Most pictures and words from Anthony C Murphy

Thursday, 25 October 2012

ODE ON AN AMERICAN UNBORN




Up the 3rd floor of 3rd Street at 4.30 a.m
At the window listening to the neighbourhood
That is not too fried by the gentry
Listen to the outside simmer as it settles for the night
The frustrated howls
The siren’s prowl and blare
The drunken sloppy fights
This co-op pregnant with people
Lying inside
I touch the magic belly again as your mother sleeps
And think I find your head
You flinch
I imagine you rub your eyes like a cute baby human would
You don’t cry
There are no tears where you are
Just you wait…
Anticipation will become expectation
Heavy on your greenstick shoulders
The world will bombard you with choices
Pony Riding Princess Ballerina Astronaut
Nymphomaniac Lesbian Nun
Alcoholic Serial Widow Reformed Evangelical TV Chef Pop Idol
Or all of the above

But don’t worry baby
We won’t care what you do
As long as you can be free
And make it soon

As your Ma's heart continues to burn 

Thursday, 18 October 2012

THIS IS NOT AN ABANDONED VEHICLE




I got a job as a postman
Delivering monarch embossed packages
After shakingly waking rude people at two pm
It was not the done thing
to take a van home
but we drivers did
as the managers had done
Before us
So it happened
When you needed to sneak off to the beach
Or do a spot of shopping
The thing with a Royal Mail trucklet is that they are
Parkable anywhere
Even on the double yellows
We were safe
Police would sometimes commandeer us for this hi vis purpose
And like-minded criminals in their surveillance
So why not ?
I took to using the technique with my own car
And had a sign made that red
And yellow in its liveried elegance
Explained that this
Is not an abandoned vehicle
But rather the Real Mail on official business
And would leave it wherever I ended up 
After that night's rumbunctions
Of course some just cannot read
Present company excepted
As you are here
After all

I still got towed


Tuesday, 16 October 2012

FALL FERMENT

Your cold voice calls at four in the morning
Through the gap I had left for night's stale breath
Before sun or gulls' elemental yawns
You drunkenly whisper of death

And take me with you this rotten harvest
Bury us deep slow the blood in our chests
We sleep 'til spring leans its leaves to the wind
Green in our dreams free of care






Monday, 15 October 2012

THE SECRET IS IN THE MIDDLE


Our secrets centre 
In all mysteries that are living
You may meet monsters
But they are only unfulfilled 
Breeze blown
Gnashing whisperers
So difficult to pin
Still so easily forgotten
In their leaving

WHAT THE DUKES?


GALLUS MAG

She nibbled on my lobe
And whispered
In her brogue
Get out
We have had
Enough
Of you
Oh to be told
By a female
Gawshkogue
It was the rest
That stretched her neck


OLIPHANT CHUCKERBUTTY

A fella named Oliphant Chuckerbutty
Worked in London circa 1920
He was no sandwich hurling pachyderm
As a sensible etymologist may presume
But an organist .....

(Unlike the writer
He pulled out all the stops
Between cinema and church)







Wednesday, 3 October 2012

WHATEVER ATE AN APPLE



In October as the pips fall
Where they May
And the clocks tick backwards
In misty eyed recollection of June
New Yorkshire bathes in a shining sun
And pulls at its blue and white collar
As the sweatrickles race with gravity
Ever on
Wholesome Jeremiah Woebegone puffs out his cheeks
In a close approximation of an anthropomorphic representation
Of the North Wind
And blows the crown of suds from the meniscus on his glass of Brown Ale
Before quaffing an unladylike amount of liquid for such a pretty young thing
It is what it is and has ever been thus and it is very that
He agrees wholeheartedly noncommittal as usual
With the landlord
It’s like, whatever!
Who is used to serving up the usual to the increasingly unusual
But this is a first in any tavern in any town
An overheard use of
Whatever! 
As a dismissive exclamation
And he neglects to write it down
I wouldn’t say the yeoman missed the boat
But he waves a perpetually unclaimed ticket
Soaking all sorts of soppish ideas as he does
Only to wring them out in morning’s drain 







Monday, 1 October 2012

TURTLING THE HUDSON



IN CINNAMINSON


In Cinnaminson, New Jersey
Lies John Thompson Dorrance
The man who invented condensed soup
A constituency to which, one final day, we will all belong
Consistently