Raw Mojo

From my poetry blog

Coronets For Ghosts

Raw Mojo

The bleak, blushes of dusk. A Highland wind 
licks at a heart, wrapped in leaves.
Buried beneath a pine cone, needles.

Drink 'til I can drink no more;
just watch the dead
impose in plagues.

A girl, dark, unfamiliar,
dares to draw the focus
of these phantom scarred eyes,
blood rushing in her alluring anonymity.

A taste of ash, I eat my father.
I am an amalgamation 
of anecdote and mannerism.
Assimilated slow and left to boil.

Magisterial day. Insouciant night.
Sin suggests an arbitrator. 
I need a new translation,
from the prophet's native tongue.





©AndrewJamesMurray

View original post

Advertisements

R.I.P Margot Kidder

I’ve just heard that Margot Kidder has died, aged 69, and immediately my mind turned to Saturday matinees at the local cinema in the late seventies/early eighties. The cinema is long gone but the memories remain.

And of you, too, Lois Lane.

R.I.P

image

 

Morning Theft.

I’ve been having one of those nights.

I love Buckley, his voice; his playing.

And it’s all such a damn waste isn’t it? Such a tragic, pointless death that could have been easily avoided.

He left us without reaching anything like his potential, but that is just my own selfish lament.

After that acclaimed debut album, Grace, he was finally ready to record the follow up. He sent cassette demo recordings of the new songs he’d been working on to his band so they could familiarise themselves with them on their way over.

While his friends were in the air Jeff was already drowning in the Wolf River. Following his father Tim Buckley into an early grave.

Those songs, destined for an album named My Sweetheart The Drunk were eventually released posthumously on Sketches For My Sweetheart The Drunk. 

Further hints of what could have been.

This is one of those songs, one I’ve been playing over tonight. Beautiful, and poignant with the opening lines

Time takes care of the wound
So I can believe
You had so much to give
You thought I couldn’t see

R.I.P Jeff. Keep singing.

 

 

 

 

The Ghosts Of East End Children

Taken in the early 1880’s, this is one of the earliest images of the East End of London.

I love the way the children appear insubstantial and ghost-like, which in effect they are. Lingering echoes of lives long lost, wandering along now vanished streets.

image

When In Crete: The Author’s Tomb

A timely photo maybe, with today being Good Friday, but this isn’t a religious site-rather it’s the tomb of Nikos Kazantzakis, author of works such as Zorba The Greek and The Last Temptation. When we were in Crete in 2008 I travelled to Heraklion to seek it out. I have most of his books and I do like to make personal connections. Fortunately I have a very understanding wife.

Although deeply spiritual, his books often reflected his struggle to find truth in religion and spirituality. Many Orthodox Church clergy condemned Kazantzakis’ work and a campaign was started to excommunicate him. His reply was: “You gave me a curse, Holy fathers, I give you a blessing: may your conscience be as clear as mine and may you be as moral and religious as I” 

The tomb is quite plain, made of stone marked with a wooden cross. The epitaph, taken from one of his works, reads:

 ‘I hope for nothing, I fear nothing, I am free’.

R.I.P Stephen Hawking

Whilst under the shadow of death Stephen Hawking attempted to answer some of the more complex questions of life. I saw this quote only this morning:

“We are just an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star. But we can understand the Universe. That makes us something very special.”

Personally I think there is more to us than that, but who am I to argue with someone with a mind as brilliant as Hawking?!

R.I.P

image