Mark A. Murphy is a marginalized, low income, Ace poet, living with GAD, complex PTSD, and OCD. His work has appeared in The Magnolia Review, ISACOUSTIC and DREICH Magazine. He has poems forthcoming in Cultural Weekly and Synchronised Chaos.
Always, there are voices that come unchecked like the sound of water rippling in the stone basin of the night fountain Some effortless like the glad sound of your father digging the earth or mother shouting you in for supper Some apocryphal like the recently dead who come when you least expect to bring you moonstone and memory Invariably, there are voices that come from the trunks of trees and their voices are always most troubled Now distant – like the voices of dragonflies your siblings and your oldest friends
Stem to Stern
You sail by the stars as if sailing might substitute prayer for the liquor you keep on tap For the nights when sleep eludes and the hand of the Almighty is found lacking (dreaming up another Titanic or Zeebrugge) For the nights when the wind drops to less than a whisper and the cold breath of God nether stirs, nor offends, but hangs Quite indifferent to the backbreaking jaunt into the equatorial calm like a whale oblivious to trade wind or doldrums
O star-sailor, devouring Time with an albatross’ eye Breaking the night’s fast with ceviche and aguardiente O star-sailor, trawling the deep with a whale’s mouth Reaping the current and threshing the sand O star-sailor, devouring folly with a poet’s obsession Garnering oysters and exhuming midnight pearls Write for us, sing in our ear, O star-sailor