Page the Second

Deus volt; Deus mittit me.

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Sonnet--When First We Met--National Poetry Month

This is an iambic pentameter sonnet I'm writing here--the BIG guns. So even though it's Sunday and people are around making noise and doing things, I'm of a mind to try it. So here goes. Oh. If you want to know how to do this devilishly difficult poetry form, be my guest. Learn how here. And anon, I shall at it:


The first time ere I on you did cast sight
A duck you wore upon your Jonesian hat
I thought you certainly a Bedlamite 
And that put mental paid to that

When next upon you my eyes I did clap
Your bore upon your person knightly helm
It seemed a strange way maidenly ken to trap
I thought, "The man's sanity doth underwhelm."

But when we found ourselves in grottos dark
I could not wait to call upon your princely name
My fiance all that with jealousy did mark
I could not say my heart did feel the same.

Your arrow found unerring place within my heart
From thence our Murphy history took its start.
© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

Free Form Poem--Denizen of the Void--National Poetry Month


Into the stillness 
Between waking and sleeping
A thought springs
And expanding,
Unfurling gossamer, iridescent wings
Until it fills me 
With awe.
It grips me
With delicate pincers.
The least breath
Of disturbance
In the space
Of the tick of a clock,
My etherial
It's gone!
What once
Filled me
Has vanished 
Without a trace.
Though I mourn
Its whispy passing
And marvel at its talent
For slipping, 
Through my fingers
I cannot hope to 
Bring it back.
Only lure
With night's wakefulness.
© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Cinquain Poems--National Poetry Month

Today it's a cinquain poem. Here's the place to figure out how to do these.

Clark Kent
Alien man
Sent to sacrifice all
For the betterment of Mankind

God's Son
Sent to sacrifice all
For the betterment of Mankind

© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

Friday, April 21, 2017

Pensee Pensiveness--National Poetry Month

Today we're doing a Pensee poem. If you have no idea what this is, but want to find out, go here. Here's my offering:

Sweet destroyer
Like Juno in your aspects
You wreak carnage in the kitchen
I wish I could tame you.

One minute sweet, the next, RAGE
Clean room but trashed relationships
How will we survive?

This next is not a Pensee poem. Just something I was pondering last night while waiting for my husband to get out of the pizza store...;o)
(Just as a side note, I notice some people putting things on there maybe a starvation survivor might add...like corn, oysters, pineapple, or squash. Let me just say, KEEP THAT TRAVESTY FOOD AWAY FROM MY PIE! That will be all.)
Pizza, pizza how I love you
Savory roundness pulls me in
Oh that scent of tomato-y gravy (that's what Italians call sauce)
It just dribbles down my chin

Strings of cheese span the gappage (Shakespeare made up thousands of words. I can make up one...;o)
Betwixt my chin and delicious joy
I would rather eat a pizza
Than go parking with a boy.

I load it down with pepperoni
Add the mushrooms, cheese, and sauce (clearly not in that order)
Top it off with yummy olives
Then it won't be taste bud loss

You can even leave the olives
Off your half of tasty pie
Just because I know you hate 'em
We'd have rootbeer floats close by. (His favorite)

If you really want to please me
Get a pizza pie for two (or ten) 
Take me to a drive-in movie
That is not a date we'd rue. (There are actually very few dates I'd rue--one being to do our taxes and I'm not going to the others in my head.)
© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

Thursday, April 20, 2017

Brevette Poems--National Poetry Month

Today it's Brevette poems. I'd never heard of them either, so I went here to find out what the heck they were. Then I wrote these:

l i g h t s

h o l d

c u d d l e s

e a t s
ice cream

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Monorhyme--To the Beach!--National Poetry Month

Contrary to what my last poem said, today I'm doing a Monorhyme. If you're clueless about what that is, go here. Now getting down to it:


I wish I could go down to the sea for a sail
I'd take you along so that you could help bail
From hibernating inside, my skin is quite pale

I want to go surfing, dump sand in a pail
Jump in the water where I'd happily flail
I'd swim 'til my skin was stark white like a whale

And we'd eat enchiladas with kippers and kale
For dessert we'd eat crumb cake and guzzle wassail
We'd lie out on the sand 'til it got time to bale

Then home we would drive, over hill, over dale
And when we got home we would go through the mail
And wish we could carry our house like a snail
© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

ABCB Poem--On Avoiding Heffalumps--National Poetry Month

Not sure what poem we're doing today but I'm doing this one at least:

If you're running from a heffalump
There are things you've got to know
If you kick him very carefully
You'll break his baby toe.

You might think this will help you
But unfortunately it won't
'Cause he'll look at you with teary eyes
And you might cry, but don't.

'Cause heffalumps are crafty,
They'll get you every time
'Cause when you aren't looking 
They'll lapse to the sublime.

That means their cuteness factor
Will climb into the red
And you would not be happy
Just hiding in your bed

That heffalump's cavorting
He'll eat your apple pie
He'll dig through all your laundry
And smack you in the eye.

He'll clip out all your coupons
And throw them in the trash
He'll find your little black dress
And snarfle up the sash.

So never let that heffalump
Get the upper hand
'Cause he's a tricky trickster
He'll do things you'll not stand.

He'll eat up all the ice cream
Put pepper in your shoes
And when you aren't looking
He'll turn your whites to blues.

But then he'll gaze up at you
With those huge and gorgeous eyes'
And you'll be wondering about
How else he can surprise.

So, make sure that you dose him up 
With shaving cream and fudge
And that will keep him busy
Just let me be the judge.

And then you'll know you've got him
When he lies down at your feet
After that your little heffalump
Will be nothing less than sweet.

So take my timely advice when
A heffalump you meet
Cavorting and rampaging
Down your country hometown street.
© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

These Spines of Mine--National Poetry Month

Today I'm doing Book Spine Poems. If you want to know how to do these, go here. I think the one above is my favorite. But here's another:

Now I keep thinking of more and more of these, but I actually have a life beyond this computer. Maybe. I have to go give blood soon. Good afternoon.

Couplets and Rictameters and Nonsense Oh My!--National Poetry Month

I'm doing a couplet or two and a rictameter to catch up with the one I swapped for free verse the other day. If you want to know what a couplet is, go here. If you want to know what a rictameter is, go here. Otherwise, and firstly, enjoy.

There's always a fork with a crooked tine
You show me yours and I'll show you mine

They refuse to lie in a handy stack
All carefully balanced, front to back

You can try to straighten them one and all
But into a haystack they generally fall

I finally just got o'er my OCD traits
And set them all nicely beside the plates.

(I think I'm that crooked fork.) Okay, here's my chicken rictameter:

Pretty tasty
Dumb as a bag of hair
They wake you up every morning
But then they give you their young for breakfast
They only fly when they want to
They can die in the rain
Brother loved them
 (Can you tell I had to take care of a whole flock of these ditsy things?)
© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

Monday, April 17, 2017

Personification Poem--Pennies--National Poetry Month

This is a personification. If you want to know about these, go here. I think I'll do mine about pennies...;o)

@Nobody wants you. You're filthy and brown,
And dented and germy and small
But when you line up in a long, long line
You add up to quite a good haul.

@I once tried to take you to Ireland
'Cause I hadn't hauled you to the bank
You weighed so much I had to ditch you
I had none but myself left to thank.

@It is funny that even the Irish
Don't want you around anymore
You'd think that for them you would add up
Just the same as the States did before.

@Some people just toss you in trash cans
Or under the bed or the car
But even if they do not roll you
Hundreds of uses there are:

Train track smashing
Homeless helping
Penny car flashing

Bedroom bronzing
Pellet gun targeting
Wishing well tossing

Bookshelf leveling
Roomie's door jambing
Jewelry jangling

 @But mostly I really like pennies
You're small but if I add you up
The two of us are going places
I'll just keep adding you to the cup

@Pretty soon you are buying me houses
Vacations and speed boats and cars
The uses that people can put you to
Can number almost as the stars. 

© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Free Verse Poem--Easter Poem--National Poetry Month

This is a free verse poem for Easter:

He was just a baby
Lying there
Cradled in manger hay
In far away stall
Poor, forgotten, lowly,
In spite of 
Mother's royal pedigree
Son of David,
Son of Ruth 

Son of GOD.

He was just a boy
Helping carpenter step-father
Pick up the shavings
Filling hands
With winsome service
Loving the mother
Who wanted Him 

He was a boy learning to be His Father's son.
He was just a man
Changing water into wine
Putting off temptation's power
Healing a leper,
A blind man,
The Dead.
Friend of the friendless
Keeper of sheep
Seeker for lost souls
Bridging of gaps
And righting of wrongs

He did His Father's work.

He was just our Elder Brother.
A weary wanderer
He went to the garden
To converse with His Father
He begged that the cup
Could be lifted away
But instead, 
Took it up and drank
The bitter dregs
He poured out his blood
For the ills of this world 
And prepaid for 
Life's Unfairnesses and our sins
If we but seek and serve Him.

He stood our ambassador, arbiter, and go-between with God.

He was just a prisoner
Hunted and found
Betrayed for silver, for safety, for fear.
Flogged and spat upon,
Dragged to and fro,
They yelled at and defiled Him
And tore at Him in fury.
As he stood
On that nail
In the midst of the storm
He forgave us
And blessed us
And after rising again
In silent majesty,
Quietly went

Back to the Father who sent Him.

He is just the Way,
The Truth,
The Light and Life.
The keeper of the keys
Of Eternity
Builder of worlds 
Lighter of the way back
To Father in Heaven's side
Cup of Endless Water
Bread of Life
Harrower of Death 

He is just the Beloved Eldest Son of Most High GOD.

© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

Saturday, April 15, 2017

Quinzain Quaziness--National Poetry Month

I'm doing quinzains today. If you want to know what these wacky things are, go  here. This is my take:

The world's getting crazier.
How can that be true?
I don't know.

Guys drive like freaks in this town.
Where is a dang cop when
You need one?

Dog usually likes beans
Why doesn't he like
Fresh green beans?

© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

Triplets--National Poetry Month

Yesterday it was Triplets, (I actually wrote these yesterday but people had already gone to bed) but I had too much to do to get on to write them. So I'm doing triplets today until I find out what else to write. If you want to know that a triplet is, go here. My triplets:

Pizza's always fun to eat
Made of dough and sauce and meat
Ice cream's only better treat

Sometimes I have more to say
Depending what occurred that day
My lips just jump into the fray


Your room is full of awful junk
And you have candy in your bunk
Oh what a filthy little punk

At times I wish you were a monk
I'd like to give your head a dunk
But you are such a handsome hunk

© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Tan-Renga Poems--National Poetry Month

These are combined effort poems called Tan-Renga poems. I'll do the first part and my son will do the second part after he's done killing things on the computer...in about a month...;o) If you'd like to try these, go here to get the directions.

What's in the Air
Killing sinuses,
Plant poisons percolating
Blocking the channels,
Arrest nasal cavities.
I really hate allergies!

Doggy paws 

I love my dog's feet
Feather softness, slick design
So nimble and quick
His toe-beans are so very fine
Yet there's no traction on tile. 


Just an opinion
but skin-colored uniforms
With pitch black numbers
Make interesting soccer
For those mad enough to watch.

 Thank you, Barret, for your kind help...;o)

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Lost Boy--ABCB Poem--National Poetry Month

This is a poem I wrote about one of my favorite subjects: Scouting. I think parents often blow the idea of Scouting off as an unimportant way to corral their wild son or keep him busy, or it's just what one does with boys that age. This is my take:

Lost Boys
I glanced up the street near our rickety home
One brilliantly sunny day
There sat a boy so very alone
Forgotten and not asked to play

He taunted and teased and trouble was his
He stole and the neighbors all swore
That that boy would eventually land in jail
Where he couldn't tag houses anymore.

While around me my cub scouts were playing a game
They hollered and kidded and learned
For they were a brotherhood forged in fun
And trouble they consciously spurned.

The lost little boy, neglected and sad
Ragged and tattered and brown
Stood at the fence and watched the cubs play
On his face a dejected frown

"Want to come in?" I asked on a whim
And the little boy's eyes opened wide
"What? You really want me? You're talking to me?"
At my nod he was happy to bide.

"Are you sure about this?" my assistant asked
As she watched the young boy muscle in.
"It's the best thing I've thought of in many a day"
I said with serendipitous grin.

From that day on, the lost boy became found
With hardly a terrible swear
He came by himself, for his folks wouldn't come
And he still had no uniform wear.

I saw a marked change in that lost little boy
That made me feel peaceful inside
For what he was learning should always stay near
And his smile he could barely hide.

He played all the games and earned all his ranks
A reflection of me in his eyes  
And I knew we'd been lucky to harbor this boy
From the mean streets, impossibly wise.

But the months labored on and I was released
And another one took up the call
And because of their hatred of that little boy
They lost him; he ne'er came at all. 

Instead of triumph, I looked back at that boy
As reminder what could happen if
The leaders of boys have no heart for the job
It can build an unbreakable rift.

Don't let the work of building a man 
Get lost in the day-to-day grind
Of planning, and working, and taking the time
To fill up the little boy's mind

For someday you'll see what a man he's become
He'll look down and meet your eye
And hopefully there you'll see honor and care
And a glimpse of the mountain so high.

I still look for the boy; that lost little boy
Who stood at the fence on that day
And I wish I could meet him with open arms
And say all the things I should say.

© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

I AM--A Month of Poetry "30 Poems in 30 Days" April #National Poetry Month

Today I'm writing an I AM poem. If you'd like the matrix for this one, go here

I'd also like to say that my family does say some really nice things to me. I'm not saying they're ogres...:o) They're not. I have a family much like anyone else's. 

I Am…
I am buoyant but sinkable.
I wonder if a body can contain both those things at once.
I hear that fear can rob one of light and lightness.
I see too often that I let that spark go dim and the fear that I'm not good enough or worth enough takes over.
I want to feel God's arms around me and hear him telling me that I am enough.
I am buoyant but sinkable.
I pretend that a whole Happy Place family whispers sweet things to me.
I feel them hugging me and holding my hand.
I touch them back, but there really isn't anyone there.
I worry that I spend too much time making up things for them to say instead of accepting the reality of my family.
I cry sometimes in the night, thinking how big the disparity often is.
I am buoyant but sinkable.
I understand that the Lord loves everyone, and I will feel that love if I am patient.
I say Christ justified everything--evened it out and built fairness into our seemingly unfair lives.
I dream of the day when my mortal flaws and theirs fall away and we see things as they are, shorn of pretense and judgment.
I try to learn patience.
I hope I will always hear God's voice in my head, telling me I am His.
I am sinkable but buoyant.

© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy

Empty Bed--Free Verse--National Poetry Month

I know we probably have another poetry type scheduled, but this one is in my heart today, so I'm doing at least this one my way:

Empty bed
Covers still askew
Reminds me 
That my boy is gone.
Somehow this time 
Hurts worse,
Though in a good way.
More permanent.
I sit at the foot, 
Of his still sheeted, 
Welcome-home-from-your-mission bed

Wearing his underpants 
So he could see the Rangers, 
He was Robin in a scarlet cape
To his elder brother's Bat,
Softy sword thrust through
The waistband, 
Pink fringy cowgirl boots
That he loved
More than 
Fearing the ridicule.

He and the Bat stacked soup cans
Until someone got hurt.
Such a chipmunk, 
Cute and energetic, 
Building problem-solving gadgets
And Leggo towers.
There might even be a brick or two
Lurking in the dust
Beneath the bed,
Along with his lost Scout book
And one or two neckerchief slides.

Will he take his Pinewood derby cars,
Or the notebooks 
Filled with drawings, 
Duck stamp competition ribbons,
Old toys and Waldo books?
Or leave them 
To gather dust
Like his lonely bed.

He was my listening post,
My confidante,
My life line in the storms,
My green-furred island.

How I'll miss him.
But he is no longer
My creature.
I can only hope
I have honed him well for her.

I sit at the foot of his bed
And weep.
© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy