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

Saturday, April 14, 2018

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

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