
@eoghanlyng
Marxed hair, she rolled it back, in a floral pigtail,
A cigarette light paved the room, caressed
By flames only a night can show.
Pollock learned, recited plain
Those dots took newer form
In a dorm held high, night time’s
And goodbye’s find themselves harder
To say.
Dark hair charged, she took hold,
In an arm too cased to save,
Inscribed her name, tame
In fierce lipstick marked measures
Whether written, whether said,
Whether touched on the head
By a hand planned in Foucaltian stanzas
Or simply a touch for the night.
Eoghan Lyng is an Irish man and sometime writer. He lives in Glasgow, having written from the perspective from Cork, Madrid and Prague. He has written for OutlawPoetry, VadaMagazine and FromTheLighthouse.
Latest posts by Eoghan Lyng (see all)
- Ramblings of a Listless Man - January 27, 2025
- Three Children - October 11, 2024
- Éire 1948 - July 16, 2024
