Phil Lynch has had poems published in a wide range of over forty print and online literary journals and anthologies, including:

The Stony Thursday Book; Skylight 47; The Honest Ulsterman; Live Encounters Poetry; Seawords; Flare; The Poetry’s Dead Anthology; The Storms Issue III; Days of Clear Light (a Festschrift in honour of Jessie Lendennie & 40 years of Salmon Poetry); The Music of what Happens (Anthology); Bangor Literary Journal; Circle Time (Anthology of Dalkey Writers Workshop); Drawn to the Light Press; The Lea-Green Down (anthology of new poems inspired by the poetry of Patrick Kavanagh); Even The Daybreak (35 years of Salmon Poetry); Not The Time To Be Silent (Collected Work); Vox Galvia; UCD Poetry in Lockdown: a Pandemic Archive; Revival Literary Journal; Lime Square Poets (online); Bray Arts Journal; Boyne Berries Series, Two Meter Review; OFI Press; The Poetry Bus; Headstuff.

 His work has been featured on poetry and arts shows on national and local radio including on programmes such as the Arena Arts Show, The Poetry Programme, Sunday Miscellany and The Documentary on One on RTE Radio 1 and on the Rhyme & Reason show on Dublin South FM.

 He has also had poems included in a number of CD compilations and musical adaptations of some of his poems have been recorded by the artist Blue Lilac (BlueLilacr) on the album New Arrival. https://open.spotify.com/album/2lJyxpsWsjfiCS6hXOVfTo

 He has been a winner, runner-up, highly commended and shortlisted in various poetry competitions.

 His latest poetry collection, Moving On, was published by Salmon Poetry in 2024.

https://www.salmonpoetry.com/details.php?ID=615&a=284

 His previous collection, In a Changing Light, (Salmon Poetry), was published in 2016. https://salmonpoetry.com/details.php?ID=394&a=284

 He is a regular performer at poetry and spoken word events and festivals in Ireland and he has also performed at events in Belgium, France, the UK and USA.

Phil is a coordinator/host of the Words by the Sea monthly open mic event in Dun Laoghaire (on the second Wednesday of the month in Walters bar) under the auspices of ArtNetdlr.

He was previously a member of the Bray Literary Festival Committee and a co-founder of LINGO, the first international spoken word festival in Ireland.

 Social Media links:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/philip.lynch.39/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/philrlynch1/ 

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@phillynch2311

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/phil-lynch-718770102/

  

Changing Light

 It was nearly dark

when he came in from the fields

tired from the toils of the day

ready to complain

about the Tilley lamp still unlit,

would he have to light it himself

he asked of no one in particular.

In the shadow of an empty space

beneath the stairs

I stood primed.

 

The men with the metal boots,

their belts heavy as a gunslinger’s,

had spent what seemed like years

digging holes to plant the creosote forest

that stretched across the countryside,

with giant spools of wire unfurled

along roads and lanes and fields.

I marvelled at how they scaled

the heights of those black poles

and worked at right angles to the ground

without falling,

stuntmen all.

 

In the countdown to dusk I waited

finger on the switch

as if to take its pulse

or like some general in the Kremlin

with his thumb on the red button

waiting for the order to push.

The pre-determined signal came

from my mother at the table

and with all the strength 

in my bony digit

I flicked the magic switch.

 

Outside, the dusk turned instantly to dark.

Inside, the light would never be the same.

 

©Phil Lynch

  

Encounters

I might have met you once while on the road

but how was I to know you would be there?

No map to guide, no picture to compare,

so why would I have stopped or even slowed?

And yet if you had signalled me your code,

I would have shyly shuffled, unaware

that you and I could have so much to share;

I’d still to learn what nature had bestowed.

But later when we met I knew you well

although I least expected you to be

so blissful, yet so able to confound.

Instead of catching me when first I fell,

you put me in a boat that’s still at sea

in search of shores which never may be found.

 

©Phil Lynch

 

 

 

 

Smoke without Fire

The doctor and the dentist

greet the scientist

they drink a toast to olden days

in their glasses

reflections of their student years

“cheers”!

No cheering crowds hail the worker

as he makes his way

through narrow streets

to meet his learned friends;

they raise another glass,

another past embraced.

 

The conversation takes them back

to dingy bars and dodgy

all-night party places,

to great debates on questions

scarcely understood;

the more they learned

the more they seemed to lose

but no one kept a balance sheet.

 

They talk of when they plotted

for the glory days to come

how everything would be different

after the revolution

how it would be for real this time

there would be a call to arms

a conscription of words

an awakening.

 

The voices of rebels would be heard

over those of primates and presidents

the poets and the protest singers

would write the new anthems

everything would be different.

 

No one saw the future creep up

becoming part of the past

they meant to change.

 

Now, in their pursuing way,

it is those glorious days

which raise the cheers

when comrades gather

to commemorate.

 ©Phil Lynch