Most pictures and words from Anthony C Murphy

Tuesday, 27 November 2012



My elder brother turned one year old the day I was born. I don’t remember much about anything then, but later I remember his brown straight hair that was nothing like mine. Mine was golden and curly. I was chubby. He was lean. We were inseparable because I clung to his constantly newfound knowledge like a leech. When he started school we stopped being so close. My mum and dad said that I became difficult around then. They used to lock me in the toilet so that my rages could peter out against the woodchip. I guess that it was for the best. The bathroom hadn’t been decorated since we moved in. When they redid it in purple and all plush I just didn’t have it in me to break things. “You could live in that privy!” my mum’s friend Edith used to marvel...   

Monday, 26 November 2012



Or time in the UK

My only memories are incidences of stress/conflict
And accidental self-inflicted injury
Falling over and what not
Silently tackled by a brother
For a joke, the trippist monk
Slapped drunk by a fatherly cuff and getting locked
Being accident prone was a curse
They could blame it on my calamity
When I had teeth
Breasts were replaced by bottles
I dimly recall -  and they have been
Interchanged ever since

School and failure
it was all about cornflakes, 
tying ties 
making friends 
and spending time with like minded criminals 
in their rooms with smoke
and mirrors and
then flights and girls and booze 
and in the middle of the girls there was a girl with love
and there was a baby..
or two…

Shitty jobs
The leaving of the North by any means possible
Or necessary 
We can make a life down south by the sea
She said 
Selling to my shell like 
We made a go of it 
Or you did
Didn't we?

Divorce and its aftermath 
The cleaving of the cleft 
Needing wisdom from the internal bereft 
Guilt wrung but not wanting to pretend 
To be ignorant of ancestors' ignorance
Sorry loves 
It’s for the best
He has to go
Working for the Royal Mail on the South Coast
Drowning in self 
Drowning in post 
Not thinking I’m thunk yet 
Not thinking 
I'm thunk



Some call me gentile
Some call me infidel
Some call me gadjo
Some call me gaijin
Some call me ting
Some call me monkey
Some call me honky
Some call me gadgie
Some call me scum
Others called me pig
Mother called me son
Sons called me father
Father calls less often
Now I'm in the jig

Thursday, 22 November 2012


I look at the back of your head
And wind blown hair
In front of the trees
On a sunny day in Brooklyn
And you say
It’s greasy today
I haven’t washed it
We eat shrimp that sweats
With wine white in iced
Packs of plastic
And you talk
Into your phone
And enjoy a day out
At last on grass
Then we cycle back
On the thankless track
That new Jacks built
To sweets in your flat
And hours of love
In the face of days without it

Wednesday, 21 November 2012


short film



Johnny Cashback spotted in the 'crowd' at 6:18.

Tuesday, 20 November 2012



The sea is no less inviting today
Seen here from this blue and terrible height
It beckons with white flicks or silver
In flight - flecks of never, undetermined

To wish for the depths seems ridiculous
But dizziness affects more than the feet
A fool’s dancing head on a beach full of
Clouds out of reach is forever ending

Friday, 16 November 2012


Lead me to the berries
For I have only bones
They use me like a floozy
They smoke me to the foam
They bleed me wet and juicy
They try to clip my wings
Yet I fly all day
Raw with luck
And still the syrinx sings
Lead me to the berries

Wednesday, 14 November 2012


Another year relaxes in its embers
We gather for our farewell

Through the months cuckoos have called
You have not heard, I wouldn’t know
Leaves fell off branches, regardless

In the evening sun on a Bandon hill
Still at this familiar hole
I try to think of your face
Taste the earth in the air

Your intake of breath is what I remember
That preoccupied, sucking - yeah!
Peculiar to this parish as you were
We can’t confuse you with mother
You are absent-bodied no more

We came here together apart thirty years
We carried each other once a piece
Me a slapped kid, you in the urn
We shared your winey meals in between
Those blood red beef stews we loved
Stocked full of juice and mushrooms

This is all we had though, moments at dinner
Dirt chewed today is spat tomorrow
My thoughts slip away leaving you
Under mouldering heaps
I head towards laundry and tea
As the moon balls out above the church
All proud through the grasping branches

Tuesday, 13 November 2012


My wife to me then said
I'm tired are you coming to bed
By the glint in her eye
I decided that I
Would rather sleep with a sharp knife instead

from the Murder Limericks by A.C.Murphy, DipLit, Inside Forward, etc... 

 In the way of apology I have this lovely picture that I took some months ago just to offset the awfulness of the whole thing...

Nightly Open Mic Poetry in New York City

Nightly Open MIC Poetry in New York City: I have been searching for venues in Manhattan that put on open Mic nights for poets....

Tuesday, 6 November 2012




Hey Dan!
The Lower East Side is grand
There was a guy on a bench
With his arse and balls hanging out
It was an anatomical cacophony
I have to step over rivulets
Of piss and puke
But not every morning
It’s just like home
You would love it


We walk here
Under the shadow of a rose
Blue skies and no clouds
On Bowery
We look up unlike the locals
Who only wonder why
We hinder their progress
By keeping to our left


Near the north end of Lafayette
Just up by Lt. Petrosino Square
Stands a raggedy man most days
Unless it rains
With a club in his hand
He lines up mini milk cartons
And attempts to chip them
From full on fifty feet
Into litter bins
Some locals sit on benches
Ignoring the innocent projectiles
That fly and pop all around


The bar on Avenue B looked suitably dirty
It was dark and the windows gave no hint
As to what went on inside
I needed someplace quiet
To finish the thoughts I had been carrying
There should have been sawdust on the floor
Like the Yates’s of years ago
A few bearded men sat at the bar
Nibbling on their nuts
It was a trick they learnt early
I ordered a stout and watched the menu
And looked at the t.v. screen
Two ultimate fighters got bloody on the canvas
It was obscene
The pizzas were dairy free
And the gravy was vegan
They have landed
A few punches
A righteous hook
Here and there
The cheezeless amongst us


Drinking in Lunasa
I assume that I am okay
Having come out of the otherside somewhat intact
Now being half way to paradise or the other place
Maybe more than half?
So it must be these others
That are the problem
With their independent thoughts and noises
Christ, there should be a pub quiz
Instead of this hopped and hopping girl
Pretending to be a partridge
In a simulacrum of love
For a team saloon game
I must say
Their win expectancy
Just went up 50%


On our April return
We saw civilian troops
At their Sunday best
Summer dressed and celebrating
A mild mish-mash
Springly fevered and sprawled throughout the streets
We heard
Forgotten sounds again
The alarms of insurance
A panic of ownership
The ignorance of the woop woop
What asphalt does to us monkeys
We saw no stars at all
In the sky at least
For eyes are taken
To the horizon here
And all the man made lights
I thought
Not as an engineer
But a scrutineer
There is beauty at work
In industry at a distance


At the immigration exam
Dr. Dave shakes
My hand
Red flowers spill from his cuffs
He shoves a thorn into my arm
But I refuse to bleed
Drip, drip, drippy drip
He sings
Then he gives me a lollipop
For being brave
And scoots away on his motorbike
To make some tv


The sparrows of New York
Are carnivores I’m sure
They don’t chirp
They ask for ketchup

The mice are as big as rats
But have twice the taste
They wouldn’t be found dead
On a Subway


We were crossing at the corner of 1st Avenue and 14th Street
The swirling weekly wind made its appearance
And snatched a youth's change from his hand
As he exited the hot and crusty pizza place
Regardless of traffic or the lack of a little white man
This dude ran into the street after Washington
And we all watched his progress to the gutter
With the help of the water collected there
He stamped his authority upon George's face
- Boy, you chased that dollar down!
A wise old woman said
As the orderly ones amongst us caught up
To his fist pumping joy in this land of opportunity


Though it used to pass
Some different place
There's a cold wind
Driving through the warmth
On the sunside
Of Houston Street


In the land of the Everything Burger
It takes time to fry your fish
Tiny battles in a transatlantical relationship
OK Pie it is


Today we enjoined the rain
Like the umbrella sellers of Broadway
For whom opportunity plops
Carpe Pluvia!


The extremely wild life of a Central Park pond
Stands on one leg winterlong
To prepare for hypothermia
Back in the cold lands of summer


As we sat staring at our hands
Rattling through the stations
Old Rasta Moses got some inspiration
“14th Street is run by lesbians”
He said
And repeated
“Take the L train
To Lesbian