Momentary Insights

By Patrick O’Brien

An eclectic mix of emotion, with themes of love, loss, despair, fear, anxiety and hope, where the catharsis of writing whilst in the therapeutic senses of nature brings the momentary insights of truth.

Truth…

“Though seemingly momentary, the ideal is of abiding eternal,

‘Tis the essence of our being, in every light and all nocturnal.

Freely exposed cognitions, bared naked in thought,

Given freely at no cost… priceless.

Now… Feel clothed in the warmth,

Of what in all of us is sought.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398497467

Patrick O’Brien

Patrick O’Brien is Irish/Australian. Originally from Newcastle West in county Limerick, Ireland, he currently resides in Queensland, Australia.

Book preview

About the Author

Patrick O’Brien is Irish/Australian.

Originally from Newcastle West in county Limerick, Ireland, he currently resides in Queensland, Australia.

Dedication

Ted’s legs.

You made these words walk the road from thought to print.

You know who you are.

Only we know who we are.

Will love you always.

Copyright Information ©

Patrick O’Brien 2023

The right of Patrick O’Brien to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398497450 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398497467 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Lustful Twilight

The lustful twilight cowered toward me,

Sending her illusional face,

Not real…untrue…but known for the fact,

A delusion of my own saving grace.

These darkening clouds of mine,

They are clouds of mind.

But the treacherous sea, to my ear ’tis kind.

The now…the then…the frequent now and then,

The far too frequent now.

I did hear but failed to listen.

Now…and only now,

I hear the crashing waves.

I listen to their ‘white noise’

And the horizon runs to hide,

As darkness seeks to fall.

Daytime skies…

They do soon fade away.

Narcissistic waves,

They heighten their play,

Ironically soothing the effect of their cause.

For in attempts to impress,

They will not yield success.

To live my healing sunlight,

I stay here in the dark.

I will not think peace of mind,

’Til I do think with my heart.

I damn the amber river that I drown in,

That cools the heated thoughts of my head.

The temperature now drops to supine,

Yet I feel a stance that is tall,

As my stumbling pleasant thoughts,

Help me fall into crack of dawn.

Insomnia

Hell, hath no sleep…like a fury awakened.

As the blue moon’s arisen,

The driven manic mind,

Steers the body now deadened.

Why to endure this?

What sin was committed?

They say with pain comes gain,

As my words steadily rise,

To more than are emitted.

I succumb as a night-time whore,

To Sir O’Quell’s nightly knocking,

Each reply being an open door.

’Tis a devil thing I fear,

But unto the devil thing I plead,

For God has failed to listen.

What purpose does this serve?

My brain is charge of the dark brigade.

I cannot see no good,

As God plays out my seeming just deserve.

The deadened night is livened,

To my throbbing sounds of silence.

I fear you Sir O’Que1l,

But you may just get me well,

You’re far removed from the madding crowd,

As my thoughts in sprinting silence,

Are paced to silent roars aloud.

So bring yourself toward me,

Unto you I am laid bare.

There’s nothing of me now…all is gone!

I succumb to the madness pill,

For to fix my madding sleepless ill.

What madness.

100 years on.

An eternal night time whoring slave,

I’m gone…I’m done,

I’m with O’Leary in his grave.

Yes, I fear thee Sir O’Quell,

But you may now remove your hat.

I’ll take you in my mouth,

’Tis not for sex but sleep,

As I pray I don’t get fat.

Insomnia (Part 2)

Now Sir O’Quell is laid to rest,

To gain his aid means trouble deep.

To see a harder task with less resource,

Does blind this man to seek his sleep.

For hell hath no fury as a constant awakened.

It has no fury…it has nothing.

No ability to feel…no ability to know.

It has nothing of life but