Twelve Angry Men

Twelve Angry Men             P. J. Murphy

* 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 


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Sands of Time

Sands of Time            P. J. Murphy

Run by water's edge
waves crash splashing, playful,
hands held shyly
fingers awkwardly entwine;

Cuddle, kiss,
caresses shared
selfconsciously ;

Barefoot on white sands
two minds plan and plot
a future stretching miles ahead
together...

~ ~ ~ ~

Stroll by water's edge
waves lap languid, lazy,
gleeful grandkids gallop
white horses in cascading crests;

Arms twine tenderly,
around shoulder and waist
protectively ;

Barefoot on white sands
two hearts relive lifelong love
footprints stretching miles behind
...together

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was written for an Allpoetry Contest "Amazing Race - Round 1 ( Relaxation )"


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Sinecure

He remembers a time
when he was the centre
of the circle.

A social hub, a club
close colleagues, no -
more than that -
firm friends...

Spontaneous
sojourns to the pub
on Friday evenings
...just for a quick one.

Rolling home
at Eleven-thirty
bursting with
camaraderie
and a full bladder.

A pleasant institution
in their voluntary
institutionalised
Public Service
sinecure

So hard to
stick a pin
in the point
of change

Drive.
Disillusionment.
Disinterest.
Dismissals.
Dispersals.

Deaths.


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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pjmurphypoems.blogspot.com

Queen of Ghosts

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flamingo Surprise

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'

Cloud Nine Dilemma

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'

Suffer little Children...

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

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The Sorest Loser (with apologies to Roget)

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