In The Pregnant Hour

This was Christmas Eve setting on the estate on which I live, viewed from the local church.

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It is now 11.10pm, the frosting air punctured by flashing fairy lights and music spilling out from passing cars.

We are almost there. In this pregnant hour, from a deep Mancunian night, I wish you all a Merry Christmas, wherever and whenever this greeting finds you.

Thanks for flying with City Jackdaw.

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Midnight, July

From my poetry blog.

Coronets For Ghosts

Midnight, July

We writhe
with a rage to know
the unknowable,

blind to great masses
that dance in dark orbits.
And a soft, summer wind
on a night beneath stars
is no balm.

From somewhere a whistle 
casts a line,

a fragile camaraderie 
in a world
fell silent,

where white moth-wing 
is riotous

and a spider's touch
carnal.



©AndrewJamesMurray

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Work In Progress: Night Poem

These are a few lines that I wrote the other night. Needs a lot doing with it.

Night Poem

The loneliness of distraction;
a question of language.

Cravat pirate,
hogging the turntable.

Wait — to see the shooting stars
tearing holes in the firmament.

Name a rose after that velvet queen
lost in the garden,

painting portraits and hustling
the elite for a pound.

Taste the names of those gone before,

their unfinished manifestos
staked to scarlet trees.



©AndrewJamesMurray

Midnight, July

Midnight, July

We writhe
with a rage to know
the unknowable,

blind to great masses
that dance in dark orbits.
And a soft, summer wind 
on a night beneath stars
is no balm.

From somewhere a whistle 
casts a line,

a fragile camaraderie
in a world
fell silent,

where white moth-wing
is riotous

and a spider's touch
carnal.


©Andrew James Murray

Awake, My Muse

Things have been quiet, poetry wise. My book has now been realised, and I’ve been working on a final draft of a short story for a forthcoming anthology.

The first snow of winter came in last night, so I wrapped myself up warm and went for a walk to experience it. Along the way, the beginning of a new poem began to form in my mind. The land is slumbering, but creativity awakens.

 

In the hush of winter,

white lichen clings to trees,

life slumbers long 

into the early hours

of black glass.

 

It is a beginning.

 

Twilight Time #1

I overheard a conversation today between two people. I didn’t intentionally listen, but they were sat behind me on the bus, and so I was a captive eavesdropper. They were talking about what their favourite time of the day was.

By favourite time, I don’t mean 2.34am, or 15.12pm. Rather, the portion of day that they preferred.

One announced that he was a morning person. The other snorted, claiming that he had always been a ‘night owl’.

As we carve up the year into seasons into months into weeks into days into hours, I suppose we cannot help but hold them to comparison and have preferences.

My favourite season is Winter. My favourite half of the year begins with Autumn. Or Fall, as they put it more poetically across the pond.

But what about my favourite time of the day?

I love twilight, that time when the daylight noticeably falters and fades. If I feel the need to get out for a walk, this would be my preferred time. There is a definite sense of the world settling down, of things moving at a slower rhythm. As dusk approaches, there is a welcoming of shadows.

We can get all technical about it. We can name and describe the different stages

300px-Twilight_subcategories.svg

But I don’t need to know this. It is more about experiencing the slowing of momentum, the effect on the senses, as the shadows grow, the air cools, and the blackbird greets the approaching night with its final song.

The blackbird is always the last bird that I hear.

The local herald that draws the line.

The Celts knew twilight as the time-between-time.

The time between time. I love that, a liminal time where boundaries blur.  A distinct hinterland where thresholds are crossed.

This is a time of magic where the raucous slips into repose. Where the senses of clarity are undercut by dark imaginings.

This is the time that I find the most inspirational.

But what about you? Early bird or night owl?

Image from Wikipedia