Page the Second


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

Monday, April 30, 2018

The Reformation of Lady Elinor Review

Review for REFORMATION OF LADY ELINOR by Darryl Harris

REFORMATION OF LADY ELINOR is about a young widow who is very devout Catholic during a time when the climate of religious belief was changing. Elinor is set to spy on Garrett Bloxham, a handsome man suspected of smuggling English language Bibles into England, a burning offense. She finds, however, that not only is Garrett definitely smuggling books and tracts, but why.

Elinor takes a pilgrimage to Rome in order to pay for some imagined sins in her early life she has been told by her priest has caused her daughter to be blind. She feels that the pilgrimage will earn healing for her daughter, and possibly buy her own way out of Purgatory.

On the journey she takes with Garrett Bloxham and his servant, she finds that things are rotten in Rome. Instead of finding the meeting with the Pope and his servants blissful and fulfilling, Elinor finds that he is definitely a man with feet of clay. She flees to the safety of Garrett’s arms, in spite of turning him away because he continued to throw a damper on her fantastic journey.

What Elinor learns is nothing if not earth-shattering. All her life she has been a staunch defender of the Catholic church. She begins to learn, under Garrett’s tender care, that God wanted His children to be able to read their own scriptures and make their own way back to Him.

Throughout the story in which she meets Tyndale and Luther, there is an element of menace in the form of Oswyn Pygott, a commissioner for the King, self-appointed punisher of smugglers and other heretics, and “admirer” of Elinor. I say admirer, but he actually only demands she marry him to get her money and name. Oswyn is determined to catch Bloxham at his smuggling and torture him to death.

I enjoyed this book about the Reformation. The research Mr. Harris did was exhaustive and complete. He puts you right there during the stew that was England at the time of Henry VIII. What a dangerous time in which to live! This book makes me glad that we live in a country in which there must be due process of law and separation of Church and State.

While I am a religious person, I would not want to have my every move dictated to me. I like to form my own conclusions and manage my own beliefs and morals. It is clear to me why my ancestors fled Britain for the Colonies.

There is one spot in which Princess Mary is mistakenly attributed to Ann Boleyn, when she was actually Kathryn of Aragon’s only child. I found no other slips of this nature.

My one other warning is that Mr. Harris pulls no punches. Catholics may find this book obnoxious and heavyhanded. I find it to be a mirror of the times in which the book is set. Harris lays out every tenet by which reformers like Martin Luther lived and taught. He makes it clear why those men would risk their lives as later Protestants would as well. I found this work well-researched, an interesting story, and fast-paced. Harris puts you right into the action, showing what it would be like to attend the King’s Christmas tourney, as well as what it was like to go on pilgrimage. You walk the streets of Rome alongside Elinor and Garrett.

I give this work six out of seven pilgrim staffs and look forward to reading more of Darryl Harris’ works.
You can get it here.

National Poetry Month--Day 30--Questad Poem plus spare

On this last day of April and the last day of the poetry challenge, I'm doing a Questad poem. And yes, I was just as confused as you are about it. I thought it had something to do with a quest...which it doesn't. Learn about them here.

It's been a pleasure writing poetry and stretching myself to do something creative. (Actually I'm probably going to go add bits of broken mirror to my broken glass chandelier so that ticks another creative box.) I hope you've enjoyed my often freakish sense of humor. Thanks for reading these and leaving the occasional comment. They make me feel like someone actually comes here and this isn't all a colossal wasteland where words go to die alone and unwanted.
I give you Windchimes:

by H. Linn Murphy

Chimes dance as the world's breath blows them
Singing lovelier notes than a hundred doves (not hard if you've ever heard doves, by the way, but it sounds good on paper)
Making magical, mystical morning music 
Ting. Ting. Tinginging away
A message from the wind
Like a rippling stream
Filling my life with traceries of lacy love from the One who set it all in motion.
You are loved, they say.

And while I'm on the subject of doves....

The world loves doves, 
Mascot of peace
Chosen to lift wedding wishes
To the heavens
In a cloud of feathers rising.

Not me.
In reality doves are
Idiot birds, denser
Than a bag of wet toilet paper
They lay nests 
In ridiculous places
(The ladder, a hanging planter, 
Palm trees, cupboards you use all the time, etc)
So their children fall
Paralyzed to the ground.

They freak out if you go near
Their nest, which they
Build next to your
Front door or on top of your car
And if you move that object
On which they park their butt
They abandon 
That nest and their eggs,
Choosing instead to sit somewhere close
And Who Who Who WHO WHO at you.

Plus they sing one monotonous note.
Just one.
Who. Who. Who. Who. Who. Who.
And over.
And over again
Sending me to beg
For fingernails on a chalkboard
To rid my ears of incessancy.
All of this is true. 
So why do I try to rescue 
Those poor ugly babies?

© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Sunday, April 29, 2018

National Poetry Month--Day 29--Haiku and a Wish Poem

In honor of Sunday and the reason for it.

I'm writing this Saturday night, so I have no idea what Stephanie is ordering for the poem today. I'm doing a haiku:

Christ reaches his hand
To lift his sibs from trouble
Catch on tight, brother.

Diamond studded moon
Sails on an ocean of stars
Lantern of my God

Weed whacker growling
Biting the plants we don't like
Good thing it can't get............

(One of these things is not like the others. I wrote this
while listening to my husband whack weeds. Weeds 
are Gods creations too, right?)

Here's the spot where you can find out about Wish Poems. And here's my Wish Poem for today:

I wish I could hear your voice louder than I can't hear his.
I wish the way we're together but in two different universes could change.
I wish he cared enough to break back into my universe and rescue me from the glass tower I'm stuck in.
I wish he looked at me the way I thought he used to
I wish the voices of people saying things will work out in the end would be louder and more insistent and truth-filled than the ones saying personalities won't change.
I wish I felt Your love more deeply--down into the core of my soul
I wish I felt like there was one person on this earth who needs me to be me, and who cares.
If wishing were chocolates, I'd be a hippopotamus.

© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Saturday, April 28, 2018

National Poetry Month--Day 28--Superhero Poem

It seems like we're celebrating superheros today, since yesterday a big superhero movie came out. And while I like superheros and think the movies are entertaining, I think they're mostly rather two dimensional. You never really see them doing anything but fighting (except maybe the Incredibles).

So my poem today is an ode to the sidekicks and the clean-up crew we never hear jack about. They can be every bit as much superheros as Superman and Thor are (sort of). If you want more information about superhero or courage poems, go here. Otherwise read on.


We think of superheros like Superman and Flash 
And Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and Thor
But somehow no one asks just who will pick up trash
When these fighting heroes generate some more

They blast the guy with freeze rays, some giant rocks, or cars
Without a thought to what is getting wrecked
Who cares about those runners getting squished and seeing stars
While the buildings all around them blow to heck.

I'm for the mighty Janitor--comes in when fighting's done.
He sweeps up all the broken glass and bricks.
He picks up all the little kids and makes sure that they run
Instead of concentrating on hot chicks.

He's the one who cleans the roads and picks the buildings up
He turns the cars and buses back upright
He reunites the mommys with their weeping little pups
I'm sure that watching him would be a sight.

Of course we're always grateful that we don't have to endure
The terrible debacles of Thor's Loki
Or any of the thousands of other villains to be sure
But I'm thankful for the Janitor, okey dokey.

© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Friday, April 27, 2018

National Poetry Month--Day 27--Terse Verse

Today we're doing Terse Verse. If you want to see what that is, go here. I'll get down to it, shall I?

What do you call vitamins?
Ills Pills

What do you call liquor that causes problems?
Randy Brandy

What do you call it when you hope for a genii to do your chores?
Dish Wish

What do you call a boyfriend who showers you with gifts?
Candy Dandy

What do you call people who drink bovine excretions?
Milk Ilk

What do you call frozen bovine refreshment?
Scream Cream

What do you call goop that fixes what you wear on your feet?
Shoe Goo

What do you call a conveyance that takes your livestock across the river?
Goat Boat

What do you call your alarm?
Sleep Beep

What do you call the place where they draw the line around you?
Chalk Walk

What do you call it when your lunch comes out of the microwave?
Done Bun

And now my offering is just that. Done...:o)

Thursday, April 26, 2018

National Poetry Month--Day 26--Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day

So today is Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day, which I didn't know until just now. I could totally have shared my poem at the dentist if I'd known. Ah well. We get to see the dental surgeon today too, so there's that. If you want to know what this is, go here. Otherwise, I'm writing something today but I'll probably show yesterday's poem since I really love how it came out. Anywho, here's today's children's poem:

Ever had something get stuck in your nose 
And you can't seem to get the thing out?

It could be a bean or a button or block
And all you can do is shout.

It's hiding way up there where nothing'll reach
Not a crochet hook, toothbrush or pen

When you tell your sweet mom about the obstruction
She freaks out and goes round the bend

She doesn't want screaming or stomping around
And she won't let you use your finger

It's a pretty sure bet that she'll haul you away 
To the doctor and that's a real zinger.

He'll try not to snicker with the nurses in back
He'll endeavor to get the thing out

And if you complain about no lollipop
You can bet you'll have reason to pout.

And your mom is irate at the time that you've shot
But she adores her fabulous kid

It's a much better plan that instead of all this
Don't stick it up there like you did.

© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Fields of Glory Review

If you like your Land Girls with a bit of a mystery, this is the book for you. Recently Anna J. Buttimore wrote a book called Fields of Glory, about a pair of British farm girls (sisters, actually) three years into WWII.

Eleanor, sixteen, works like a Land Girl, even though her family owns the farm they labor on. A boy comes to the door one day, begging to be hired as a farmer. Luckily her father employs Jim, an evacuee from London, who is full of evasion, but a hard worker and loyal to his family. Eleanor works at the mysteries surrounding Jim, until she learns the truth about his poor family. It doesn't stop her from making him a friend.

Pat, her older sister, has formed an attachment with Chas, a black American soldier. He charms her and is kind and interesting, but soon ships off to the war, leaving Pat wondering just where she stands.

Someone else wonders that very thing. Alex, the rich boy who has known her all her life but only been friendly perks up and finally takes notice. Just as things are stirring up, a whole wing of Alex's mansion blows up. When the girls return home, they find that their mother has been taken into custody because it becomes known that she has been colluding with a German.

The girls must learn who the real German spy is, and who blew up Thundersley Hall so they can free their mother.

Anna painted us a wonderful picture, putting us right into the story. I felt the ache in my back as Anna showed me what it felt like to have to produce the food people were queuing for, since the men were off in the war. I felt the brush of a dress like Patricia's threadbare frock against my legs where I'd, like her, drawn a brown line down the back of each leg to make them look like stockings.

Was that an inquisitive neighbor, or someone hiding a German spy? Did the old man who shopkeepers wouldn't sell to really blow up a British think tank, or was he merely a lonely old man who kept a lush garden?

And I felt the anguish they must have felt at having an empty bedroom full of a brother's no longer needed things. I felt their fear as they wondered why someone is bombing the manor next door. Why was their mother carted off, possibly never to return? How can they prove her innocence? How can they get all that work done? And who should Pat walk out with, the rich boy next door who has never been more than a friend, or the black American soldier who might never return from war? It was a time when you either kept your family close or risked never seeing them again.

I enjoyed this mystery. Eleanor and Pat felt like sisters to me. This book featured:
Zero sex or bad language.
Nada for guts and blood.
No visible corpses.
A pinch of stolen kiss.
A teaspoon of substance abuse at a bar.
A gallon of going on instinct.
A shovelful of rallying home spirit.
Bombs, spies, and Germans, oh my!

My take? I give this book seven out of eight shovels.
You can get this book here or here. I highly recommend it.

National Poetry Month--Day 25--Free Verse--That Moment

Today we're doing free verse. If you don't know what that means, you can go here to learn about it.

I wanted to post the picture of him I took with the dew rising, but it's locked away on my still-languishing computer.

So if you've been paying attention, you know I write about my dog a bunch. I'd have to say it's because he's the being I spend most of my time with. Although he can't talk to me, he's the one who understands me best. He's perfectly patient (unless there is a ball in the park at stake) and loyal (unless someone else at the park throws further) and the only being in the world who will lick my feet. That's got to be saying something. Nobody else will even touch them. That's my dog for you. In his honor, here's another poem:


Light scintillating through leaves
Pricking aureoles through dark lace
A patchwork of light across the 
Fresh-mown grass.
I swing and
The ball cracks out,
High into the fluff-studded blue.
As if shot from a gun, you're off
The tawny length of you
Bunching, then 
Stretched lean, golden taffy.
You listen for the ball's whine,
Turning at the last second.
Your jaws crash shut over the screaming orb
You thunder back,
Your ears streaming, 
Your tail a golden flag in the wind.
My breath catches
As we're caught in molten amber.
The dew flies up,
Scattering diamonds
In the new-minted sunlight.
It's one of those 
Precious microcosms,
One perfect crystalline moment.
© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

National Poetry Month--Day 24--What if poem--Dogeroo

We're doing What If poems today. If you want to know how to do one, go here. Otherwise, witness this offering I actually wrote at 9:44 last night...;o)

What if, instead of having to rely on those chocolate-y orbs that melt my heart, you instead could ask for half my dinner using words?
I might be inclined to share more of it, thus rendering you fatter and me skinnier. Hmm........

What if your tongue, that tickles when it slurps over me, could actually heal what it licks?
I could actually take you running again, instead of standing there like a half stone statue, throwing balls for you to chase.

What if 'they' could take lessons from you in devotion, patience, and pure, unselfish love?
I would be a blissfully happy person.

But then, what would you do all day?
© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Monday, April 23, 2018

National Poetry Month--Day 23--Poetweet--Sharks

Today it's a 280 character poetweet poem. If you're wondering about this form, go here. Otherwise, here's my offering:

Your predatory grin
Your dandy-looking fin
The form so sleek and thin
All don’t help when teeth sink in.
You think you’re something slick
When you chomp your victim—Ick!
But the streamlined way you flick
Through the water splickety-lick
Only strikes my heart with fear
When you draw near.

© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

National Poetry Month--Day 22--Pleiades Poem, Spares

Today we're doing a Pleiades Poem. Yeah, I was snowed too, until I went here and looked it up. So this is my offering today, since I will be sitting in the dentist's office while my son gets his teeth done before he goes off to parts unknown on his two year mission for our church. Plus there are some other poems I did freelance.


Do they Delight in the Decidedly Dippy grins and
Delirious Discussions of their Definitely Dopped-up 
Dental patients as they Dive into the Doors of breath
During Dental Discoveries? Definitely. They just Deny
Doing Dastardly Deeds with cameras.
Dentists Don't Daunt me.
Do they Delight or Debilitate you?
(This poem was seven lines before the kerning messed it up.)

And my spares:


Oh ye doors of breath and conversation
Which pucker to accept
The kiss of a husband and render the same 
To loves familial,
Which speak a plethora of phrases both
Absurd and Profound,
Aid and derision, 
Longing and replete,
Which sing in dusky tones and
Fill the air with laughter and sarcasm,
Why must ye spring wide
To accept such vast quantities of repast?
Though the mind quails at 
The promise of rotundity,
You unhinge as a snake
To welcome enough victuals
To support an embattled keep.
Groan you then, and dither and whinge
About the impending tonnage.
Close the gate, I say.
Push back before impending doom.
Leave some for the rest of the country.

That curtain of black velvet
Which steals away the cares of day
Evaded me last night
Leaving only lassitude.
I run and run and 
Never catch the racing thief
Of dreams and plans
And budding hopes.
Take only ID this night, 
Old friend.
Leave dreams behind.

© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Saturday, April 21, 2018

National Poetry Month--Days 20, 21--Rictameter, American 767 Poem

I was busy doing service yesterday and thus had no time to write. On a great note, I helped a couple find buried treasure. Actually. FUN!!! So I'm doing catch-up today before I head off to the Temple. If you'd like to learn either of these poem types, go here. Otherwise, check out my poems:

Day 20--Rictameter

Reaching upwards
Jamming my fist in cracks
Seeking places for hands and feet
Vanishing chimneying opportunities
Summiting, the wind cooling sweat
Gazing out across land

Day 21--American 767 Poem

Behold, a bug on Facebook
That hollows holes in skin.
Good thing that horror is fake!
© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Thursday, April 19, 2018

National Poetry Month--Day 19--Cinquains--Driving

For Day 18 we have cinquains. If you want to know how to do this form, visit Stephanie over here. Today I'm doing a tribute to my son, who just got his learner's permit re-upped. He's going on his mission and a little freaked out about driving. I personally understand that, since my city has a plethora of wretched drivers at every turn. So these are his sentiments in my words:

Caskets on wheels
Avoiding accidents
Trusting life with rank idiots
© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

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