How can this

How can this

Beautiful case

Collapse in

Such

A straight-up

Weird way

What startled off

Far greater threats

No further borders

Could belay

At a remove unwanted

Objects could relate

It’s time we had not space

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2016

Little counter

Little counter

Paintings
Stood up by myself

An instant to capture

From the outset

Of blue, red

Yellow and black

How to ensure

I have had more

Than enough

A sea of unending

And flowers that stem

Their own tide

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2016

My drowning city

My drowning city

They’d drain

The peak oil

Consumers loving

War

Most of our new

Jobs are in service

Industry

Water to be sold

A sign in the window

Forces

People need to be

Shared

All the hippies

Breaking

Heart

The oldest known

The oldest known

From someone

Who actually teaches

The painted game

Wanting to ‘digest’

A mushroom skimmed

While it’s projected

Is molecular clinging

Which proves speech

Is capable of mold

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2016

The moose call

The moose call

On the mantle

Unused red and black

Pottery, a carved

Owl and killer whale

Shape forms together

With a plaster

Bell from

A set of three
Also not me

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2016

Compelled to mark

Compelled to mark

The passage

A machine

To trap time

Not to distract

From the seriousness

Unknown in school

Of gliding

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2016

All covered

All covered

With rubbishy

Ought

The root

Network of birch

Is yet

A consolation

Yet I haven’t figured

Why is written round

What wounds

Perspective

Plainly strips

One white

With lack

Of punctuation

Tom McGlynn
copyright 2016 

Lost my eyes

Lost my eyes

From start

Too finished

Tongue is

Gone wanting

To take this

Opportunity

(As if you weren’t able)

To join us

In the ground

We now stand

On which two

Conclude

An unheard

Of blessing

Thanks be

To you

Who press

Your ear gains

Mine lingers

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2016

For most

For most

Samaritan aid

Is thou art

With mine ass

On the road

In lieu of

An accidental slip

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2016

In any case

In any case

To hold what will

Remains unnamed

We touch blindly

As called

Politically

By name

Mirrors do just

Not exist 

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2016

I could leave

I could leave

Now and just paint

But it run

Out in solely

One weak

Confessed there

In the quiet

That separated

The cold of the night

From the concrete dawn

The sheep look

Up in amazement

For a fancy

Murder of prose

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2016

Agnes in silence

Agnes in silence

Mapped her claim

In sections

Six by six

Including

The black corn

On the lower forty

Her smile

Squared

Being home

Would turn 

Graphite

Inches deep

Then endless

Furrowed between

The roof of the world

And the ground of the sky

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2016