THE MIDNIGHT MUSE

INSPIRATION

The midnight muse does not wait
For the lure of silver at someone’s gate
Nor the rattle of chains in rust-red splendour
As the moonlight beams on the night so tender.
The midnight muse has something strange to tell;
‘Silence is violence’
Say the damned in hell
To speak is to live not bound by chains
When an empty silence is all that remains

INSPIRATION

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INSPIRATION

The midnight muse does not wait
For the lure of silver at someone’s gate
Nor the rattle of chains in rust-red splendour
As the moonlight beams on the night so tender.
The midnight muse has something strange to tell;
‘Silence is violence’
Say the damned in hell
To speak is to live not bound by chains
An ’empty silence’ is all that remains

all my books are available on http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tom-OBrien/e/B0034OIGOQ/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1388083522&sr=1-2-ent

SILENCE AT THE BAR

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SILENCE AT THE BAR

The old man grimaced and silently imbibed his pint
His withered wife glared her whole life at him
And pointedly moved to a seat
At the far end of the joint

Two sons, forty and finicky,
Silently contemplated the following day’s races
While the daughter and son-in-law,
Long run out of things to say,
Blew smoke in each other’s faces.

Only the children were living;
The girl was chandelier-swinging
And the boy was table-top walking.
“Shhh!” said the mother,
“be quiet you two rascals,
We can’t seem to hear ourselves talking”

from my collection of poetry – ’67’, now available @ http://www.amazon.co.uk/67-Poetry-Tom-OBriem-Book-ebook/dp/B00JVBLM9C/ref=la_B0034OIGOQ_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1412338420&sr=1-8
and http://www.tinhuttalespublishers.co.uk/product/67-2/

THE DEAFENING SILENCE

 

THE DEAFENING SILENCE

The silence is deafening

But then it always has been;

Deafening all my life, I mean.

It’s as if I’m not really there,

Although I am sure that’s not true.

Perhaps I am invisible to all

But a few true believers.

Are they possibly seeing what isn’t there,

And  also hearing the deafening silence?

read more of my poems in my new collection ’67’ – http://www.tinhuttalespublishers.co.uk/67/

 

SILENCE AT THE BAR

 

SILENCE AT THE BAR

 The old man grimaced and silently imbibed his pint

His withered wife glared her whole life at him

And pointedly moved to a seat

At the far end of the joint

 

Two sons, forty and finicky,

Silently contemplated the following day’s races

While the daughter and son-in-law,

Long run out of things to say,

Blew smoke in each other’s faces.

 

Only the children were living;

The girl was chandelier-swinging

And the boy was table-top walking.

“Shhh!” said the mother,

“be quiet you two rascals,

We can’t seem to hear ourselves talking”

from my new book of poetry  – http://www.tinhuttalespublishers.co.uk/67/