The feeling of the water
As it runs over my bare skin
The soap forming bubbles that pop
In lathered delight
The yellow moon hung low
Over papier-mâché hills and
Cast it's benevolent glow
On the factories and homes
(For Al Filreis)
The peace of this place chimes with a hum
'Sid and Nancy had it made Heroin chic stupidity In a hotel bed Glazed eyes And soft carpet touch Like a thorn in the side of youthful folly'
'For him there could only ever be The hope and longing Despair and guilt To which he could but shrug And surrender Happy only to have seen The Queen of the North in all her beauty'
Vincent S. Coster is an Irish-born poet who now lives in England where he continues to write poetry and the occasional short story. He began writing poetry as a way of venting the frustrations of being an outsider in a small rural village in Ireland when he was twelve, but it wasn’t until he was nineteen that he decided to take up the vocation of p ...