Friday, September 30, 2005

Ildeth of Sodom

P.J. Murphy poetry, Ildeth of Sodom. Lots wife, bible

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'

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Tryst

 
 
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'

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Home Sweet Home

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
pjmurphypoems.blogspot.com

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Crimson Beau

 
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'

Friday, September 16, 2005

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'

Friday, September 02, 2005

Toy Soldiers

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

My Night

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

Monday, June 13, 2005

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'

Easter childhood naivete

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

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
http://www.guitarsongs.info/ Guitar Lessons+Guitar Tips+DVD Lessons+Voice Tutor+Piano Lessons

Somewhere else...

 
 
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

In Vino Veritas

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'

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

Time Space Continuum

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?
www.guitarsongs.info

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Cause and Effect

Sodium Bicarbonate
Cimetidine, Bromazepam
There was a time when these
were not a part of what I am 

When gastroscopy might just as well
be probing into space
There was a table of the elements
where Barium had its place 

My bodystore of chemicals
was supplemented only by quantities
of alcohol, nicotine
curry pies and mushy peas...

... and other 'drugs of choice'
a distant voice in some strange dialect
mutters something like ....
'cause... effect..?'

P.J. Murphy

Copyright ©2004 P.J. Murphy
  
  
Website: http://www.guitarsongs.info

Saturday, June 11, 2005

Thoughts on St. Valentine's Day

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

Website: www.guitarsongs.info

Give 'em up?

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