Eamon Ceannt Park; a cycleI. Ingress. Her boot leathers are wet, grass-greened. Things have gone aground at the grove, her parasols all caught up in a breeze of light. Wood clattery heels sound their outsoundings, a filigree. II. Inscription. The park is scattered as after a storm. and the sky is close as goose down. Geese screel and beat overhead,
III. There is a man in the stone. The dew is playing fire at her feet, A legion of rooks guard his stone.
IV. Stasis. The route through the groves is frozen today; There is no mistaking this scene for a balletic stasis, A cold sun rises above the minarets She is glad to leave,
V. The Queen’s Rook. And what if she entered that garden wearing her last veil? The willows lash her face The only thing seeming alive in this desolate place He stalks above her veiled head, She heard a name.
VI. Egress. She looks back to the stone She no longer sees the far away The path is different by day.
Coda It is dark beneath the tree. And, The rising sun has not yet caught And, A clutter of dry debris, a black feather And, She would sing him if only he let her. And, “Intreat me not to leave thee she leaves. Eamon Ceannt Park; a cycle by Christine Murray was first published at Bone Orchard Poetry Ezine and collected then in Cycles (Lapwing Press, 2013)
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Tag: Bone Orchard Poetry
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#1
now’s dark is a clever
adjustment of the iris
to the notlight,
now’s dark is an anguish
of silhouette hidden in
tree’s whispering reed
now’s dark is a white
chair beneath a tree
moon-illumined and
somehow wrongly set
there..#2
now’s dark is a heap of mottled
silver black
ashen in its not-ight, it could be a
pile of ash,
it’s the silver of silica dotted with
miniscule impurities, sunless.#3
now’s dark the pearl,
mother-of-pearl interior
imagined in its streaks
of opalescent, it doesn’t
reflect anything on its surfaces
beneath the black skin of its
bone button, or chain, its
dullness is an indictment
of light’s absence, its cycles.
Poems from ‘Now’s Dark’ by C. Murray be read at Bone Orchard Poetry and are © C. Murray
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Tree-Wheel
In the rain its knuckled bark
has the gloss of polish,a bottle-green patina.
There isn’t a skull-head for pivot,
tension is held in back of its palm
it fists into the soil,raising it up.
Beach
Dragged impasto of seaweed
aches against silver waves.I watch the wormholes
ferry their glitter of sand
in kaleidoscopes.
‘Tree-Wheel ‘ and ‘Beach’ by C. Murray is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.- First published at Bone Orchard Poetry as part of a sequence.
- Image is ‘Willow trees’ by Pieter Wenning
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Bone Orchard Poetry is variously active on discussion sites and uses social-media well. This is what writers refer to as bloody good innovative web-use. Editor Michael McAloran keeps the blogzine brief in description, ‘ An explorative blogzine of the Bleak/ the Surreal/ the Dark/ Absurd and the Experimental. ‘ There you have it encapsulated in a single minimal statement, a blogzine dedicated to new writing that focuses on the actual work of working writers.
I had been aware of Bone Orchard Poetry for a period of time. I decided to investigate it, and I submitted a single poem. Turns out a single poem isn’t enough. This is probably the best thing about Michael’s editorship of the Zine, I got an email back suggesting that a single poem submission doesn’t really tell the reader anything about the writer at all. He suggested I re-submit with a small grouping of poems. This I did. I sent a sequence based in a dream, actually based in the reality of a grief-experience. The poem initially had one extra verse, and there was a turn contained within that verse. I am still holding onto the original cycle in a folder, as I am very unsure of the turn issue in the poem.
Eamon Ceannt Park Cycle is based in a seven day walk through an unfamiliar/familiar park, in winter. This sequence does not always occur in waking reality, it is a dream-reality. Maybe the rest is nightmare. I am adding a link to the entire sequence here, and a brief excerpt from ECPC(#III).
Eamon Ceannt Park Cycle
III.There is a man in the stone..The dew is playing fire at her feet,wetting her legs..A legion of rooks guard his stone..© C. Murray.
Go read the site, I note that Kit Fryatt is a contributor , she will be familiar to Poethead readers for her poems which I published here and here. I added the Bone Orchard Poetry link to Irish Poetry Imprints on my blogroll.
Other poet-contributors to Bone Orchard Poetry are, PD Lyons ,Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal, Kevin Reid, Gillian Prew, John W. Sexton, Alyssa Nickerson, Craig Podmore, , Michelle Greenblatt, Heller Levinson, David Scott Pointer, Natasa Georgievska, Carolyn Srygley-Moore, Anthony Seidman, Aad de Gids and David McLean
Chris Murray 