There are more blue flowers in Spring.
Winter has passed.
The ancient tower is abeyant.
Trees rush to cover it.
Dwarf irises and hyacinths,
lift their powdered arms.
Narcissi crowned, ignores them.
A hawk trembles through the upper reaches of my trees.
Souls in the tree of life,
their small bowls aflame.
Small their lights,
a bird begins his song
Amaryllis is old gold
coppering on my sill.
New leaf is come,
where hedges were shorn.
The hacked hedges,
harshly cut,
Last cut before the nesting –
© Chris Murray 2025
from "Found Poem, Spring" first published The Honest Ulsterman at this link
Category: 25 Pins in a packet women creators
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The Trees, Dawn
Late, the willow pushes out her new leaf.
Great pink blossoms in bunches like
bouquets hang head-heavy against
willow's stasis.
Peonies emerge, pink and blood.
Wren piccolo,
and the heavy perfume of a dying rose.
She brings flowers that are dying. These
are mauve. Zephyr-caressed, their petals,
fawn-edged.
Shades of pungence,
of mauve pungence.
They will bow-down by morning.
I do not understand. The green leaf falls
on my black end table. Why bring the
dying to me? Haven't I had enough dying?
Your mauve roses, zephyr-curled,
are browning. Frilled.
The white cherry blossom is blown. Tulip
mouths hang open in despair. I almost step
on a white eggshell, broken, out-of-nest.
There is a dead tree and no nest above me.
The small birds have flown.
The rooks in the ancient tower
do not want to be disturbed by me.
There are trays of proliferating pansies
by the church steps. Several snails seek succor in her
door frames. A cross across a mossy path once
an egress, stops you in your tracks.
The village vases are being replenished.
© Chris Murray, 2024.
Note. "The Trees, Dawn" forms a part of my recently published work "Found Poem, Spring". The three parts of the poem are "The Trees, Night", "There Are More Blue Flowers in Spring", and "The Trees, Dawn". Thanks to the editors of Skylight47, Bernie Crawford, Ruth Quinlan and D’or Seifer for publishing this excerpt. The poem in its entire can be read here. -
The Trees, Night.
Souls in the tree of life,
their bowls ablaze–
coppering their old gold.
As day moves to evening,
all warmth leaves the trees.
Red blood in their branches
remains. Heating
her lamps.
Brighter now than ever
for a short time before
sunset, moonrise.
Souls in the tree of life,
their bowls ablaze–
Small and dwindling their flames.
Small birds fly.
Moon waxes gibbous,
its tilted egg almost there,
almost full.
Souls in the tree of life,
their copper bowls are night-warm,
small their flames.
In dead of night, their
flames flicker, dance.
The stars are trees' tongues,
moving into language.
Her lamps lit,
her diamonds hung.
It is long, long
before dawns' song.
In the bluelit
darklight,
bluebells thread
into boundary hedges
working up,
closed, their flowers.
Light begins round the great Yew,
setting red the comet tail of a spider's
house.
It is hanging by a thread.
© Chris Murray, October 2024.
'The Trees, Night' is an excerpt from a tripartite poem titled 'Found Poem, Spring'. The titled parts of the poem are 'The Trees, Dawn', 'There Are More Blue Flowers in Spring', and 'The Trees, Night'. The poem in its entire can be read at The Honest Ulsterman , with thanks to Editor Gregory McCartney.
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If we start with the title, we must always start with the title, these are songs! The poet would seem to be reminding us of the very intimate connection between poetry and song, which I would say has largely been lost when one considers the amount of prose, as opposed to prosody, which has slipped into contemporary “poetry” these days. The irony being that while I write this, I am finishing an almost year long study into the prosody of the seldom read French novelist Louis Ferdinand Céline whose poetic lineage goes back to chanson de geste and Le Roman de la Rose of Frech medieval poetry and which was to have such a profound influence on not only western literature but on western notions of chivalry and what we understand in a modern sense as romantic ‘Love’ today!
Read the review here.
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So, the above title belongs to a subscription-only article based on an essay about the unavoidable mentioning of my whole cardiac debacle in the context of Her Red Songs (my new book). I am not mad about talking about it, to the extent that a few people knew anything at all, it seems. However, these things impact our creative lives, and they leave their mark not alone on the body, but on the book. It has left its mark on my book, from title change, dedication, the creation of the index to the final poems chosen. That is why I wrote the essay, it is unavoidable.
The fact of it is that the book changed a lot from the time of its acceptance and contract in 2022 to the one published in 2024 and the reasons for these changes are written here, https://www.irishtimes.com/culture/books/2024/03/15/how-rewriting-my-poetry-collection-after-a-heart-attack-helped-my-recovery/?fbclid=IwAR2HckheRJSBGUW_6UVQ_-NJCj2DoJunBkqCAHFf0HeJBQ0FyC_-XC3_DEM (Irish Times, books)
If you can’t access the above subscription article, I put an earlier version of the above essay in my Internet Archive account here, https://archive.org/details/on-her-red-songs
And for those people who like things that cannot be found elsewhere, there are three well-read electronic chapbooks at a similar address here,
Internet Archive: https://archive.org/details/@christine-elizabeth
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Her Red Songs was completed at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig, Co Monaghan. My thanks to the wonderful director Dr. Eimear O’Connor and her staff. Thanks to the Department of Tourism, Culture, Arts, Gaelteacht, Sports and Media for including me in the Basic Income for the Arts Scheme of 2022. Thanks to my editor Elizabeth McSkeane for her support and encouragement, and to Leeanne Quinn and Anamaría Crowe Serrano for their readings of the book.
Acknowledgments are due to the editors of the following publications, Nessa O’Mahony editor of Poetry Ireland Review 138 for publishing ‘tree is real silver’. Dr. Roula-Maria Dib, editor-in-chief of Indelible Literary Journal (American University Dubai) for publishing ‘red rose world’ and ‘Addendum to‘ in the Skin in the Game Issue of Indelible. “The Lares Series ‘ was first published in Indelible Issue IV, January 2021. ‘Seed‘ was published by Timber Journal, Issue 11.2 Summer 2021. ‘Leaf Settles’ was published by UCD Special Collections, Poetry In Lockdown, A Pandemic Archive, in February 2021. ‘lily crowded window’ was first published in formafluens, March 2021, Ed, Tiziana Colusso. ‘Morning Star’ was published in Irish Times Poetry with thanks to Gerard Smyth. ‘Aftermath’ was published in the Honest Ulsterman in June 2023.
Publication Notes, https://textworksite.com/journals-bibliography-publication-notes/
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Aftermath Body knows soul does not accept— the worst happened it is over— ||nearly|| it is nearly over| body experiences s i l v e rdawnssong blackbirdsong silvers, slivers of its song are a silversong— I feel it along my arms soul trembles it is over, nearly— flowers were—their lights light the path body knows— © Chris Murray 2023 First published The Honest Ulsterman, June 2023. Aftermath is companion to Violence, from fragments 1&2 first published Belfield Literary Review, issue 2, spring 2022, Eds. Paul Perry and Niamh Campbell. Both poems are from my forthcoming book. -
cold starlings beech gather their cacophonies to the gates copper -leaved golden -throned. Break bread for them, bring water for them. blue mountain, the sleeping houses a hot-house orchid Mabel chases her ball Beautyberries subsist, |her peripheries stripped| Wintering – a drop of rain blesses each white globe benediction for the tiny bird there Break bread for them, bring water for them. Snowdrops, cyclamens low flowers cling to the low sun ii. I left a winter-flowering almond tree Once— her white breath against a dull sky Him— Here, at the cross road where five places meet my flowers are resurrecting their pinks. Baby’s breath, in a tall blue jug belonging to Lily. She listens to the sea, South of here. Copyright Chris Murray 2022 -
Tree is real silver I. Birds tremble there alighting — (lighting) its stained glass recedes and within each bright ening light ening shape the song of a bird embeds a garnet— Each red-feathered song pewtering silver -ground on lazuli II. I see their (a) -lighting. They leaf the tree in the absence of bud, greening the tree Envoi: May Birds embed their gems secretly, beneath leaf Copyright 2022 Chris Murray First published Poetry Ireland Review N°138, "An Eavan Boland Special Issue" Editor, Nessa O'Mahony. Journals, and:bibliography, and: publication notes https://textworksite.com/journals-bibliography-publication-notes/
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sans it is all ceremony it is all the cloths all gathered-in it is white tailor’s chalk in a neat triangle it is the blanket-stitch before the machine it is the neighbour woman with her bone-pick pulling stitches one by one from the curtain lining the [bone-pick] is ivory coloured a little larger than a [tooth-pick] nubbed to cradle under the silks and lift them up so she can snip it at the ties the little knot hidden in back of the material stretched out across her knees is silver the thread is doubled-to her material is some floral-stuff on white laid onto a cream skirting she will rinse it out in cold water later and hang it on the monday line the blue-blue rope of the monday line the length of material is clean / sweaty from her handiwork she will hang it over the gauze of her nets which are always immaculate her effort is blind she does not need eyes to feel her work her gathering-to of the pleats Copyright 2013 Chris Murray Published Southword Online URL http://www.munsterlit.ie/Southword/Issues/25/murray_christine.html Collected The Blind, Oneiros Books, 2013
Chris Murray 