Page the Second


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

Friday, April 30, 2021

National Poetry Month--Day 30--Hyperbole Poem--Sampson and Goliath


So today, on the last day of poetry month, we're doing hyperbole poems. Looking at my posts on facebook it probably looks like I'm dang dog crazy. But I'm just doing a series of CONVOS WITH MY DOG. Well I have a pair of dogs in mind that completely fit this poetry form to a T. So that's what it'll be. If you want to know about hyperbole, go here. Otherwise, here's my last poem for the month: 


Sampson and G'liath were buffalo-sized

When walking, THEY d'cided the way

They'd look straight ahead and into your eyes

Then they'd say what they wanted to say

When camping one time they took us walking

When Daddy stepped out, they followed their bliss

Weaving through camps they Misha were stalking

Along with the great tent and all that was his 



Though the size of a house they were gentle and sweet

And Misha loved them like Heaven

But the cost of their housing and feeding them meat

Meant Mish' worked like his family was seven 


Eventually their great hearts gave out

No more would they roughhouse and play

No more running crazy on a leash like a lout

I miss those dog moose almost every day.

©2021 by H. Linn Murphy

Thursday, April 29, 2021

National Poetry Month--Day 29--Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day--Free Verse--Joseph


Today is Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day. I haven't figured out which one I want to use yet, which is okay, because my jammies have no pocket. But when I get dressed and figure it all out, it'll be there. Today I was reading the index in my scriptures. Normally I'd pass right by it in favor of more meaty scriptures. But today it just wouldn't move past the index on my kindle. So I finally bowed to that. God must want me to read that today. So this poem is about one thing that really struck me:


Who cannot abide a kingdom's laws

Abides not its power because of his flaws

It's all in our choices of word, act, or will

Whether we handle the Lord's bitter pill

If character flaws define every action

The Celestial Kingdom will hold no attraction

We'll comfortably stay where the laws we can live

Are catered to all that our faint hearts can give

But oh we shall wail when we realize our loss

When the glory we can't handle away we do toss

When the doing is done and the test scores are tallied

If we rest on our laurels we'll wish we had rallied

That will be Hell in its agony searing

To know if we'd tried to believe what we're hearing

We could have inherited a place with the Son

Instead of the darkness of walked-but-not-run.

©2021 by H. Linn Murphy

I also was reading about Joseph Smith's account of what happened to him. This time different visions of him caught at my soul. This comes from that experience:



Little Joseph, name of such heritage, 

Poor farm boy

How could you have known as you hoed potatoes

And pulled sticks and stumps

Ranging the fields in the morning sun

Dew gems on the spiderwebs

Your life would utterly change

With one journey to a verdant grove?

Just a boy with questions in his eyes

And a hunger in his heart

Reared in a hurricane of blindness and seeking

With lo here, and lo there  

They whirled you about

Seeking another sheep to swell their folds

And their pockets,

Done with the questions

Stowed behind walls of clay.

Your natural insouciance tempered

By the ache of drawing as if on a rack

Pulled this way and that on a whim

A hollow in the trees beckoned

Mist rising from the cornfields

You made a small pilgrimage,

Questions luring you

From which that boy never returned. 

 Coruscating light, blinding, brilliant

Filled the cavern of your darkness

Banishing the rags and tags and daggers

Of blinding ignorance

Tearing from your eyes the scales of 

Man's littleness of thought

The scales of the serpent

Coiling around victims also searching


Trying to squeeze the 

Inheritance from you.



Away! Away!

The light arks out,

Beams sweeping dark to the edges of existence

For Who comes now in your extremity, but 

He who built it All

And His Father, 

King of Everything.

Architect of Eternity

Master of All Souls

Giver of all life and thought

Come in Brilliant Majesty

To start something Magnificent.

Their tool?

A humble farm boy

Just learning long division

Tutored by the Bible and the Spirit

Open with questions.

Choose none of them.

They have been infected by

The tightness of man 

Constricting in their blind greed

Filling their own 

And the Prince of Darkness'


Spreading tarry filth

To infect and pull down


How could you know

The streaming light would come with such

Steep prices?

Every gift of elegant new knowledge

Drops of pure sunlight

And magnificent gleaming love

Met with daggers and threats

Pine tar and feathers

Death and destruction

The darkened faces 

Of those whose minds 

Could not open enough 

To hold the Light

Every step wrung from 

An adversary who knew

Even in death most foul

You would prevail

As you prevailed over all you had been.

A snowball, rolling downhill

What you and 

The Lord and times which formed you wrought.

Set loose, your vision burgeoned

Picked up speed in spite of 

Dark faces and stunted hearts

Those hands which thought

That tearing you to pieces 

Would stop the momentum

Which frightened them.

That conflagration which consumed you

Set your spirit free

And tossed a torch into the kindling

Which would engulf the world

Did you see it, Little Joseph?

 The fire you lit,

The brilliant majesty you kindled

At the hands of Jesus Christ

And His Matchless, God the Father

Your gift, your legacy, burns in me.

©2021 by H. Linn Murphy


Wednesday, April 28, 2021

National Poetry Month--Day 28--Cinquain Poems--Dad--Free Verse


Today it's Cinquain poems. And today I'm watching my father while my mom does some service for dead relatives. If you want to know how to write a cinquain, go here. Otherwise, here's my poem:


Faded Bastion,

Missing, Crumbling, Fearing

Mind like water through his fingers


©2021 by H. Linn Murphy  

 And another less cinquain-y:

"Do you want to go to the park?"

I ask, knowing 

He doesn't know.

He peers out of his vacant eyes at

A place he's never been before,

Though only two minutes 

Since he left it,

Fearing he's lost his way.

Until I mention Christ.

Then he remembers 

That's where he's headed

Long trip or short. 

"I want to go home,"

He says over and over.

I mistook his dream destination

For an old snowy residence

Forsaken for the warmth 

And help of his children.

But he knew.

Christ isn't in the mountains right now.

His parents and siblings 

Dressed in snowy white beckon.

How he misses them, 

Though the memory of their names

Eludes him.

He doesn't understand

Why those still living are keeping him

Prisoner here 

Where he has overstayed

His welcome, he thinks. 

His hands and mind soft as tissue paper.

"Swallow your water, Dad.

And let's go to the park."

He dozes in the sun


©2021 by H. Linn Murphy  


Tuesday, April 27, 2021

National Poetry Month--Day 27--Terse Verse


Okay I just have to say terse verse is my very least favorite form of poetry. I just can't sink my teeth into it at all. But if you really want to learn about this form, go here. I'm not even going to copyright them. There's really nothing to use. Bah. And on to my terse verses: 

What's a randy dish?

Base Vase

A wedding register is a?

Dish Wish

Someone who hates cats?

Puss Wuss


A guy who gives his girl a jar of soil for her birthday?

Dirt Flirt


Top models have a?

Fashion Passion


Dead Head

Shocker Rocker


The band mates?

Scream Team

Monday, April 26, 2021

National Poetry Month--Day 26--Pensee Poem--Wing Nuts


So today it's a Pensee poem. I know. I was clueless too. So go here to figure it out. And here's my poem:

Wing nuts

Holding together

But allowing quick changes 

For those unfortunate mistakes

That plague us all daily

©2021 by H. Linn Murphy



covering rears

Corralling disgusting things

Until they can be changed for good

Much like our politics

©2021 by H. Linn Murphy


Sunday, April 25, 2021

National Poetry Month--Day 25--Tanka Poem--Doggy--Haiku--Doggy


Here's my other Sunday (Haiku) poem: 

I stare up at you

With my hugest puppy eyes

I want human food.

©2021 by H. Linn Murphy




If you want to know how to do today's poem, a Tanka (a haiku on steroids), go here. And here's my Tanka Poem:


I stare up at you 

With my hugest puppy eyes

You don't understand

How hungry a puppy gets

When chasing lots of tossed balls

©2021 by H. Linn Murphy


Saturday, April 24, 2021

National Poetry Month--Day 24--Tautogram Poem--Believing Billy Binky


Today's weird form of poetry is called a Tautogram Poem. You can find the explanation here. Here's my extremely silly poem:

Benny Bunny bid bald best buddy Bill Binky (birdie) bye-bye because Billy Binky brought buttered blue-green bristly bunion bread before Benny's boy, Bobo.

Benny balked, bridling brittlely because Bobo became bilious blue. Bobo bled briefly. Believable because Bobo bit blistered bristle bread briefly before being bilious.

Billy Binky beat Benny Bunny by brilliantly buying brindled broccoli, brought because Benny believed blistered bristle bread brought bile. Billy bettered Bobo brilliantly.

Billy Binky bent brown buckles beneath Bobo's buttery bread, belaying broadness. Bobo belched, blubbered, barfed. Barely bilious. Beautiful! Bravo, Billy Binky! Breathtaking Bravery!



©2021 by H. Linn Murphy