The Rain Never Stops On Deansgate

from my poetry blog

Coronets For Ghosts

The Rain Never Stops On Deansgate

The rain never stops on Deansgate,
it clears the pavement
faster than the tribal skirmishes

the corrugated shelters
and scaffolded walkways
snagging the flood-water flotsam,
huddled in pockets
of faithless devotions.

The doorways are already taken,
will be for the night,
as we turn blind eyes
behind fogged-over windows,
comfortably dysmorphic 
in this residence of root.

The Church of Scientology 
over the road
has closed up for the day, 
but I feel Tom Cruise calling to me.
Do they have 24-hour call out, I wonder?
Working on Hollywood time.

I don't think these city limits
can hold us,
want to hold us,

they just lay barbed hooks
beneath our skin
reeling us in
every time we glance back.


©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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Night Poem

from my poetry blog

Coronets For Ghosts

the loneliness of distraction

a question of language

the cravatted pirate hijacking the turntable

wait up to see the shooting stars

tearing holes in the firmament

of crystal glass

name a rose after that velvet queen

lost in the garden

painting portraits and hustling

the elite for a pound

speak the names of those gone before

unfinished manifestos staked

to scarlet trees

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In Brigantia Out Now

City Jackdaw

I’m very pleased to announce that my second poetry collection, In Brigantia, is out now.

‘Andrew James Murray’s second collection invites you to Brigantia, territory of Celtic tribe the Brigantes.

It is a Brigantia of both geography and imagination, where Queen Cartimandua rubs shoulders with screen goddess Marilyn Monroe, and Tom Cruise is proselytising upon the streets of Manchester.’

For readers in the UK it is available here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Brigantia-Andrew-James-Murray/dp/1731271360/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=In+brigantia&qid=1558264687&s=gateway&sr=8-1

For readers in the US you can get it here:

https://www.amazon.com/Brigantia-Andrew-James-Murray/dp/1731271360/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=In+Brigantia&qid=1558264804&s=gateway&sr=8-1

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