Tag Archives: #Silence

Demon Library: Where Angels Fear To Read

Demon Library: Where Angels Fear To Read

For fools rush in

and knock over a stand,

a floral display, a waste-paper bin;

loiterers loiter (as is their wont)

by the sign shouting “Silence!”

and only returning

from whence they came

at cloning time.

A book upon the Mafia,

once taken out,

remains taken out.

And the crumbs of information

gleaned from the Reference Section

are a scant comfort to readers

far and wide.

Guitar Upon the Wall

Guitar Upon The Wall

The guitar hangs upon the wall

like a picture drawn a thousand times;

but, where is the use it needs to feel,

the lyric phrase, the quirky rhymes?

Strings, untuned, coated fine

with the dust of betrayal,

silently thrum to the tune

of an unheard song

from long, long ago;

when, or if, they shall play again

it’s beyond my knowledge to know.

13 Seconds of Silence

13 Seconds of Silence

Thirteen seconds of silence

led to thirteen seconds more –

the rest did me good.

My mouth recovered,

my tongue recharged,

my impatience began to rally(

and soon there was silence

no more.

Easy like, it’s Saturday Morning – almost a Blog

Drummer = big hit as he has a big kit.

Drummer = big git as he has a big kit.

When your head is banging
Like there is a bad drummer inside it, And he’s rehearsing for his first (and only) gig.
Thumpety-thump, thumpety-thump-thump!
And if I meet him later he will surely get a frosty reception from me
And will know where his drumsticks did go.

Anyway, the day may be quiet,
But that emphasises every noise that ever there was – it’s no picnic, I can tell you…
But, I shall whisper these written words
Because even their silent rustling is like a heard (yup, heard) of cattle passing by.

I did the coffee thing – managed to pour cold water on the granules and then had to nuke the bejesus out of the result. Now, I have to wait as the coffee is 3 degrees hotter than the hottest temperature known to Man. Pour me.

It’s a Saturday, Samedi same crud, no, not true, lots of good stuff soon;
When this hangover (from life, I don’t really drink) eases off a bit.

This was going to be a poem…
It’s not.
You may have noticed that.
I will poeticise lyrically later – maybe.
For now, you have a baddish (ting) bloggish blog yow thing that says little, does less, and goes nowhere.

Thank you for reading.
If you have read, please put:

‘Shhhhh… quiet, please!’

In the comments.
Thank you




I heard echoes of kettles
Boiling in a kitchen
None were.
I poured cold water
Upon the teabag of my dreams
And silently the tepid brew
I poured away life-giving liquid
And started again
For echoes.