Edward Lee

Poetry
                  E  d  w  a  r  d    L  e  e 

Edward Lee's poetry, short stories, non-fiction and photography have been published in magazines in Ireland, England and America, including The Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen and Smiths Knoll.  His debut poetry collection "Playing Poohsticks On Ha'Penny Bridge" was published in 2010. He is currently working towards a second collection.
He also makes musical noise under the names Ayahuasca Collective, Lewis Milne, Orson Carroll, Blinded Architect, Lego Figures Fighting, and Pale Blond Boy.
email: lastimages@yahoo.com

           SILENT BEFORE

A splintered silence
fell from the sky,
skewering the eyes
of those foolish enough
to be looking up,
their fragile attention caressed
by prism-less raindrops,
that danced at their feet
like stained-glass ghosts.

They kept walking though,
those blinded unfortunates,
their steps clumsily, uneven,
managing somehow to arrive
where they were going,
even if, by then,
no one saw them arriving,
all unwounded eyes on the sky,
waiting for the blessings
that surely must come
after such silent pain.

            UNSOUND

Somewhere along the way

we forgot 

to lay foundations,

we simply found a spot

that caught the sun

just right

and we built

our house of hearts there.

Of course 

it toppled,

fell in on itself;

it would have crushed us

had we been home,

but we had gone 

our separate ways

years before,

our idea of love

simply that:

an idea,

and certainly not enough

to inhabit a house of hearts,

built upon strong foundations

or not.

          ENDLESS

Falling in a direction

that didn't exist

before he fell,

the unnamed man waits for his life

to flash before

his eyes,

but blinks

and misses it,

only realising that

the only decent breath

his life ever used

was the handful of steps

that led to this,

four walls, a ceiling,

and the ground

rushing to meet him,

and return him

to the start again.

           RISE

The sun drips salt water

as it rises

from the sea,

steam shrouding its jaded curves

as the water boils

beneath its heat,

little remaining

to fall back to its source below,

the horizon melting

as it births

this star of fire,

bringing forth a new day

that may well be the last

as more than the ocean boils,

hot death falling 

in the wake

of that which once

gave us live,

permanent shadows forming

in its unyielding path.

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