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STEPHEN MURRAY

 

Originally from Limerick; I currently live, write and work as a stonemason in Connemara, County Galway. I recently won the Cuirt International Literature Festival Poetry Grand Slam 2005 and will be performing my work at the birth place of slam poetry, The Mill, Chicago in Ocotober of this year.

 

 

 

THE NAIL


The nail that gave way at the top

Silenced the sound of the drop

As all hell hit the ground

And a hurricane came

With an apron and mop

It rained and it rained

And it never

Did stop

 

 

CACOPHONY      

                                                                                                                                 

The curtain is drawn

The stage alive with the ghosts of the lost

Speaking fluent gibberish into turnip microphones

To an audience of tearful green metallic flies

And the rapturous applause of china dolls

Dressed in Victorian dreams

Today was the day the chandeliers

Came crashing to the floor

The organist died mid song

Falling face-flat-down

Onto one final eternal terminal chord

Bleeding from the ears and from the eyes

It will hit you tonight while you sleep

When you wake weeping uncontrollably

In what will be your final and greatest performance ever

For tonight is the night the puppets perform

Without strings or storyline

The band shall play in motionless silence

To an entourage of raggy dolls

Who sit violently still

With their eyes torn out

While clowns turn childish laughter

Into psycho screams in the silence

But for children’s dreams

The tales to old folk fairies tell

Senile on the carousel

Of muffled whispers from the Jack in the box

That reveal a dark and terrifying secret

That is a secret no more

The puppeteer is dead

The puppeteer has always been dead

Remember well your last night’s decent sleep

It will have been your last

   

 

STARLING

 

Starling you have been
the darling of the wood

For far too long

You have neglected your nest

And the magpies are eating

Your children

 

 

HAIKU

 

Crows play

Their black violins

With broken bows

That grind

Beneath flightless wings

 

 

 

 

 

 

copyright © Steven Murray