On This Day My Book Was Born

My debut poetry collection is three years old today.

Happy Birthday Heading North!


Working on a young sibling for you.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Heading-North-2-Songs/dp/8283310097/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1544134083&sr=1-1&keywords=heading+north

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Writer In A Coffee Shop

from my poetry blog

Coronets For Ghosts

Writer In A Coffee Shop

Nobody sees as we do
— a conspiratorial attempt at flattery,
rising up from the books on the slanted shelves.

Vinyl albums are fixed to the ceiling,
you can get a stiff neck 
searching out the soundtrack to your life.

Upstairs the sound of a tattooist, 
reminds him of the dentist,
sets his teeth on edge,
running ravines
of mottled brown.

He hears it still, that night
as she lies with her face to the wall,

a tree brooding in the back garden;
across the rooftops thoughts dissipate
into silence,

yet still, that sound,
transmuted slowly
into goose flesh






©AndrewJamesMurray

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Savage Sky

from my poetry blog.

Coronets For Ghosts

Savage Sky

In this savage sky,
in this ragged hour,
a low, winter sun
glazes soft
all flesh of inordinate pallor,
embarrassed by impotence.

Unravelling powder blue ribbons,
colouring brittle braids
blown among briered 
mountains of white.
Black cattle bellowing
in coarse vernacular
a dumb language of instinct, lust.

And crying like a child, each insipid sow.

You can smell the sea,
but not see it, 
cupped in hands of granite,
cold, loved.
Suffering the separation
of centuries, more.



©AndrewJamesMurray

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Changeling

From my poetry blog

Coronets For Ghosts

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

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Word Jam #10

From my poetry blog.

Coronets For Ghosts

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

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Spider Webs

From my poetry blog

Coronets For Ghosts

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

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