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 2005Note: This was an entry a contest on AllPoetry.Com where the theme was '1980' pjmurphypoems.blogspot.com www.guitarsongs.info
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 2005Note: 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 2005Note: 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 2005Note: 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'
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
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 2005Note: This was an entry for one of a series of Allpoetry.com contests with colour themes, this one being 'Brown'
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 2005Note: 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, 2005pjmurphypoems.blogspot.com
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 2005Note: 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 2005Note: 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'
