From my poetry blog
Changeling time creates; time destroys witness the growth of men from boys a belligerent sun warps continents of clouds a plane, a boat and a hike will get him there shaking his hair along liminal coastlines harvesting mannerisms, lives, throwaway lines in a fisherman's hut a changeling writes ©AndrewJamesMurray
from my poetry blog
She's writing down her thoughts, and, more disconcertingly, mine And she's stripping me naked along every line ©AndrewJamesMurray
From my poetry blog.
The young and the well hung quartered and drawn striding through chapters toothless raptors wireless adaptors aborted newborn The herd and the blackbird song feathered dawn erasing through channels annulled annals amphibious mammals bucketed spawn
From my poetry blog
Spider Webs A paucity of lines to begin with, held by examples of faith unattached to a creed, forming into white, frosted webs, rising to be a tangle of sky, prone to bead on dew-dusted mornings, each tremulous strand born of hunger and longing. ©AndrewJamesMurray
Crows A disheartening of crows gathered in winter fields. Naked trees from disused rail road tracks, dark stains on white linen. In trust we are led through this stark terrain, senses soaked in sparse liquor, a hungry air tasting our flesh, a murmuring of hardened, thirsting soil. They rise, wheeling, across the sky, black flecks of mortality in widening whites of eyes. ©AndrewJamesMurray
From my poetry blog.
weevil home flour and bone migrating north country roads old black dog on the final run burning up a paper sun ©AndrewJamesMurray
From my poetry blog
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
