Page the Second


A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi. (In front of you, a precipice. Behind you, wolves.)

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

National Poetry Month--Day 18--Lantern Poems--Mom

Today we're doing Lantern Poems. If you'd like to know how to do one, this is a good spot to learn how. Since my Mum has a birthday today, I'm going to do at least two of them in her honor.


In the sunshine

Can be seen
In all she does

© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Day 17--National Poetry Month--Haikus

It's International Haiku Day today. So that's what I'll be writing. If you'd like to know more about writing a haiku, go here. Otherwise, on with the haiku mayhem:

A spring wind blowing
Sends a curtain of blossom
Drifting to the grass

Ugly dove babies
Squatting in my hanging plant
Your poop? All over.

(Can you tell I'm annoyed with bird poop?)

Soft shell gray fluff balls
Too soon you will fly away
To come back later.

(See, I'm not always mean to doves.)

I find mesquite spines
Sharp as sin and long enough
For Christ's brier crown

(My son stepped on one of them and it went clear through his shoe, foot, and out the other side.)

© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Monday, April 16, 2018

Day 16--Brevette Poems--National Poetry Month

We're doing Brevettes today. Tiny gems of poems which stud the page. If you'd like to know more about this form, go here.
Here are a few of mine:

p u n c t u a t e

c r a z e s

b r e a k s

d r o o l

p u s h e s

f e a r

 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Sunday, April 15, 2018

Day 15--National Poetry Month--Audacity

This is Day 15 of the National Poetry Month 30 poems in 30 days challenge. I usually don't work on Sunday, but as this is a religious poem, I feel it's okay this time. I'm not sure what Stephanie had for a poem today, but this is the one I've chosen to do. It's an ABAB poem.


What must the Father think of his bairns 
As they posture and pose and preen?
When they insist on going their way
Then asking what all of it means.

He sent His Son to light up the path
To the Fruit most delicious and fair
But so many children deny that He lives
So that they can live lives without care

The silly thing is, these recalcitrant babes
Will Still have their troubles in scores
They foolishly slap away Christ's helping hand
Instead putting stock in their wars.

They scrabble and scratch to the top of the hill
Thinking now I'm the one with the most
Never realizing there are millions of hills
Taller and better to boast

Christ stands not, at the top of the pile
Gloating of all He has done 
He merely beckons to us to come home
Back to the Father and Son.

 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Saturday, April 14, 2018

Day 14--National Poetry Month--Senses Poem--TAXES

This is for Day 14 of National Poetry Month. It's a Senses Poem. If you would like to know how to do one of these, go here. Stephanie has a great poetry site.


A snow of withholding statements and royalty receipts
The tang of printer ink
The jitter and squeal of the printer as it grinds to a halt with a paper jam
My heart rate and adrenaline soar as I contemplate having to search for one more blasted paper he won't use because I didn't make enough
I taste defeat as I think about all our hard-earned dollars flying into undeserving hands
Tax day ROTS.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

National Poetry Month!

I know it's halfway through April but I just got a computer back so I can comfortably do blog stuff. So since this is National Poetry month, I'm going to publish my poems I have so far done in one post instead of several. The other thing is that most of the picture places are charging money for stock photos. Which is supposed to mean they're free, but go figure. So my posts may be a little less colorful for a while.

If you would like to know what any of these poems are, go here. Stephanie does a great job picking poetry types. Poetry is her thing and she does splendidly at it.
Anywho, here goes:

Day One: Yes, That's Me poem

And mine today isn't the right form. I did an ABAB poem instead.


Christ the Lord has burst His bands, 
Sprung free from the grips of time.
He stands a Torch to light our way,
Through the swamps of sin and grime.

He holds out His hand to pull us up,
Out of the muck and the flaws
But we must grab hold and do all we can
For He's bound by the same God's laws.

For though we cry out for a succoring hand
If we do naught, the labor is lost
This life is a test of our will to return
Doing nothing means little at most.

Grab hold of the hand as He reaches out
And follow the Torch's light
Partake of the Saviour's matchless grace
Join Christ's rocky way to the Right.

I stand near the middle, looking off up the road
Already tattered and torn
The roadway seems daunting and fraught with pitfalls
But this journey's for what I was born.

Take courage, my friend we can travel along
Over life's boulder strewn way
We'll make mistakes, have plenty of flaws
But return to God's
knee someday.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy
Day Two: Couplets

Funny how when knees don't bend
I think my life comes to an end

But each day when I finally rise
Still chores to do to win the prize.

The world still turns and children learn
Oblivious to all for which I yearn

But even through a haze of pain
I find peace while watching rain.

Reading books of substantial worth
Playing with babies at their birth

Finding long lost family friends
Taking their names to temple ends

So much to do before I shuffle
Off this world of strife and kerfuffle

Life is a test and not a crutch
Just wish it wouldn't hurt so much.

 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy
Day Three: Triplets


When I was little, I thought love
Meant Mom and Dad and a roof above
Home was sweet, a calm, safe cove.

As time went on, the children came
To add to the love and the family name
The love was good, but not the same

Then I went out in the world alone
To seek my fortune far from home
A Friend I found, who for me Attoned

I met a man beguiling and sweet
A man as talented as you could meet
Love with him was a sham and fleet

He gave me one very little thing
A child who made my sad heart sing
Who saved my life more than anything

The world got bigger and I got small
I let no one in to my life at all
And found myself in depressions thrall

Out of the lonelines, sadness, and mire
Away from the sacraficial pyre
Christ pulled me with a burning fire

"Here you go," he said with a smile
"Someone else to love for a while
To hold your hand and walk for a mile."

The children came and my family grew
Like herding cats it was, getting them through
The hurdles of life and the trials new

I hardly stopped to take in stride
The ones who'd come to walk beside
Who in their own ways had worked and tried

Now the children have mostly flown
Away to others, outward and grown
Live looms a little more sere and brown

Still the man God gave to me
Walks at my side, though haltingly
Trying to fathom what we can be

Love is a river, a bubbling stream
Forever changing, kind of a dream
Sometimes we're happy and live's a meme

Then I lose my way and darkness crops in
Love isn't enough and I anger and sin
I pick apart my loved ones and kin

But ever the love of Christ so sweet
Calls me back to kneel at His feet
Reminding me ever of tasks so mete

He is the love that wraps us round
Christ is where the solace is found
He holds the key to where we are bound

Together we'll learn what real love's about
And when we discover it, we'll give a shout
From mortal grievances He pulls us out

Following back to our Heavenly place
Never far from His loving face
Love is the Savior's matchless grace.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Four:Nature Color poem:


Brown the color of gellid oatmeal
Trying its best down my stomach to steal

Blue the berries as hard as granite
That stud the  muck like marbles.

Multicolored the barf my kid chucks up
Before he hands his bowl to the pup.
(Rofl rofl rofl)
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

And another one:

Iridescent droplets of dew
Haloed dog chasing a ball I threw

Emerald grass all studded in gems
Wetting my shoes and my pant hems

Crimson the sky when the sun comes up
Painting my ball-chasing friendly pup

Golden the color of my little friend,
Patient and loving and loyal to the end.

 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Five: Pensee Poem
Orange blossoms
Fragrant and pristine
Scenting the air

Like a haze of happiness
If only you out stayed the bees

 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Six: Grammar Poem
Debilitating and insidious
Spreading rapidly

Like a cloud of feelings-devouring locusts
If only the crickets would come

 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Seven: Tanka Poem


A Viennese Waltz
Plays through my psyche
Tickles my senses
Fills me with longing to dance
My sick knees have turned to stone.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Eight: Octopoem:

This desert brown man with a waft of sunburnt hair
Works like a slave through every season,
Fixing, maintaining our home in the Hot Place.
Through any weather, "It's time to fix the cooler," he says.
I wash his clothes and hang them to dry.
I clean his house and cook his food.
Together we watch his Norwegian train show that is worse than watching paint dry.
Other than eating the same food sometimes, he is the walled city I love.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Nine: Nonet Poem

Nine big dogs on an afternoon prance
Sniffing butts until acquainted
Riley streams out after balls
He doesn't care for romps
Just that ball flying
Runs like lightning
Bites the wind
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy
Day Ten: Generated Poem
The Tale of my Tragicomical Clerk Son
By The Goobs
It began on an unrepentant June Lunchtime
I was the most Quirky Writer around
He was the most Tragicomical Clerk.

He was my Son,
My Tragicomical Son
My Clerk

We used to Hunker so well together,
Back then.
We wanted to Boggle together, around the world.
We wanted it all.

But one lunchtime, one unrepentant Lunchtime,
We decided to Boggle too much.
Together we licked Groot.
It was Obstructive, so Obstructive.

From that moment, our relationship changed.
He grew so squeamish.
And then it happened:
Oh no, oh no!

He barfed on Mrs. Chlomski.
Alas, Mrs. Chlomski!
My son Barfed on Mrs. Chlomski.
It was pungent, so pungent.

The next day I thought my nose had broken.
I thought my belly button had burst into flames.
(But I was actually overreacting a little.)

But still, he is in my thoughts.
I think about how it all changed that Lunchtime.
That unrepentant June Lunchtime.

My belly button...ouch!
When I think of that Tragicomical Clerk, 
That Tragicomical clerk and me.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Eleven: Eleven Line Autobiographical Poem

Wacky, intrepid, vulnerable, empathetic
Sister of Chanel Nine, Seela, Chuckalabucka, Piano Legs, and Bass Boss
Lover of Lawn Mower, Bug, Perrystinkle, Hunkermunty, Courtnrob, Jessa Principessa, and Bitsy (along with their spouses and children and various other strangers)
Who feels replaced by screens
Who needs to be needed and seen and understood
Who gives everything she can think of to give
Who fears being tossed aside for something soulless and stupid
Who would love to feel Christ's arms around her as He whispers, "You made it back to my side, Little Sister! Well done."
Resident of many universes
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

And an extra:

You are a gift, 
Both hale and ill
You can't be seen
But everywhere your deeds
You bring mountains to their knees
Sculpting, honing, crumbling.
You lift us onto your back
And spring into the sky.
The ocean waves are at your beck
You fill the desert air with grit
You bring respite to the weary
You count our years,
Filling he skies with bright paper kites
And the waft of clean sheets.
Rain to our crops,
Blizzards of crystal
And when we are gone,
You cover us with orange blossom.
Lay me down beneath your breath,
That I might climb upon your back,
Flying home as the lark goes,
Up beyond mortal reach,
Until your breath grows thin
And fades to dusk.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Twelve: 5 W's Poem

On any given day
Anywhere on the planet
Pounds his fist through a wall to save a little girl from plunging to her certain death.
Why don't we ever see him cleaning up after himself?
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Thirteen: Hyperbole Poem


I miss the friendly penguin.
He always trundled my information
At lightning speed
Where I wanted it to go, 
Thumbing his nose 
At bog monkeys.
I never had to worry
About dirty windows
Mucking up my view.
But now I'm lost 
In a foggy forest 
With traps and potholes everywhere
Creepers are waiting 
Behind every bush
Just to offer me 
Poisoned candy
And steal my name and identity.
On top of that, 
Dogo insists
I take that nap with him
That heavenly Elysium
That sweet escape.
Yes, Captain Doggeroo, 
I'll comply.
So long, dirty windows.
I'll deal with you later.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Friday, April 13, 2018

The Gremlins are not Winning

Hey! I'm back! It's echoing in here.
I lost my computer and have been subsisting on the crumbs of my fairly new Kindle Fire or I'd have been hair-tearing insane by now. Especially since it's Poetry month and I couldn't post them on my blog with pictures like I like to do. Hopefully I'll figure out this new scribe of mine and we'll be in the clover.
The bad news is that my desktop computer is still Sleeping Beautying. We had to go get the Great Muckin' Giant Mother of a thumb drive (Big Bertha) to get all my stuff off my other computer. So it's off except for the 6K emails it ate about a week before it took the Big Plunge. Those are lost in the Forbidden Forest somewhere on my computer. The thing is, I want them. There are' things'.

So then, when we've pulled off every single thing we can, it's time for the napalm. And then the resurrection. And hopefully there will be sentient life in there again.

The whole problem happened because when I got my computer, it wasn't new like I'd been told. Only new to me. There was some kind of licensing snafu, or some other reason my computer refused to do anything. (Lazy wench!)

So it necessitated turning it on, then waiting a while, doing taxes, cleaning out the car, cutting the dog's toenails, and maybe doing dishes. Then I could turn on the screen. Then I had to turn the computer off (a BIG no-no, but that's what it took, I swear) and wait until the screen lit, and back on again. If I hadn't waited long enough, the gobbledy-gook of pre-opening didn't happen and the whole thing began over again. This time you'd have to go change the oil in the car, write letters to grandmothers, re-do your kitchen spice cupboard, and maybe plant the garden.

THEN it would think about going on.

And I told The Man this several times, while still trying not to complain about everything (which annoys him). So I did. Several times. Apparently all that was in vane, because when this whole shebang went down, he looked at me blankly, and said in his horrified voice, "Why would you ever do such a thing? I never told you to do that!"

Sometimes I would like to be visible and audible.

Anywho, DON'T DO WHAT I DID. If it's your Sweatheart (I know. It's on purpose), take his head in yours, drill him in the eyes with yours, and say, "Honey (only we don't use pet names 'cause I don't know why) there is something wrong with my computer. And if you don't fix it instantly, there will be a freaking boatload of trouble down the line for you. (And I know where you sleep. And I make your food.)
That might work for you. And again, if your Sweatheart is anything like mine, he'll just shoot you The Look of Ice Raying and go back to his online game. And your 'Baby' will sit there on its nicely cleaned up desk (because you've had nothing to do but clean for well over a month) and grow dust for possibly another century.

I just went ahead and used my birthday money from my mom and got a used laptop from a wonderful new friend (on which I'm writing this tome). Which means the pressure is off for figuring out the other one...possibly a horrible move on my part. You see, I miss my Baby. We were comfortable in our sloth. Sort of.

This has been one huge complaint. It shouldn't have been. My sweet husband has worked like a dog to try and figure out what's wrong with the thing. He took me down and got me that Mother of all Thumb drives (Okay there are some bigger) so we could save stuff for the newly refurbished computer. (He also got himself a lovely new monitor which now resides on my kitchen table instead of the desk in his den and a battery pack for The Son's computer. And a movie.) He transferred everything he could find to Mother. And he's really busy. I greatly appreciate that he spends time trying to help me. I'm happy that it makes him so happy to have two screens to play his games on.

And Kathryn, my new wonderful friend, gave this one to me out of the goodness of her heart, for a steal of a price (I'm writing the check after I get done with this and several hundred other chores. Really! It's almost in the mail as we speak. I might, in fact, get up and go write the check in a minute.)

Now I'll have to find something to call my computers. The Son names his computers Russian girl names. That's not for me. Maybe I should name mine after famous scribes.

At any rate, I'm back. Now I'll go load on April poetry.

Ps, I'm waiting to send in YEAR OF THE HONEY BADGERS, which won't be its title. I already know they're going to make me rename it. They'll probably go with African Tango. Which is sad because it says nothing about honey badgers. They've already asked to have it sometime this week. Hurray!!!!! Now I have to go get my email going on here...sigh.