the sun is sparkling, the rain rumbling, and we badly need some poetry...

Thursday, 15 November 2012

Bryan Murphy - 1 Poem


All paths lead to death,
premature sacrifice for future spawn;
but on the way, pure joy.

Ravenous hair, falling
over a tactile wonderland
where deeper means finer.
From a mission to make her happy,
pure pleasure pours.

Three fine brats,
wavelengths aligned across the Atlantic,
together for the first time,
the little grey one’s me.

I ghost across boards,
flash onto a silver screen
find my niche in a voice studio.
Retirement will not be dull.

Stepfather beams with health;
words I cast out find homes;
my teams experiment
with life near the top;
friendships endure.

They come for me.
It is a cold spring morning.
I see the ax is blunt,
smell rust on its blade,
sleep through the screaming alarm.

BIOGRAPHY: Bryan Murphy recently retired from a job as a translator and now concentrates on his own words. He divides his time among England, Italy, the wider world and cyberspace. You can find him at