I love the way of you.... The night, the day of you The yesterday and today of you Tomorrow and all of my tomorrows I will stay with you
There is no hour of any day Where you are not with me,
Lighting my way, Your face before me, even when apart Your heart beats in me
In every place, your love within me No trial and no sorrow can defeat me Life cannot beat me At any time I can retreat To where your warmth will greet me
I love the light of you The everything's alright of you Each blessed sight of you A reminder you are part of me The soul and heart of me
I love the sway of you The dance of life that we Will share for all eternity The song of love I play Is just to say - I love the way of you
* Bronze Winner in the AllPoetry.Com annual Raven contest 2007, from over 800 entrants *
returned from lush olive mount
there was a sated glow
about her - both of them,
in fact, irradiated;
the gathering observed only
that she was changed;
stood sternly in salute,
exchanged a greeting.
with crimson discomfort
she made pale excuse -
an urgent kitchen duty;
kissed Him awkwardly
on either bearded cheek
left them bristling
visibly at table with
twelve sullen scowls
sidling sly glances
Gethsemane grumbled
as He watched evening
shadow bathe her beauty;
apostolic jealousy intense,
but muzzled as each held
bless'd broken bread,
and puzzled at His Words
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was written for the Allpoetry Annual Raven Contest 2007
Hush now.
The time is near for all your crying.
Stand proud
for one more hour,
your quiet company is required
for one last journey.
Mother Earth
has opened her brown belly
to nurture him
for new beginnings
Weep now.
Wake the dead with all your wailing.
Sister Fates
have torn your soul apart.
The world is emptied
but you must stay,
among the faded grey
which once was colour,
the shallow sighs
where laughter used to be
Look now.
You see his smile and you are smiling.
Father Time
has brushed away the years.
Your tears are spent,
the sweet is married to the bitter.
The sword no longer twists
at just the thought of him
and memories are edged
with green and gold.
We separate ourselves
so that we will not be parted
by that which has no mercy,
no respect for the yearnings
for the touch, the hugs,
the blessed nearness of them
Their faces smile bravely
on the screens we hold close
- so very close -
we chat and laugh
with forced normality
about toilet rolls and pasta
Around the world
homes under siege
long for real closeness again
especially with the little ones
who cannot know that grownups
must suffer to defend precious family
But we will not be parted
so we separate ourselves
for a little while
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Missing my beautiful daughters and grandchildren so much... "Partir, c'est mourir un peu"
The squirrel's an odd little chappie
He's normally placid and happy
But, no if's and but's
Put your hand on his nuts
And he'll riddle your ass pretty snappy
He's usually spotted in trees
Which he climbs with the greatest of ease
You think he looks cute
'Till he takes aim to shoot
And you suddenly find you've no knees
A stroll in the woods can be pleasant
Watching rabbit and peacock and pheasant
But you really should worry
Get out in a hurry
'Cos the squirrel's attacks are incessant
To conclude, if with woodland you're charmed
I suggest that you should be alarmed
Though you feel no foreboding
The bugger's reloading
Watch out - those damn squirrels are armed!
LIMERICK JUNCTION
=================
I knew a girl from Tipperary
Who's legs were incredibly hairy
The hairs grew in size
from her toes to her thighs
After that, it was just bloody scary...
WHERE'S FIFI?
============
A corpulant woman from Delhi
Had a body that quivered like jelly
From her couch she stood up
And her poor little pup
Had got lost in the folds of her belly
A lady who hailed from Madras
Was a really voluptuous lass
She's searched for her pet
But with no success yet
'Cause he's wedged in the crack of her ass
A voluptuous girl from Kirkut
was distraught at the loss of her mutt
Her search was in vain
The poor dog was in pain
He was trapped in the cleft of her butt
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Note: This was an entry for an AllPoetry contest, where the image was the contest prompt, and won the Gold Trophy for First Place in the contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
POT NOODLE
==========
I once fed the family poodle
With some leftover stale apple strudel
The dog promptly shat
and the texture of that
Was exactly like Chicken Pot Noodle....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
DES MOINES
==========
I hope you'll enjoy this short ditty
Of a girl who was potless but pretty
She does end up rich
From becoming a bitch
Which was really a terrible pity
The tale's of a girl from Des Moines
Who hadn't a note or a coin
She took to the streets
Meeting sailors from fleets
And now her bank balance is 'foine'
With her ill-gotten gains she felt plucky
so she bought a stud farm in Kentucky
The horses, she reckoned
would come first, or second
- and she'd still get a ride, if she's lucky.....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
S'NO JOKE...
==========
It may have been foolish to go
Mow the lawn in a downpour of snow
As well as the grass
I cut half of my ass,
An elbow, two shins and a toe
~~~~~~~~~~
TIMING?
=======
I'm really obsessed about rhyming
Writing words that are pealing and chiming
So a ditty like this
Is a real piece-of-piss
.. so long as I stay completely focussed and concentrate on my timing.......
Languished in imperial robe,
with precious amethyst trimmed,
hands clap impatiently
for Nubian slave to pamper them
with plump Etruscan grapes,
blood-red wine,
figs and pomegranates
The two, in regal lavender attired,
lips now stained crimson,
reminisce as soldiers.
Proud victories in Gaul
and triumph over Pharsalus.
A rendezvous agreed
in Pompey's theatre,
one rises, gives salute,
prepares to leave
Unconsciously, his hand
slips toward his scabbard,
his thoughts to future glory;
nobility and riches
when the deed is done.
On his left temple
A single vein throbs,
Purple
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Purple'
Julies Caesar was murdered on the 15th March (The Ides of March) by his friend Brutus and others. This piece depicts Brutus' final meeting with Caesar, sharing his friendship and wine, but with treachery and murder in his heart
I came to wash away my woe
in the grand and glorious Ganges.
Your wise and wizened eyes
beheld me, held me transfixed
betwixt my anguish and your calm.
The balm of cooling currents
easing dark, troubled soul,
soothing dried, tired skin.
A kinship unforeseen, furnished
from burnished ivory, liquid gaze
The ways of Gods are mystery.
Our histories for centuries entwined -
I find soft succour in your presence,
your essence nourishing, uplifting.
No longer drifting; I am cleansed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was written for an Allpoetry Contest "Amazing Race - Round 2 (Picture theme)"
The Gladiator righteously professes my disdain
Episcopal aloof both sacriligeous and profane
With serpentine precision searing hollow in my brain
Sorrow is sublime, but uneventful
Valentino and his mistresses flamboyantly carouse
With Freudian abandon bring Narcissus to their house
While Cleopatra makes a move on Oedipus' spouse
Plato is suspicious and resentful
Geronimo commands his tribe to dance and pray for rain
Noah shrugs his shoulders and prepares the Ark again
Maupassant protests that he is really not insane
P.T. Barnum just makes sure he has his tent full.
been always there for me
through each long tortuous,
restless, sleepless night
And brightened up the gloom
each time I broke down when
some floozy made my fickle
foolish fragile heart a mess
And yes, 'twas you who kept me
company when no other friends
were there to offer comfort
in my deepest darkest night
But, right now I just feel
That I can't furnish any answers
to your sad fixation with this
fiery, feisty object of your lust
I must point out to you, in fact
that you have chased this hot
and haughty goddess, with no ray of hope
for thousands of millenia now
And how much longer, my pale friend
Can you sail sadly through the night
hoping for a glimpse or sight of she
who always dodges you till dawn?
And ~yawn~ you know it's really late
I don't feel great and need my sleep
I'd love to keep you company but
We both know she'll hide until you're gone
Just one last piece of genuine advice
- there are millions out there who
are twice as nice, and like to hang around
with you, I've even seen them swoon...
So goodnight moon, aw - please don't cry
There's plenty more stars in the sky...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was written for an Allpoetry Contest "Goodnight Moon",
He troubles me, this Nazarene,
His humble words do not accord
with anarchy or insurrection
yet these others call him Lord.
He speaks no hate for Caesar's Rome,
Yet Jews would have me crucify
This man who's calm serenity
Does Judas' calumny belie
Were't not for the Sanhedrin's ire
My Prefecture would stay it's hand
and send this strange but gentle man
to exile in Judaic land
But yet they bay and thirst for blood
"He Blashphemeth", rabble cries
These Jews hold no respect for Rome
Their hatred for Him mystifies
I thought their anger would appease
Once I had sent Him to be scourged
But with His bloody body shown
"He must be crucified" they urged.
I think myself a humane man
I view their bloodlust with distaste
I wash my hands of local laws
But bitterly decry this waste ...
~ ~ ~
And now my days are numbered short
I wander, and my eyes grow dim
I pray to Pluto, as I should ...
And yet my thoughts are fixed on Him
~ ~ ~
This was written for an AllPoetry contest "Close Encounters with Jesus", where the task was to write a rhyming poem in the first person from the perspective of someone who met Jesus, giving their feelings and reactions to the meeting, and to the situation. It won Silver for second placing.
As the transient Age of Violet ends
Indigo child (she has no friends) is seen to be
just wild (ADHD.), tempestuous, stubborn.
She has beautiful clear purple-pea eyes
is sensitive (she cries) but self-assured
creative (that can be cured) but undisciplined
has a mission ( we have our suspicion) and a purpose
she knows but will not share with us
(she doesn't care) where she is going
Self-empowered, psychic, ethereal,
( she doesn't feel ) unaffectionate,
dodges hugs ( is she on drugs? )
She won't conform, she hates routine
( she's just being mean ) and sees the better way
She waits ( I think she hates us ) patiently
For the Age of Indigo.
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Indigo'
In the sorrow of your smile I wandered for a while wistful, wishful, heart-concealed in the bitter of your tear I washed away my fear flesh and spirit nakedly revealed
To the silver of your speech I listen, as you teach wisdom pouring from your honey-lip in the comfort of your breast I lay my soul to rest as deep into oblivion I slip
From the golden of the dawn is your sleeping beauty drawn the soft perfection of the waking sun in the amber of your eyes I find, to my surprise the joy and sorrow of the world are one
Her beauty undiminished
tho' she believes it tarnished
by the ravages of time.
Her unquenched spirit a beacon
banishing life's mundanity to shadow,
eyes shining with a childs mirth
twinkled with her impish wisdom.
Lifting me from cynical indecision
To this happy certainty:
that while we journey as one
we are shielded from adversity
by her fearless positivity.
And by her smile.
And all the while
she doesn't realise
her enduring beauty
Gifts of celestial truths
he brings to them,
charts, orbits, trajectories
- order and meaning
to the chaos
that is
the cosmos.
Long years observing,
plotting, deducing,
concluding
re-constructing
God's universe
for those whose eyes
would never see
further than their
misconceptions.
Magisterium,
by way of gratitude
remove freedom,
God-given rights.
Father of Science,
strident follower
of trails of stars,
now trails strides
between portals
in prison-home
Bereft of confiscated
tools of Science,
nightly seated
by high barred window
intent on Tuscan night sky.
Eyes dart to locate
Sirius, Jupiter, Mars.
Memory telescopes,
repaints the universe
in all of its celestial majesty.
An AllPoetry contest entry, the theme "Telescope"
Galileo Galilei, known as the Father of Science, was a scientist and
astronomer, whose theories on heliocentricity ( earth revolving around
the Sun, rather than vice versa ) led to his being put under house
arrest by Pope Urban VIII .
Rome's Eagle, head of Melqarth
adorn these shekels of Tyre.
The legal price of a slave,
marked for purchase of sacrifice
but handed out for infamy.
Pale argentate moons lie randomly,
scattered in tormented anguish
by perdition's fated son
upon the floor of the temple
whence they treacherously came.
Silvery spring sun detects
metallic glint from halter buckle
swinging from a desolate bough,
reflects the lustre of thirty Tyre shekels
The price of a Potters field grave.
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
( The 30 pieces of silver offered to Judas for his betrayal was significantly the purchase price of a slave. A despairing Judas threw back the shekels before hanging himself with a halter - the coins were subsequently used to purchase him a Potters Field grave )
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Silver'
You, you who wage this war
spatter children in the rubble
piss on your conquered enemy
torture and humiliate your captives
speak lightly of 'collateral damage'
while pieces of families
are fumbled from crumbled concrete
Consider this.
You are an accident of your birth.
It caused your allegiance to your country,
to the fundamentalism of your religion,
to a taught hatred of an enemy
whose birthright is also accidental
who hates and wants to kill you
because of where you live
and the God you believe in.
Strip away your flag.
Remove your pious garb.
Forget for a moment
Your ancestral dead.
Unconsidered by the scornful young,
Who's eyes see only crimson, black and white;
Feared by the world-weary aging
To them a symbol of their mortal plight.
I am the shade of sense and reason
of tolerance and compromise -
Grey areas, which most ( whose narrow spectrum
shows but vivid colours ) despise.
I am the hue of contemplation,
The colour of the mighty sea at night
I am the shadow where events too
dangerous or nefarious to take place in light
are enacted by the courageous and the lost.
The dusk where clandestine lover's tryst
Unveils true beauty without distraction of surround
Enhanced with only ethereal mist.
I am the flawed or genius cell inside your brain,
the formless grey miasma of your dream.
I am the ash to which one day you will return
When tincture fades, and shades of grey redeem
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Grey'
All leading toward
this unfamiliar place
sharing space with
strangers with names.
Hearty
hallos
in halls.
Hollow.
Next Friday
they will
toast his health
tell bawdy
half-remembered
stories, badly.
Exaggerate his
achievements.
Present him with
their heartfelt gift
( travel vouchers
he will never use -
he has no heart for travel
since he lost her.
How would they know? )
Monday
the alarm will ring.
He will turn it off
one final time.
He will accept
well meant
invitations
to future
Friday frolics.
Until
one Friday
the strangers
will have no names.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was an entry for an Allpoetry contest where the prompt was the line "strangers with names", and won the Bronze trophy for 3rd place in the contest
They need our lies -
our reconstruction
of the fables
is what keeps them
hanging on to
the dream
The faithful.
Bless 'em.
Follow us
on the
fast-track
to Heaven
They swallow it all
- transubstantiation
( literally...)
the whole
omnipotent
omniscient and
omnipresent God
trichotomy
explained
expertly,
excursively...
ethically
morally
mystically
Divine Mystery
Say it often enough, it acquires substance
Two thousand years of repetition
create an article of faith most absolute
for those in fervent need of absolution
We make the world
a better place
as fear of Hellfire
and damnation
( did I mention 'Vengeful?' )
keep them in check -
a docile flock
the Good Shepherd
ensures
the silence
of the lambs
So we will continue
to fire our canon
at the ninety-nine
who suckle on it's
outpourings
perpetuated by this
Papal Bull.
Ah... Men...
~~~~~~~~~~~
This was an entry for an AllPoetry Contest "Take a step back ( Round 2 )" http://allpoetry.com/contest/2374596 and won Gold for 1st place
Thanks
For making me feel that my weaknesses
are part of my boyish charm
For lending me your arm
When my excesses get the better of me
For beaming your pride at my triumphs
And withering those who would demean them
For picking me up from my failures
Moulding them into moral victories
Thanks
For fashioning two precious daughters
from the warmth of our passion
Somehow passing me the credit
When all that was required of me
Was to love those images of you
Who, swathed in your young mother love
Knew nothing but to return bubbling affection
while my heart burst with pride
Thanks
For filling me with youth when I'm old
Finding the boy in the weary man
For blinding me with beauty
Which is no reflection of the past
But a new and vibrant vision
The pictured lover of my dreams
Beside me when I wake each day
A startling and a wond'rous reality
Thanks
Liquid eyes as dewdrops
on pinkening petal-cheeks
lips suffused, smolder with promises ;
intoxicating fragrances
permeate sepal, buds, corolla
of this exquisite Celtic bloom
The sanguine Spanish sun,
accustomed ever to smile upon
a well-stocked rose bed of it's own
reflects the radiant glory of an Irish rose
nurtured by it's balmy bounty
and has the grace to blush.
~~~~~~~~~
I am from Ireland, and this was written to my wife, whose beauty flourished and was burnished exotic in the warm and splendid Spanish sun - the fiery beauty of Spain, in its turn, was enhanced by her presence.
Sometimes you need to transplant a rose to a sunnier place to realise how very beautiful it is.
Never terribly
far away, they
clamour constantly
to make their
presence felt..
Suppressed,
repressed,
bubbling
just below
the surface,
they jeer this
veneer of
stolid, solid
middle-aged
respectability
"Hush", I tell them
this is not
the time nor place
to show your face
and we are not
as young as
we once used to be
I guess
I'd always
just assumed
that they would
fade away and die
dissolving with
the remnants of
my long-lost
misspent youth
But no, they tease
and taunt and pester,
these ghosts of
rampant yesteryear.
"Someday", I promise,
"I will let you
out to play again".
And then, By God,
let the world beware...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was written for an Allpoetry Contest "Where the Wild Things Are"
They have been among us
for some time now
You could have passed
any of them in the street...
Discrete, they have been waiting, waiting
they flex an occasional muscle
independantly devastating
a portion of humanity
communicating transcendentantly
to apportion synchronicity
each one having wrought
a limited, controlled vengeance
without thought of consequence
cold, purposeful malevolence
Preying on the weak
playing on the weakness
of the lowest of mankind
to further bind their vile finality
our reality is that in a while, soon
they will fashion soul's destruction
Our sole defence is to commune
the forces of collective compassion
to pit the milk of human kindness
against mounted apocalyptic horses
and enemies of man, long recounted...
War
Pestilence
Famine
Death
P.J. Murphy
(c) 2005
My beautiful daughter Nycola married Marc, the love of her life, last Friday, August 21 2009.
I will be using this post to share video and photo moments from the day
So far, I have uploaded a 5-minute video of wonderful moments from the church ceremony, recorded and edited by Nyc's talented cousin Paul O'Brien, and a really poignant slideshow of magical moments captured by Paul's sister Linda. Also there is Cathal Beale's hilarious speech/poem, a clip of Nyc and the bridesmaids on stage for "The Promise", and a clip of their first dance, to "At Last".
August 28 - added a (very) amateur attempt to make a video montage from some of the snaps supplied by guests, with The Shins "New Slang" as backing track.
August 30 - added a clip of Marc standing in on drums for Jimi Hendrix' "Fire" with the fantastic "White Chocolate".
Sept 2 - added the brilliant "White Chocolate" first dance to T.Rex "20th Century Boy".
Sept 2 - added clips from Nyc & Marc Wedding - Part Deux, the fantastic session on the 'day after', featuring Cathal Beale's definitive version of Kings of Leon "Sex on Fire", and Phil's magical headbanging to the band's rendition of Rage Against the Machine "In the Name Of".
Sept 4 - added my "Father of the Bride" speech. Reluctantly.
Sept 5 - added another slideshow "I only have eyes for you"
Just scroll down to get into da groove....!
~~~
Paul O'Brien's video moments:
If you can't see the embedded video above, you can watch this on YouTube at Nycola and Marc Wedding moments with Arcade Fire "Wake Up"
~~~
Paul's sister Linda compiled a fantastic photo montage, in a video with Ben Folds "The Luckiest" as the background music. If this doesn't spring a tear to your eye, you have no soul! Linda captured exactly what Nycola and Marc wanted, unposed and natural images, with a gorgeous soundtrack. We've had to have the mop handy everytime this has been shown to family and friends.
Again, if the embedded video doesn't display correctly, you can view the slideshow on MySpace at Nycola and Marc's Wedding - photo slideshow with Ben Folds "The Luckiest". This one comes with a warning - watch alone, and with a full pack of Mansize tissues.
~~~
At the reception, Nycola and the bridesmaids ( minus poor Sinead who had sustained a photo-opportunity leg injury early in the day ) threw some shapes to Girls Aloud's "Promise", this is a short clip of their slick moves:
If this doesn't display properly, you can see it at this Nycola and Bridesmaids dance to "Promise" YouTube link.
~~~
This is the happy couple's first dance as husband and wife:
Any problem, view it on YouTube at Nycola and Marc's Wedding - First Dance (At Last)
I made my first attempt at creating a Windows Movie Maker Video using edited photos I got from some of the guests, with The Shins "New Slang" as the backing track:
Get it direct from YouTube on Nycola and Marc Wedding: guests photos
~~~
Marc (Harvey) rocking it out on drums with the best wedding band EVER - White Chocolate with a cover of "Fire" by Jimi Hendrix.
The YouTube video link is Nycola and Marc wedding - Marc drumming with White Chocolate~~~
One of the songs on Nyc & Marc's signature wedding CD was The Flamingoes "I only have eyes for you". You have been playing the CD, havent' you??! Hopeless romantic that I am, I made a short video which tries to capture their 'special moments', with this song as the backing track. My 2nd attempt at Movie Maker, with photos supplied from Linda, Eileen, Liz, Marion and Sara. Keep the hanky handy...
Unfortunately the YT thought police seem to have blocked this, if the embedded video above doesn't play,
YouTube it here' Nycola and Marc - I only have eyes for you with a string version of the song which managed to get past the filter-monkeys.
~~~
Cathal, one of Marc's groomsmen had the crowd in stitches with his contribution to the speeches - a poem celebrating the many good times they've shared over the years:
This is the text of Cathal's speech
~~~
I have to say, I've had really nice feedback on my own speech, despite the fact that I had Elvis "Shake-a-ma-leg" syndrome, and I was never gonna be able to put in words how magical it has been to be Nycola's father all of these years, nor how delighted I am that she chose Marc as her husband. But... embarrassing as it may be, this is what it sounded like:
Again, it's on YouTube at Nycola and Marc wedding - Father of the Bride speech
~~~
The wedding band "White Chocolate" were a huge hit with all guests young and old, from the first song the crowd hit the dancefloor, and never sat down again! This is the band playing their opening song, a brilliant cover of T.Rex's "20th Century Boy".
This clip is available on YouTube at: Nycola and Marc Wedding - White Chocolate play T.Rex "20th Century Boy"
~~~
As is the trend these days, it was a two-day wedding celebration. After brunch at the hotel, and ( for most ) an afternoon snooze, we'd organized a musical extravaganza for the Saturday night in the Wicked Swan, with Blue Moose providing the mainstay of the music, and multiple guest appearances by the hugely musically talented friends of the bride and groom.
Here is Cathal (again) giving Kings of Leon a run for their money with his rendition of "Sex On Fire":
Any problems, check it out on YouTube - Cathal rocks "Sex on Fire"
~~~
And, of course, the night wouldn't have been comple without Phil headbanging to "Rage" - 'In the name of'. Video clip courtesy of Becky ( just passing the blame here... )
Any problems viewing this, just go to the YouTube link at: Phil rocks Rage Against The Machine "In The Name Of..."
"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference." Elie Wiese
feigning oblivion
to sprawled
lifeless lumber,
fallen, felled
Our limbs loft
rigidly erect
proud, aloof,
upstanding
we gaze skyward,
haughtily avoid
awkward vista of
wretch stretched
uncouthly oozing
sap solution
over our exclusive
deep-pile carpet
If anyone
asks...
we heard
Nothing.
( If a tree fell
in the forest
and everyone
pretended
not to notice,
would it
make a sound?
Are bears
catholic?
Does
the pope
shit
in the
woods? )
Triumvirate Deity, exalted by Zeus,
Hekate Queen of Ghosts am I,
Goddess of moonlight and magick,
Protectress of the wilderness
In Phrygia and Lagina
devout acolytes pay homage yet;
the lost and the swollen pray
for safe deliverance; safe delivery
Favouring ever my faithful,
sorcerers and necromancers
beseech favour: howling hounds
herald my intercessions
Wary traveller lost, receives
Divine guidance at crossed road,
Titan torch throws illumination
to light the righteous path
Queen of the Night, traversing
that precipice betwixt the worlds;
nourished by obeisant offerings
lost souls I steer to Hades' haven
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
encouragingly
tho fragile
I have
not yet
cracked...
despite
scrambling clear
of a dozen
sizzling
attempts
including
some near-miss
crack squad
shell attacks
out of the firing line
into the (friendly) fire
bubbling in hot water,
hard-boiled
sitting ducks lay, while
the chicken's safe in it's coop
but
this will not
be over easy
Mister Bush
I am the egg man
There's a one-legged man
You have the war lust
goo goo g'joob...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was written for an Allpoetry Contest "Egg"
Through the heavy clouds of grief
The melodies still find their way
The voice ageless, sweet, comforting
The songs, old, familiar friends
Lifting heavy hearts in the long days
Lulling loved ones to weary sleep at night
The glittering trophies reflect the joy
In the hearts of all who heard her sing
And the deep pride of her loving family
Her rock of support for each performance
Marked with hushed respect while she enthralled
And rapturous applause when song was ended
'Sunrise, Sunset', 'Sweet Sixteen',
'When I grow too old to dream'
'Yidisha Mama', 'Summertime', 'Croce Di Oro'
Old songs, classic songs, sung by many
But imbued with her innocence of youth
And wisdom of age, assumed a new and vibrant life
Her family was her world, and now her legacy
Fine people, kind-hearted and compassionate
Filled with her spirit, strength and courage
Her music, the expression of her love for them
Truth rang timeless in every breath of her singing
It's echoes resound as long as there are memories
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For Nan Cullimore (my late mother-in-law), her spirit and her voice live on.
fingers pluck strings
soft he sings of
the things to come
bass notes hum low
with drumming sound
his queen crowned by
profound love rhyme
in waltz-time with
sublime soft voice
that his choice may
rejoice, her knight
croons of night tryst
by light of moon
they will soon be
in tune, as one.
This was written for an Allpoetry Contest "Climbing Rhyme", and won the Gold Trophy
Inert gases
tout tawdry
titillations
Illuminate
paved paths
to hellish
haunts
Bad intentions
in sin soaked
stagnant pond
Lurid
invitations
dazzle -
guzzle,
gamble
drink,
debauch...
illicit felicity,
fun and frolic
unfurled in
neon netherworld
~~~
Disenchanted
denizen
forges Ford
forward
- final glance
at pallid promises -
- Gomorrah still
glows gaudy
Firefly flits,
points pathway
to reality,
to civilized
enlightenment
In rear-view
mirror
Babylon
burnishes
fainter,
ever
fainter
Along with
it's
delusive
dreams
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was written for an Allpoetry Contest "Errant Panther's Race - Round 3"
Pressing onward
through unbreathable
crystallized air
- feeling in
most limbs
long disappeared
Lower digits
blackened, inside
thick snowboots
- gangrenous concerns
pushed to back
of numbed
consciousness
Team-spirit
the driving force
- the team
unfortunately
reduced by one -
interred in icy grave
with scant
frost-hurried
ceremony
Ultimate destination
still several
hundred miles away
but driven, like this
frozen, solid air,
forced by Arctic winds
into reluctant,
pneumonic lungs,
they trudge
northward
Thoughts of home
- wives, children,
parents, friends -
pushed to backs of
tired, demented minds
focused on the quest
to forge claim to
a barren wilderness
- for a country
and a world
who could not care less..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was written for an Allpoetry Contest "Moraine and Poganip", and won the Gold Trophy for first prize
www.pjmurphypoems.blogspot.com
fondly imagining
it gave him
an attitude;
a mark of maturity
placing him
apart from
those kids
he'd outgrown;
he stroked it
meditatively,
imagined how
the girls
would be impressed
at it's splendour.
lost in
lascivious thought,
oblivious to
the knob
turning
on the
bathroom door
started at
his brother's
sardonic voice -
"what's with
the bum-fluff
... dork?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was written for an Allpoetry Contest "Face Down"
There is an angel balanced on my toe
my leg is taut and aches so much.
But I cannot ask her just
to go. I do wish she might
be just a little bolder -
after all it's not such
a long distance flight to reach
my shoulder.
Beside my ear, such a handy spot
to make the purpose of her visit
clear. And it's pretty much where
you'd expect her to perch
if only to be circumspect.
She'd also be a lot less prone to
topple if one suddenly were
to lurch .
As well one might.
It's not that it is such a
very common sight - an Angel
perched on one's lower digit.
Giving rise to this strange and sudden
urge to fidget. Oh, at last, she's moving,
now perhaps I can ask about my
present, and my past .. and what's ahead
Oh God...
I'm dead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was written for an Allpoetry Contest "Angel Balanced on my Toe"
In endless shadow
between the Caucasus
and the Black Sea
are we, Brem and Bolg
Gimirri, royalty.
Conquerors of Lydia,
of mighty Phrygia
and it's Golden King,
we ride tirelessly
under obsidian sky
Our ebon steeds from
Hades fires freed
with raven feathers plumed.
No need have we
for Helios' ray
In doleful day
and pitchblack night
we wage our wars
and rule, where onyx
masters gold.
Note:
This was a contest entry in an AllPoetry contest, theme was "Cimmerian Night"
God's beauty over timeless tabled mountain
Spectrum colours burst in bright magnificence
A stunning skyscape charged with prism splendour
But somewhere stirs a half-remembered promise...
A token of a Covenant, sign of a Deity No more will Nature's aqueous power be deployed for destruction, anguish, death and devastation - where now this Contract, this Divine benign Treaty?
Was some expiry date in smallest print disguised? In Illinois, New Orleans, South East Asia forlorn faithful pore through dampened Bibles For Heaven's indemnity of solemn promise broken
I have tried to write my life's story
dynamically, as it unfolds
from early childhood memories
Warm and cossetted, cold and scared
through aching adolescence
with hopes and dreams
First loves, lifelong friends
and shatterred illusions
then adult years, struggles and drudgery
joys of true love, new adventures
Unbounded miracles of fatherhood
with all of it's accompanying terrors
A work-in-progress, no rush to final chapter
I hope for many pages yet to flow
but "I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils"
No editorial control on these flowing lines
but pushed by unseen force to write this chronicle
with no eraser, no choice to reconstruct
events a Cosmic Author has prescribed
And as the graphite, piece by piece is broken
and the pencil pared to useless stub
I know the inevitable hour will come
A new pencil sharpened for a new page
Another narrative, another voyage
( Entered for a 'Stolen Lines' contest )
(c) P.J. Murphy, 2005
They handed me the bundle,
I took it gingerly
Oblivious to the throbbing
of pain-crushed fingers
"It's a boy" the nurse said,
"... I think you'll find it's not"
I deigned to challenge
Her gynaecological expertise
Umbilical confusion sorted,
I gazed in awestruck wonder
and unparalleled joy
at the pink, splotched
wriggling beauty,
cossetted in my protective arms,
crowned with night-black hair
that was my daughter
I know that there were many
important, sad and tragic events
In 1980. The world lost
John Lennon, Steve McQueen
Hitchcock, Durante, Sartre,
Mae West, Jesse Owens....
I just remember that I
gained the world. And was reborn.
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Black - the ebon shade, the anti-shade
to some a portentous and an ominous hue
doleful, funereal, depressing
Casting sinister and sullen thoughts
In minds where light has been excluded
To others the contrast against which
life's palette gains a new black-magic glow
Obsidian stars, an impish onyx moon
Dark skies filled with sable cloud
Mysterious beauty on a pitchblack night
To all, a moment's fraction ere the universe began
When all was raven-black and tranquil
Soundless and eternal nothingness
Interrupted by savage and spectacular explosion
A dazzling beauty, only by immortals seen
And raucous life,
With splendid spectrum colours
From blackest dark
Was born
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Black'
Bloodied but unbowed
he licks his wounds
bruised and bleeding
from earlier skirmishes
appraises his diminished resources
in readiness for new assaults
No respite forthcoming
his foe rapidly renews attack
fashioning what could be
the final, mortal blow
a salvo fired, not in anger
but in smug assurance of victory
He stares into the vacant eyes
of this inhuman adversary
shark's eyes, cold, unfathomable
devoid of caring or compassion
pale glow of predatory compulsion
to devour the weak and lame
His gut churns nauseously
primal fight-or-flight mechanisms
unbidden, unconsciously deploy,
rush of blood gushes to throbbing heart
sinews twitch and dance inside
he fights to outwardly project bravado
His hour has come, his last hurrah
he breathes a mouthless, silent prayer
to fickle Gods for just one more indulgence.
A final check on his weaponry -
One Bullet, one Hook, two Clubs
And howls again his clarion war cry...
"ALL-IN!!"
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: I am a passionate, and moderately successful gladiator in the glorious battleground that is No Limit Texas Hold'em Poker. For the uninitiated, Bullet means Ace, a hook is a Jack, All-in means you are betting all of your remaining chips. For the short-stacked player, going all-in on an Ace/Jack of Clubs is a typical example of attack being the best form of defence. This was first posted on Allpoetry.com
My two 'Helen of Troy's
( .. the spit of their mother )
She smoothly decoys
( .. she makes up wonderful stories )
Box full of toys
( .. asleep at last! )
Absence of noise
( .. Ah, blessed silence... )
A lover's sure poise
( ..God, she's beautiful )
To hell with the boys
( ..I can play poker anytime )
Play the songs she enjoys
( ..I love her so much )
My bringer of joys
( ..I could watch her forever )
..Wrapped in turquoise
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Turquoise'
He speaks to her pathetically of his father-love,
Seeking her forgiveness for his regal lunacy
No answer from her once-honey lips returns
while salt tears nestle in his tawny beard
Still dampened from the aureated waters of the Pactolus.
He reaches to touch her once-flaxen hair
She doesn't flinch or brush his hand away
Accusingly she stares, silent, unfathomable
Her gilded eyes, created by this alchemist,
Their lustre mirrored in this lavish surround -
Grotesque golden garden of a greedy Phrygian King
To Dionysus, God of life-force, he stumbles a prayer,
To return him to that time before his avaricious folly
That she would not be doomed to stare at him forever.
The Golden Child stirred, dimmed luminescence, roses red again
And Midas touched her caramel cheek and wept.
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Gold'
High-backed walnut chair sits empty
Mahogony rolltop desk with
Sepia parchment blank, unblemished
Henna ink drying on rusting bronze nib
Beige curtains, fawn carpet for restfulness
Earthenware mug of coffee gone cold
Ginger Nuts and Chocolate fingers
Inviting but unbitten, await
The fugitive's return.
Mise-en-scene complete, but he
Sits by a toasty bar-room turf fire,
Amber bottles strewn around
In a brown study.
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Brown'
She stands there yet
Ashen, immobilised
Sees only iridiscent flash
Feels still the blast of white-heat
Hears angel’s warning, echo
Unrelenting down the foggy years
Yearns for her family
Long departed
Sheds a salt tear
Unnoticed
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
( Ildeth, to the best of my knowledge and research, was the name of Lot's wife, who was turned to a 'pillar of salt' for turning to look back at the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, despite the Angel's warning )
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'White'
Sanguine sun slowly sinks
Behind the copper dunes.
Marooned in a crimson sky
Bloodshot clouds grimace angrily
Or coquettishly blush their shame -
my Titian companion sprawled
Nakedly beside me, my scarlet woman
Her flaming hair triumphantly
Tossed upon the salmon sands
Her pink skin roseate in
Dusk's vermillion glow.
Presently the last ruby rays
Will flicker thru a terracotta haze
And inflamed passion sated,
She will go.
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Red'
Navigating with
unfathomable radar
journey's end
in certain death
against all odds
surfing salt Pacific sea
urgent instinct leads
to clear crystal streams
fight raging currents
onward furiously threshing
leaping Nature's obstacles
with Olympian finesse
"Journeys end
In lovers meeting"
eggs and milt
in Redd coalesce
continuity of species
assured, they await
the seaward journey
of their young smolts
( destined to continue
blueprinted Salmon pattern )
..and safely home,
cosmic purpose fulfilled
intrepid heros die
This was an entry for an Allpoetry.com contest with the theme 'Salmon'
Pacific salmon, spawned in fresh water rivers, find their way to sea, where they may remain for some years, but unerringly find their way back to their original freshwater home, fighting mighty battles to reach their estuary, and swimming upstream against the river's current - they spawn, and then die. Science is still baffled by the why and the how of this phenomenon
(c) P.J. Murphy, 2005
Brick-red
with embarrassment
He stood at my door.
Holding flowers for my daughter
sweetmeats for her mother...
for me, only effusive politeness
( though I did appreciate
the superhuman efforts made
in this obviously unfamiliar territory ).
Herself, fashionably late
adding to his discomfort,
I, taking pity, opened musical conversation.
Patently surprising him
with my knowledge and appreciation
of Incubus, Greenday, Primus,
we arranged exchange of latest releases.
He, more comfortable now,
relaxed, healthy pallor
returning to his cheeks.
The Vision appeared,
conversation stemmed mid-flow.
Goodbyes and pleasantries hastily exchanged
as he escorted her to waiting carriage.
Brick-red with pride.
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Brick-Red'
Like fledgling flamingos they roll
blushing, giggling, playful.
Nearly-naked, clothes strewn anywhere
they play their new-lovers games.
Tawny limbs in impossible tangles,
rolling over obstacles unnoticed
as they traverse the coral seas
of the once pure woolen carpet -
- a salmon canvas for their abstract art.
Skins carnation blush as rush of blood
Flushes to populate the vessels of erogeneity
carmine lips nibble fleshy lobe
Laughter uncontrolled, unrestrained
a cacophony as pink bodies squirm and writhe
presently the laughing will subside
as Rosy Nature urges solemn lusty purpose
Lights go up
the freeze-frame shows
two flamingos
Tickled pink.
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Pink'
For more than a score of decades
In dusty Xian they guarded him faithfully
protecting him as he had planned
this boy, this emperor
The Unifier of all under Heaven
architect of a Great Wall
Preparing his immortality
At twelve tender years
gathering this imperial army -
soldiers, horses, chariots
marshalled in preparation
for the impending death
of the King of Qin
Now in a Shaanxi mausoleum
curious visitors throng
to the unearthed tomb of Qin Shi Huang
gaze with half-interested tourist eyes
on this defeated terracotta army.
The mighty fearsome custodians of
China's first all-powerful ruler
Toy soldiers of a long dead child.
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of colour-themed contests (this one being Terracotta) on Allpoetry.com. When Qin Shi Huang's mausoleum was discovered, there was an army of full-sized Terracotta soldiers, horses, chariots buried with him in the tomb, which now constitutes a museum at Shaanxi province, Xian, China.
(c) P.J. Murphy, 2005
www.pjmurphypoems.blogspot.com
I placed the moon in my pocket
( My heart glowed suspiciously
pale in the darkening night )
When no-one was looking I stole
a whole constellation of stars
( for that subtle touch of concealed light )
Surreptitiously fitted on Saturn's rings
while, keeping her tryst, Lovely Venus,
had brought me her most precious things,
( we briefly kissed )...
Slipped the planet Mars
into an unobtrusive carrier bag
( I planned on painting the town red )
Mercury made me a present of his wings
created a momentary planned diversion
( pretending he was scared of heights )
to disguise the fact that I was borrowing
all the glowing lights of the city streets
( a jaunty neon halo for my head )
No-one seemed particularly to notice
the flamboyant fluffy feathered coat of indigo
Which I'd had tailored and fitted by Seraphim
from the nimbus clouds and the night sky
Nor the meteor shower chain-and-pendant
glowing fiery on my cherubic throat
( I'd grabbed it deftly, swiftly as it tried to hurtle by )
All in all, for this neo-angelic man
things were going celestially to plan
It was undoubtedly
going to be,
literally,
eternally
MY NIGHT....
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for an Allpoetry.com contest
My love she is a seraphim
immaculate, unblemished, pure -
visions of her alabaster skin
nourish like mother's milk.
A lamb in white wolf's clothing,
I howl at her pearly gates
for just one lightning glimpse of
that porcelain profile,
that champagne hair of sheerest silk,
that frosted ivory smile....
But she bids me not enter.
Do I charge these nacre gates
Crashing down her chalked pillars -
a White Knight astride his snowy steed
claiming his gleaming trophy?
Or remain forever frozen and forlorn
transparent, cowardly, defeated
Brandishing my flag
of Surrender?
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'White'
Memory of paschal purple.
Fat candle lit on lenten alter.
Pennies for St. Anthony's box
and light a candle for a soul.
Glow of piety tastes sweeter
than the sacrificed confections
Stations of the cross
feeling the pain of the thorns
on this poor scourged Man
The weight of the wood
bearing heavy on 9-year-old shoulders
as I fall for a third time
Confession in the drab mornings
early before school
Purge the dastardly sins.
Lies, deceit and disobedience,
selfishness and greed
He died for these,
for my transgressions
Palm strewn church entrance
"Hosanna in the highest..."
but I know how this will end
Why do they celebrate?
Wednesday's heinous betrayal
leading to that calamitous Friday
Kiss the feet on the cross
return to kneel and pray
Wait until the crowd has gone
Perhaps they'll find me dead here
my pure soul ascended straight to heaven
Like the story the nun's told
Easter Sunday - he has risen!
Triple mass - two stoic hours
No hurry home for Easter eggs
I know that my redeemer liveth
and sins are banished
and souls are cleansed
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
What would Jesus have to say ...
about a world where wealth is king
compassion a forgotten thing
where powermongers rant and lie
and somewhere else their victims die
Aids and Famine ravage lands..
they fill their avaricious hands
pay lip-service to the ones in need
while worshipping the fruits of greed
Their war-chests with no questions filled
ensure more innocents are killed
diseased young children gasp for breath
but money must be spent on death
Remember, God is on our side
forget about the ones who've died
... I know exactly what He'd say..
"It's all my fault
For not calling a halt
to that whole goddamn
Crucifixion"
Note: This was an entry ( http://allpoetry.com/Poem/1326215 ) for an AllPoetry.Com competition on the subject of AIDS/Third World poverty.
Please don't take the final lines as profanity, they are merely a personal vision of the frustration of a Son of God who might wonder why He gave up His life to save the world, only to look down now on a world which doesn't give-a-shit. There is a line in the Bible where Christ says "Suffer little children to come unto me....". I really don't think this is what he meant.
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Somewhere else the payload scatters
pre-emptive, or perhaps reprisal
no malice toward the shattered humanity
just 'assuring our survival'
The weeping and gnashing of the few fragmented teeth
fail to come to our attention
obscured by the Simpsons and the seven o clock news
- where it doesnt get a mention
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Funny thing is, I'd never even tasted it,
but Chartreuse was the first thing that came to mind,
looking up in my half-awakened state
at four or five yellow-green translucent beings
seeming to hover over the metallic table on which I lay.
Sounds ( presumably voices )
in a pitch I couldn't quite pin down -
vibrato, sometimes off the scale completely
but with a benign, not hostile tone.
My body numb, but not hospital-numb,
more a 'too much green liquor' floating sensation.
Futuristic diodes pointing fading honey-lime light
at various parts of my anatomy
indicated probing of some kind had taken place,
though I felt no pain or discomfort.
And their soothing Carthusian monk-chant
sounded like they were concerned, caring
... Anyways, there was an explosive firework sensation,
next thing I'm back in my car at the side of the road.
Dark as pitch, but somehow a tinge of luminous green
seeming to emanate from me, but fading.
Of course, no-one believed me, still don't,
so I don't talk about it anymore.
But since you asked, I had to explain
that I keep this bottle
for remembrance, not consumption.
Won't you have something else instead?
Creme-de-Menthe? Benedictine?
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Chartreuse'
Betweeen the devil and the cobalt sea
I seem dismally to be.
Bawdy, ribald obscenities hide
disconsolate, melancholy thoughts.
Though I've cried
'till I'm gorgonzola in the face,
never in a sapphire moon
will you agree to take your place
as my "something borrowed" bride.
As your preference is to swoon
over those ultra marine and navy guys.
I gaze with peril into those
averted forget-me-not eyes
and sadly whisper
"...Beryl"
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2005
Note: This was a tongue-in-cheek entry for one of a series of AllPoetry.Com contests, where the themes were colours ( this one being Blue )
www.guitarsongs.info
In another town, another country
She sits, cross-legged on the parquet
Smiling as she reads an email from her son
on the laptop he bought for her birthday
Presently she'll go out to the porch,
read a book, put her earphones on
He wonders if she still likes Steinbeck
or plays Cohen, maybe Doctor John
In a corner of her memory
do they still walk that raindrenched pier?
In a corner of her heart is there a flame,
In a corner of her eye a budding tear?
For that frozen moment when the Gods
Capricious, callous and perverse
Decree a storm of words, a thunderbolt
Thus sundering the universe
He doesn't know her mail address
Her son's called Ben, or is it Steve?
He could look her number up, I guess
But what the hell would that achieve?
Slice of life from another time
Before the new world would begin
Are her memories still shrinkwrapped
Or grown stale and powder-thin?
In another parallel existence
Are their hands and destinies entwined
In some futuristic astral plane
Is her soul with his aligned?
Do I really need this signpost on love's highway
This beacon over ardour's ocean
This festival of passion's patron saint
to remind me that I love you?
My love for you is eternal
Conceived at eyes first meeting
Fanned by loves young flames
Burnished by your radiant beauty
Grown more, as my child-woman bride
then child-mother, constant by my side
Our love defeating all life's challenges
Soaring upon it's many triumphs
I know it as my truth that I will love you
All through this life and beyond...forever...
However... I proudly, loudly say
I Love You, on this St. Valentine's Day
P.J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy 2002
Give 'em up?
Can you not see
that every fibre of my being
clamours for this cigarette?
Do you think I choose
to take my place
in the New Minority
-with Ireland's New Age Lepers?
My once cosy perch
on society's ladder
now hovering precariously
in this bitter wind
Three rungs up
from miscreant priests
one down from
smug corrupt bureaucrats
No, stand with me here
in the sleet and the shame, my friend.
Then remind me again
That I choose to smoke
P. J. Murphy
(c) P.J. Murphy Jan 2005
My website, https://www.guitarsongs.info created as an online songbook in 1999, has grown into a guitarist portal site and hit the 19 million visitor mark in April 2018
On the Guitar Chords Blog www.guitar-chords.blogspot.com I post information relevant to guitarists and site news.
On my Guitar Tips Blog www.guitar-tips.blogspot.com I post mini-lessons and guitar tips for learning guitarists.
I'm also a non-prolific poet - some selected poems on my poetry blog, www.pjmurphypoems.blogspot.com
PJ
