-
I feel a certain jealousy
for the hims and the hers
that I have never met
nor do I know their fate
For however they continue
they once were the spark of a fire within you
—
Who was that girl?
What did she make you feel?
Did she break your heart or would that be too perfect?
Is she even real
or did you give her life?
—
I know that you can help me see
my hopes and dreams reflected
in a form more real than i can now conceive
—-
I want to hear those details clearly
only i would recognise
the ties that bind the two of us
so long as we have ears to hear
—
You grant the world the privilege to ask:
who was that girl?
What did she make you feel?
Did she break your heart or would that be too perfect?
Is she even real?
or did you give her life?
—
To glimpse your world is not enough
I want to be enshrined inside
I want to find a place to hide
a part of me within your melody
—
and even through some trouble’s throes
i’ll always have a place to go
where i remain forever vaunted
beautiful and always wanted
by one who’s hymn of wanting fills my heart
—
To be that unnamed girl,
the spark that lights your song,
that you have made eternal in return
Mark McQuillan (2024)
-
I knew him when we were young
We spent those days in the sun
He stood alone as the one who would haunt me through the years
-
And the sadness can be read on my face;
Emotions I can’t erase
They bring me back to a place and time
When there was hope and calm
-
And though I saw our imperfections
With time they have given way to memories of laughter and joy
Which now may be forever out of my reach
-
I see his face in my mind;
His movement one of a kind,
His silhouette in the light of a day I yearn for still
-
But would I gain some small comfort knowing his heart aches as mine?
Mark McQuillan (2023)
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The Clown:
What does he want? What does he fear?
The Clown:
Never too close, Sometimes too near
The Clown:
Always so Loud, Always so Brash
The Clown:
Never upset, Never Abashed-
as far as you’d know from his face
his smile: it remains in its place
his eyes purposeful, wandering
but their meeting with yours can’t endure
is that by intention or some other means
a means he’s not willing to face
-
The Clown:
is he a friend? is he a foe?
The Clown:
When is it real? When just a show?The Clown:
Is he like you? Can he be read?
The Clown:
How can he live? What would it mean to be dead?
-
the shape of a tear by his eye
it tells you a truth through a lie
as he struggles to find the words
to express what he feels might ensure
the you won’t catch a glimpse of his one greatest fear
the fear of appearing alive
-
The man who lives a life through humour
who’s wit his first defence against the world
a kind of life but to what end
to live as hero, lover, friend
or as a clown
-
the man whose hopes survive through rumour
who keeps his dreams and nightmares tightly furled
behind a face he wears each day
his soul sums up the debt he’ll pay
-
but each new day he has a choice
to shades of doubt he can give voice
voice to the wants
voice to the fears
voice to the screams
voice to the cheers
voices so loud
voices so brash
voices upset
voices at last
-
can he grasp that it’s life or it’s death
get too close and that’s all there is left
if he bears all before you, embracing that choice
who is he that can take the next breath
-
The Man:
his smile, now it’s real, the first of its kind
The Man:
The face of pretence, he leaves it behind
The Man:
Who is he now? Who can he be?
The Man:
Will he be strong? Must he be free?
-
Your eyes; the tide and shore, water and sand
This world the moon, your soul the sea so vast
No choice but to be shipwrecked in your stare
That has no adversary save but one:
Your form, your shape or simply just its hint
Competing with those seaboards for my gaze.
Though i can only hold you in my thoughts
That picture serves each day as life’s fair fuel
Your beauty cannot soon be overstressed
For it would be unjust if left unheard
But it is just one gateway to your mind
Your soul, your light, the depths which soon reveal
Your thoughts, your words like heaven’s brightest rays
I'm left in stark suspense with every pause
Each comma gives impassioned prose its shape
And even when you stop and say “i can’t
yet find the words” i can’t but smile the same
Those breaths beget a rhythm all their own
The metre of a song your spirit sings
Which i must come each day to hear anew
For no-one can recite it quite the same
Nor could some mere Montfleury fill those shoes
How much of your effect can I confess?
Just the consideration says so much
For it would be unfair not to exclaim
That through this meeting of our wand’ring souls
I have begun to learn what love might mean.
The wish above all others in my mind,
The thought whose close companion is a tear:
In time you’ll grow to let yourself be loved
Whether that thrill is mine or someone else
Will be the one to whom you’ll one day yield.
The latter? you must let my sweet heart break.
Do not remorse the pain your virtue brings
For every tear will reify the good,
And every ache: a testament to life.
—
And even if our eyes don’t meet again
What memories of you that i retain
Could fill the pages of 10,000 books
Depicting but a fraction of the joy
Your face portrays in sweet sublime response
To good in man and what this life can be.
Though inspiration goes, and comes anew
I need not worry how, wherefrom or when
If in my mind your faintest light remains
The ink within my pen will never run dry
(Mark McQuillan, 2024) -
Can I?
Can I care?
Can I care but half what I cared for you in this lifetime?
Will I?
Will I feel?
Will I feel but half what I felt for you in this lifetime?
Now i've seen such a glorious waterfall
Will all else seem but a humble mountain stream?
Might I?
Might I find?
Might I find but half what I found with you in this lifetime?
Mark McQuillan (2024)
-
can’t recall the first time I saw her face
soon she overshadowed time and place
but why?
mustn’t look straight at her when she draws near
can’t expend all hope avoiding those fears
do I know her well enough?
thoughts within my mind
elusive, unrefined
can I give them shape?
struggle to separate
guilt I’m right to feel
dread of the unreal
breaking past the surface, trusting myself
can i move with purpose, discarding my stealth?
each time now I look her shape seems more clear
wary though how darkness might reappear
is her strength as I assumed?
thoughts within my mind
ever more refined
if I give them shape
i can separate
guilt I’m right to feel
dread of the unreal
search my soul for answers: what can i find?
eyes i felt such fear of glimmer as mine
(Mark McQuillan, 2024)