Covenant

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

The moving finger writes...

( Containing a line from Theodore Roethke )

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

Rebirth

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

Note: This was an entry a contest on AllPoetry.Com where the theme was '1980' pjmurphypoems.blogspot.com www.guitarsongs.info

Antishade

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'

Underdog

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

Turquoise

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'

Alchemist

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'

Grown

Up ahead scampering,
newly-begged coins held trophy-like aloft
flight paths locked into their destination
- an emporium of confectionary treasure -
long minutes considering rival treats
of chocolate, ice-cream, penny sweets
brief moments of envious rivalry
before an honourable trade is reached

Coins obsolete, crisp notes now
handed over with mock-begrudgery,
for pampering in hairdresser and beauty parlour
long hours appraising graduation gowns
to grace the arms of lost young brutes
mortified in ludicrous outmoded hired suits
but pride scarlet in their cheeks
as they display their radiant prize.

They've grown.
We have not lost them, only loaned them to the world
and bask in their reflected glow.
We tried to give them all we never had,
yet protect them, keep them happy and secure.
As they walk the high-wire of life's circus
we are their safety-net.
And should they make a life that grants them blessings
only half what we have known,
our work is done, their happiness assured.
They've grown.

P.J. Murphy

Copyright ©2003 P.J. Murphy

Brown Study

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'