Kevin. J. Nolan, Dublin born, holds an honours degree in Philosophy from The Milltown Institute. He also studied fine art in the National College of Art and Design. His writing has appeared in, Skylight 47, Colony and Studies, among other journals. Also a singer/composer he has recently released his debut album entitled “Fredrick & The Golden Dawn”, notably he has recorded a duet, “Aubade” with Julie Feeney.
A colourable moon perspires down
on a foreign country.
A road surrounds an Anglican church;
the door swings open and a distant high pitched sound gets higher.
The air is wet with Ave Marias, a solitary singer searchingly fingers her
soul and moans low while city foxes dash by dizzy and wild-eyed with
Sitting near on footpath
are two people, in love, smiling at each other, knowing each other
In one beats a heart:
its drawers swing open and shut in slow motion, catch imaginary
snowflakes, which melt and leak down to collect in the swells of her eyes
opening like butterflies
The other’s heart
is wet with vitality, desperate in its countenance
opening and reaching out to her like a legousia flower to the heat
of flavescent moonlight.
I fantasize about you, sometimes,
fantasize that you are happy,
in a way that was not possible back when
each morning your eyes thrown from darkness opened to the sunlight
and gazed, gazed, gazed into mine.
I hope you are in love
I hope it’s new and dramatic
and I hope it makes you smile when you’re on you own,
hanging out the clothes
or broken down on the roadside, kicking tyres, your mind desperately holding on to
itself for dear life suddenly, effortlessly and like in some self affirming salacious
dream, lets go.
I fantasize the most perfect act of love I could commit
was to set you free,
let you grow natural, unbarred,
let the sunshine warm your skin
without thoughts of anything else but being you in the world.
I also fantasize that some day we’ll meet haphazardly, we’ll have out-grown our
difficulties and very, very, very slowly we’ll fall in love again.
Forgive me, I know this last fantasy is just the little bit of you left in me,
warming me, still believing in me, still wiping tears and whispering I love you into my mouth.
Immortal, undying, deep purple red,
you are perfect
yet, you say you are black and white?
when I look into your eyes
I feel like I’m leaning out the window
of a country train
with sea-scented breezes
caressing my skin and the evening sun,
staring deeply back into the very pools
of my eyes, in mysterious acknowledgement,
like some unspoken primal, promise.
Immortal, undying, deep purple red,
you are perfect.
meanwhile far from the
and her flirtatious half-sister,
the active volcano
Suki sits and extinguishes
a glass of wine.
Some semblance of sibilance
leaks from her lips as
she writes unconsciously
I imagine you
in a house, in a room, in a bed, under covers, eyes closed.
your expressionless face softly breathing in the air, is to the east.
Your hair like waves of meadow grass wilts into the comfort of a pillow
and your heart in disentangled peace. For your mind must away, down
under sea, to lick the deepest points of icebergs.
Is your mind flying on the back of a magpie? feeling breezes wash over
and away the stress of waking life. Does it perch like a free untamed
scintillation in the sable caverns of your being?
Somehow I try to reach you, unearth you. I want to be a subliminal
message in your mind, a sweet fairy tale echoing out past benign coping
sparks of random electrical activity, and the timbre of your secret wish
so that you will wake to feel the warmth of a disembodied kiss,
you will not be able to put a face to this kiss, only remember
the kiss itself. Not on the lips, but one that kissed a deep yearning
inside you and danced with that yearning deep into a night, where
you looked into my eyes so searchingly and found yourself
and somehow, in the sober light of a new day you will wake and connect
this kiss to me. As your eyes open you’ll feel the last of it warm against
your skin, then, you will picture my face.
I was so full of dread and you poured me right out
to the last drop, now I am empty.
A beautiful vacancy like the purest blackest landscapes of space
where stars have sat silent for as for as long as silence itself has existed.
So innocent in their way, we’ll never understand
their peace and they will never understand how beautiful
it is that they exist. You have made me one of these stars
and now I will hang for eternity in the blackest landscape of space
and you’ll never know how beautiful you made me.