Patrick O'Reilly Poems

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3am And It's Quiet

It gets quiet at 3am.
The bedsheets are wrinkled and rolled back.
Another half empty cup of coffee,
Another crumpled sheet of paper.

An Empty Church

A church is holier when it is empty,
When every private step echoes off the ceiling,
Like ripples of solemn sound
And the candles stand unlit,

An Ancient Artform

This is an ancient artform,
A relic almost sacred I told her
As I placed the huge black disc onto the platform.
I've never even seen one of these she confessed.

An Old Irish Song

In the downtown clubs you can hear them singing.
Ghost's songs stepping off the coffin ships
Which carried them across that broad Western ocean.

In Came The Dawn

The sun came up without permission
To make me wonder which day it was.
The razor sunrise rips into my red eyes,
And I shut them fast and tight

A Queen And A Queen And A Man Between

Between two trees stood a sullen man
Counting on his words
When two Queens tilted at him
With sharp and heavy swords

Busted Radio

There is no music tonight, my darling,
This radio is busted.
You can turn the dial all you want.


Take the wheel!
We could drive til the gas tank is bone dry.

Because I don't want to die in this town,

Tribute To A Dead Stranger

You went,
A name without a face,
A name on everyone's lips,
Saying `Never more to pass unchallenged


The great North Wind rattles the trees
And shatters their twigs to splinters
The sparkling quilt of snow knee-deep
Paves the streets of winter

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