Silent Marshes
by Tom Moran
Format: 5 1/2'' x 8 1/2'' ~ Perfect Bound
24 Poems ~ 36 pages
Price: $15.00
ISBN #: 978-81-19654-67
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Silent Marshes is Tom Moran’s second chapbook in as many years. Moran skillfully uses the idea of the marsh as a life-metaphor. What is true of marshes can, with but a little imagination, become a bridge to the inner life of the reader. Marshes teem with life. Marshes have their own scents. Marshes bear lovely vegetation, are settings for breath-taking sunsets and waterfowl with stunning colorations. These are just for starters. How Moran capitalizes on this unique metaphor is more than worth the book's modest asking price.


As a small child I was a product of Louisiana’s swamps and marshlands. My family moved to Peoria, Illinois when I was about three. However, my father’s stories about these enchanting lands remain with me to this day. These were stories about Blue Racer snakes, ’Gators, Snappin’ Turtles, and giggin’ frogs while standing in a pirogue. I learned, in real time, that the nature of a marsh is to cherish and promote new life, new growth. After reading Moran’s “Marsh” poems, I realized how their wisdom applies, in real time, to my life.
–Michael Escoubas, author, Steve Henderson in Poetry and Paint


Tom Moran was born and raised on the south side of Chicago and attended Southern Illinois University in Carbondale. Falling in love with poetry at a young age, he admired the craft for its economy of language and how words are emotionally powerful. He began to write poetry, in earnest, after joining the Illinois State Poetry Society. Over the years, Moran sharpened his writing skills by attending the University of Iowa’s Summer Writing Festival, several years running and the Poetry Foundation’s My Favorite Poem projectHe avers, “It is my hope that Silent Marshes, will be a blessing to many who are traversing the marshes of life.”


Night Bird

by Tom Moran

Lamps burn in the high rises
downtown at midnight.

They are stars in the sky.
Televisions glow as blue comets.

Some people are awake, can’t sleep;
or maybe they’re waiting on something new.

Faith floats part of me that still believes
in a light that needles through darkness.

Dreams slither out cracks in
the wall that contains my mind.

As something felt but not seen,
tomorrow floods in at sunrise.

Dawn ends the day.
I'm home to sleep in sunlight.


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