Tag: the blind
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‘hook’, and: ‘sequins’, and: ‘spool’, and: ‘red on gold, the new dress’ published indelible literary journal, issue no.6: ‘the feminine’
hook a hook for an eye this ribbon for a slip there’s a pigeon in the pot and tree makes the room your foot on the boards your head in the sky no mind if your stockings snag are splinter-caught the red thread frayed or snag walk now on swollen feet on feet that are…
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‘sans’ published southword literary journal
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…
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‘seed’ published timber poetry journal, 11.2
Seed Willow, cut to its hidden houses. Something secret furls unfurls its stem-self seed slopes slews under crystal skin (its) flesh blooms to tone – coralling a milky alumben in water’s distress, floats, |stays| alive winds its silver thread in brine – fleshed frond & secret, still – a silver thread pulls-up willow’s ochre curtain.…
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‘hunger’, and: ‘ceremony’, and : ‘suspend i’ published ditch poetry
hunger outside the ragged bird tears dead flies from the window nets and it is not clothed right – it claws the glass suspend I from the mirror architrave float down silken threads they are not blackened yet from the branches they reach down laden with fruit out on the limb birds beat them for…
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Publication acknowledgements for The Blind, by C. Murray
Thanks to David Mitchell , publisher at Oneiros Books and to poetry editor Michael McAloran, who guided me through publishing my second poetry collection, The Blind. The Blind is a contemporary poem-tale about The Furies. The themes and symbols of The Blind are entirely interdependent from beginning to end. The book is set out as a…
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Opening by C. Murray
shadows the three are shadows silken spider-weavers hidden close by a laurel tree they cast out their silvers like fishing line with baited hooks / food for worms they cast out their silver threads they draw them back in red and frayed / time weary some say that they sit…
Chris Murray 