Ides of March

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


 

Quietude

dusky
descendants
of quixotic
mutineers

perform
practiced
perfected
polynesian dance

erotic

on soft
Tahitian sand

my hands
drip with dregs
of spilt exotic
citrus

sundried
by lustrous lagoon
insidious
hynotic tune
and rhythm
consume

dancers,
semiclad,
gyrate,

waves lap...


shrill
shriek

shatters
mood of
quietude

Rude
awakening

Rainy
Irish
Monday...

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

www.guitarsongs.info pjmurphypoems.blogspot.com  

Cleansed

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)"

www.guitarsongs.info
pjmurpjmurphypoems.blogspot.com
 

5am Semi-conscious Burlesque

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.


https://pjmurphypoems.blogspot.com

Moonstruck

Moonstruck     P.J. Murphy

Okay, I appreciate that you've

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",  

 www.guitarsongs.info pjmurphypoems.blogspot.com

Treasure

              Treasure        P. J. Murphy

I will place your hand

In his hand,

Step back

To my place of pride,

Hear you proclaim

Those age-old promises

And watch

My baby girl

Become a Bride.

I will shed a tear

For all the days

We laughed and played,

And the nights

I sang your lullabies.

For the myriad memories

Of who we were,

And who we will

Always be.

Daughter. Father.

I will hold your heart

In my heart

While I bless your love,

Your new adventures,

And smile

My happiness for

Your happiness,

And my privilege

To be always in your life

I will not 'give you away'

You own your destiny,

I will proudly escort

A vibrant young woman

Of matchless strength and beauty

As you go forth to claim your world.

And I will keep you safe

In that hallowed place

Where a Father keeps his treasures.

Steerage

 

Steerage      P. J. Murphy

Sailing seas of sideroad sedge

Far from vast tarry ocean

Avast ye denizens of hedge

Beware this cyclic motion

I steer my vessel on it's course

( with checks to port and starboard )

Yell at the sea-cows, till I'm hoarse

This boat must reach it's harbour

Full steam ahead, the coast is clear

All Doldrums navigated

The boat's bell sounds for all to hear

The Captain is awaited.

Now journey's ended, clipper docked

Captain disembarking

Another pleasant voyage clocked,

No pile-ups, tolls or parking...

Praefectus Iudaeorum

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 priests 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
This mob holds 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.