Limited Horizon
Trees, thick leafed trees of April
Through to thicker early autumn
Encompass my horizon,
Stop me
Seeing beyond Cloonkeen, Gurteen
Hold me back from Balymac–
Their constant summer teasing
Filling up, greening up
My pegged fence line.
Only I know come late autumn
And into winter, I’ll catch my glimpse again
Prolong my view beyond this one room Parish.
By then, Hungary’s one hundred and ten mile fence
Across its Serbian border
Tasked to hold optimistic migrants back,
To keep them out of view
Of European leafed trees, keep them in view of peep holed wire
Throughout autumn, winter, spring. Again–
Will be joined by bigger fences, bigger struggles
Europe troubled.
Previously published Scarlet Leaf Review, 2016
Into Death
Her grief was as palpable as the malnourished
Briars of November, jutting from each shrunken ditch.
Unlike the briars, their thin wristing arms protruding
Towards my chest, she stood away from me, in the West
Beyond the lapping of an Ocean in Milford, Connecticut.
Placing thumb and finger upon a weakened thorn
I felt a stabbing pain and my eyes drooping
Fell upon hidden roots, gulping like my uncle did
Gasping at every molecule of oxygen, drinking
Slurping, swallowing each pocket of winter’s witching air
Between shrapnel’s of frost, and sanding’s of snow
Each element attempting to stave off contorted valves, strangling,
Cursing each tautened briar to death.
Previously published JuxtaProse Magazine, 2015
Freeze Frame
It was the second day
Of the middle month of autumn,
Almost 8pm, not yet dark but heading there.
The patch of sky, where your black tipped wings
Soared above my head, was red,
A reddish hint with whitened clouds behind it,
And in the gaps some blue. A glimpse of days before,
Long summer hours when you and yours
Flew bellied up, above my head
Circling, like children out of school
With lengthening days out stretched to play.
That day you flew alone, the rest no doubt behind you
Returning from a practice flight,
Weeks were all you had, before departure
To your sun drenched nest.
Underneath your wings I stood,
Hand waving, knowing of the little left,
The seasons change, the hotter sands.
And in that moment,
That picture frame I would no doubt gaze upon
During a frosted night, or starlit evening,
I asked, if you would freeze it too,
That joyous bond, your wing beat
Close my waving hand.
Only, you didn’t answer, I never knew.
Previously published Literature Today, 2015
Haunted House
A house need not be haunted
To scare the sanest mind,
Hidden in our folds lie ghosts
Their memories unkind
We keep them locked behind a door
We keepers of the seal,
We live our lives away from them
As if they were not real
Their voices rise like smoke at night
Their chains rattle at our door,
Their laughter that of storming wind
To coax us to the floor
Should we open up their box…
We enter to the past,
Should we travel deep enough…
They might not let us back.
If I Had Known
If I had known what I know now,
I wouldn’t have been silent,
If I had known the counting clock,
I’d have asked more questions,
If I had known I’d lose your face,
I’d have taken more pictures,
If I had known the little left,
I’d never have let you go,
If I had known what I know now,
Would it really be any different?
Previously published Poems from Conflicted Hearts, An Anthology 2014
Life is not enough
He had just life itself
No love to call his own.
Bounced about
Thrown between the walls
Of other children’s homes.
He had just life itself
Enough
Was said
This life was his to breathe
But life itself was not enough
No chance had he to live
No chance had he to ever fully live, or breathe.
Limited Horizon and other poems © Marie H. Curran |
Chris Murray 