Railway Platform

from my poetry blog

Coronets For Ghosts

Railway Platform

A guitar case on a 
       windswept platform

the marbled leather
       beaded with rain.

The echoes of long
       goodbyes

and illicit, erotic
       trysts 

may reveal themselves
       in song.



Stirring below the 
       frenzied poplars

new saplings unfurl
       an elastic desire

having dreamt
       in darkness

of taut, lofty
       bowers,

crowning coronets
       for ghosts.



©AndrewJamesMurray

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Dead Bird

from my poetry blog

Coronets For Ghosts

Dead Bird

The kids are fascinated by the varying states of putrefaction.
Every morning we pause, compare it to yesterday's
studied image.
"Where have it's eyes gone? Have they sunk into its skull?"

Half-covered by an overnight shroud of autumn leaves,
provoking a conflict of opinion.
The girl thinks it should be buried out of decency,
the boy eager to glimpse its surfacing skeleton.

Every day its stomach is drawn in, the ribs rising.
Then this morning, stunned: the bird is gone,
perhaps removed by a conscientious council worker.
The boy thinks that it's been dragged off to be devoured
by a fox, or a cat, but whatever it was
it must have been really down on its luck,
falling on that desiccated morsel
for a feast.



©AndrewJamesMurray

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