Thursday, April 19, 2012


So this is what it's come to.

I am going to read what I've wrote.  An entire hour.

The exception?

This poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.'

and this song

Good mornin' starshine, the earth says hello
You twinkle above us
We twinkle below

Good mornin' starshine, You lead us along
My love and me as we sing
our early mornin' singin' song

Glibby gloop gloopy Nibby Nabby Noopy La La La Lo Lo
Sabba Sibby Sabba Nooby abba Nabba Le Le Lo Lo
Tooby ooby walla nooby abba nabba
Early mornin' singin' song

Good mornin' starshine
There's love in your skies
reflecting the sunlight
in my lovers eyes

Good mornin' starshine, so happy to be
my love and me as we sing
our early mornin' singin' song

Glibby gloop gloopy Nibby Nabby Noopy La La La Lo Lo
Sabba sibby sabba nooby abba nabba Le Le Lo Lo
Tooby ooby walla Nooby abba nabba
Early mornin' singin' song

***musical interlude***

Can you hear me?
Singin' a song, hummin' a song, singin' a song
Lovin' a song, laughin' a song, singin' the song
Sing the song, song the sing
song song song sing, sing sing sing song

Song song song sing, sing sing sing song

Sing sing a song sing a song
yah, you can sing sing song sing a song
Sing sing a song, sing a song

The rest?

Where to begin?

Haiku Kudzu

Dogs bark this morning.

Telling of a guest to be;

Good story at supper.

For Elizabeth G and her Mooses

The words do come fully formed

Like a lovely yet sometime weedy garden

Only I get to decide what are the weeds

And which are the flowers.

So I caught that poem by it's tail

I swug it round and round

Threw the words against the wall

Then stomped them on the ground

No pit of dark and deep dispair

Would beat my story down

Gentlly it would rise up

From the mire upon the ground

The words they rose like the butterfly wings

Round and round my head they'd fly

To live in some enchanted land

Then come back. I don't know why.

Then weave themselves into a cloak

The color of a summer sky

Or deeper blue. A blue berry blue

From the oceans of tears I'd cried

So here -- it's yours to keep you warm

Traveler's coat with faery wings.

To fly you to ephemeral lands

Where imaginations sing.

c ford 2-11-09


Morning Symphony

The time between when the Moon sets and the Sun rises.
It is a good time of day.
To watch the day unfurl gently.
Like music.
A flute.
A gentle violin.
A question by the flute.
An answer back by the violin.
A playful oboe opens it's eyes then closes and yawns.
An industrious trumpet.
Then another as they wake and head off to work.
Then quiet with a very soft tympani roll that builds to only a soft yawn. Again the violin and flute duets.
They drink their coffee and get ready for the day.
Picolos underfoot funning round in a frantic.
Collecting books
And boots a
And a quick bite of something on their way to school.
End the first movement

Good morning!


Poem for my son

My son asked me what is Love. To explain I wrote this.

What is love?

He asked me in such a serious tone

Had to close my eyes to think.

How to answer?

Then in my mind

I saw him 5 years old again.

He was eating oranges on a bright blue beach towel.

Covered in juice

Sand on his feet.

Sticky sweet in his hair and on his face

There were watermelon slices on his plate

But he would only eat the oranges

Used the rind for yellow orange "teeth"

Said that the wedges made his eyes cross

Because they were sour as well as sweet

"Just like you Sunshine"

I told him and then ruffled his hair

He laughed

And the sun shone brighter because of it

What is love?

I looked into his somber eyes

Many miles and years later.

"Love is sticky sweet oranges on a bright blue beach towel."

"Love is you."


The following if from my hiaku junk yard. So are variations of a theme.


Acres of open pasture

Cresote posts, t post, and barb wire--

Civilized meets the free world


Fingers fly on strings

Notes fly on a spring breeze-.

A string breaks mid song.


Cucumber's new leaves.

Smell of garden soil in March

State fair prized pickles


Young dogs tend cows.

Fast and sure they herd the flock.

Old dogs run in dreams


Jonquils sway and birds sing.

Sunlight dances through Spring rains.

Winter memory.

Husband of My Heart

My heart walked alone to get here.

Across deserts and time.

Waited like the seed of the Rose in the Desert.

Waited until the rains to bloom.

This world makes me fierce to survive

But my head on your shoulder

Your kiss on my cheek?

I am soft and new again.

My breath, your laughter

Alive in my heart


More hiaku


Sad dogs howl at night.

The sound echos through winter trees.

Joyous, run through summer fields


Seed in spring garden,

Sleeps and grows. Soon to be life.

June brings happy memories.


Bud on a bare branch.

Winter winds and spring rains fall--

Flowers in the summer


Rainbows in the sky.

Sunlight dances through raindrops-

Dark night memories.


Sweet dreams and good sleep.

Children's laughter on a spring say

Only memories in a war zone


The old dog can hunt.

Running with the younger males.

Hunts rabbits in dreams.


Tomato plant's leaves.

The smell of garden soil in March--

December's winter chili


Pumpkins in the Fall

State fair pickles and jelly.

Smell of March's garden soil.


Riding in Moonlight

The sound of the hooves

Across the terrain

Those hooves kept the rhythm

His heart did the same

Explorer, he thrilled

At each vista quite new

Lighter than air

Through the night sky they flew

Each hill and each valley

More wild than the moors

Or the oceans he'd sailed

Or their wild craggy shores

He sang out the lyrics

Her hooves the refrain

Till they came to the chorus

Voice one and the same

The Heavens did tremble

When hooves came to ground

Explorer met valley

With a thunderous sound

Cold air and wild mountains

The moors at the dawn

Riding in moonlight

From gravity unbound


AuthorAnn c ann ford

"Read me."

It said.

So Alice did.

Scratched her head,

Closed her eyes,

She raised a kid,

She couldn't see,

So she thought she hid.

Said the strange, furry cat,

"Well she sat quite still.

(Fell to the bottom of her glass.)

Found wisdom in a pill."

Left what was "left" of her mind

on the top of a hill.

And promptly became

a Republican?

"Strange days." sighed the cat.

To which the Blue Footed Booby of Time said,

"Pull my string. Please"

Something I wrote about my Great Aunt

Shadow Bird

I could see the shadow of a bird outside my door

fragile bird yet strong enough

not frightened of human form.

I wondered what was in your heart

on this cold, grey winter's morn

by IC/ 3.3.08

.Imagine Spring in a Kook-a-licious PinK

Imagine Spring in a Kook-a-licious Pink.

a butterbean seed in the dark


a tiny white shoot begins

two halves begin to move


a seed grows to a lovely young plant

a butterbean seed

Coming into its own.



What breath have I drawn that didn't have your name on it?

Today I wrote to you and it vanished into air.

Stolen words. My words. Taken by one who Fate says is more deserving.

"Stolen words...."

I am here.

My words.


Bent in ways to satisfy another

Like a bent paper clip.

Well hear these words.


You don't steal words and then be deserving of them.

You aren't a prize to be won at the carnival.

You are the extrodinary man who I love.

You are the sound of snoring from the other side of the bed.

Or you should be.

You're where the road leads.

Where my feet trod.

Where my heart lives.

I stand on flat feet


The dogs of war howl outside my heart.

The dogs who are relentless.

The dogs of war and hell.

Do you hear them?

They are feet mired in the mud of Earth.

They could wash the mud from their feet.

But instead they chose to stay mired.

My father did not raise this woman to be prisoner of the mud.

I washed the mud from my feet long ago.

Washed the mud from my spirit.

From my heart.

I won't look down again.

Fierce I am.

Fierce I'll be.

Your love is in my heart.

Fate can rip me to pieces, scatter those pieces to the ends of the Universe, to be eatten my crows... Each piece of my heart will tell those crows of our love. Those crows will be so sad that they will fly from the ends of the Universe. With each piece covered in stardust they will sew the pieces together.

And in the center?

...Our heart...


Regret Hannah Murphy 15 June 2008

My life is flowing past you.

What will you do if there is no more me?

What will I do if there is no more you?

We do grow older.

And life can be so unexpected.

I watch you grow older.

Your river flowing past me.

Someday a memory of things past is all I'll have.

The ability to form new memories gone.

The ability to heal old wounds gone.

Snatched by senility or death from our hands.

Regret and loss are inadequate companions.

Talk to me again or not.

Remember me again or not.

That's up to you.

But forget this lesson?

Of loss.

Please do not.

I wouldn't wish regret of things unsaid on you for all the tea in China.\

Swallow your anger and pride.



Author's note (Regret by Hannah Murphy, 15June,2008

The poem, Regret, is written to be both from the point of view of the parent and child who are estranged in the parent child relationship.

Insult in 5 languages
Ode to the values of polite discourse
by IC 5/12/2008

He can insult in 5 languages

Such a skill is sure to impress

To belittle and make feel small

Is certainly a skill to posess

At least in salons and cafe society

He's thought of as quite urbane.

No matter which language he insults in --

To me?

He's a jerk all the same.

From The Time of Huricanes

The Next Day

Hannah Murphy August 18, 2008

He rolled over

Stood up


Everything hurt.

His head, his side, his heart.

Night long and sleep short.

Passing the night

Waiting for the world they knew to pass away

Without really "seeing" just how bad it could be

Only darkness, flashlights, and candles in the wind

While outside the wind roared

Like some banshee in labor

Her nightmare child born


Flutter of a dove's wing.
Snow falls softly on her lashes
Dogwoods bloom in May..


A poem for my Uncle


I knew a man whose wife and children left him.

Their hearts poisoned like a well.

For the rest of his life he kept moving.

Oh the stories he could tell.

But all of his posessions.

Everyone of them he'd sell.

For just a little kindness

A little happiness as well.

Under the trees we sat there.

I asked him, "What's your name?"

He looked at me with sad, sad eyes.

The pain it was quite plain.

"I've walked a million footsteps

I've sailed the deepest sea

I never have stopped running

From the pain tha's after me."

The devil of it all

What don't seem to set him free

The life that he's been running from

Is the life you want for me.

So get away you old devil

Get far away from me

I've no time for all your nonsence.

Keep far, far away from me.

AuthorAnn 1-12-09

.The next poem is about being far away from home and missing your home.


I'm dreaming of tomatoes and summer.

I'm dreaming of the Gulf of Mexico.

I'm dreaming of the sailboat.

The sky blue.

The sails full.

My father at the helm.

Everyone happy.

Everyone's hearts free.

I want to go home.

To my home.

This is not my home

Everyday I will say this




It's not cozy.

It is cold.

It is wet.

It is dreary.

I'm not ungrateful.

Yes, there are worse places I could be.

Famines. No water at all.

I count my blessings. But...

It's not right to tell a lie correct?

I can function and have functioned in all kinds of places.

Have been through great storms and known dark loneliness.

I am lucky to have survived such things.

I am grateful to have a kind place to be.

But still when the sky is blue or a breeze picks up.

When I close my eyes and hear my father laugh.

Even in the midst of great beauty?

When I dream?

I dream of home.




Romance at our house

Roses are expensive

And violets are too

Here's a dozen fence posts.

Happy Valentine's Day to you


Why I Like Poetry And Know How To Spell The Word "cacophony"

by Ann 5 November, 2008

The words.

Even the dark angry ones.

Are music.

A storm out in the Gulf.

They swirl around me like the wind.

They wet me like the rain.

I'm soaked to the bone with the thought of it.

I dance to the music wild.

Thunders loud in my ears.

I vibrate.

The air alive.


I dance in the middle of all this sound.

Thrill to it.


One day I will be drawn up into the vortex-- this cacophony of life

And be delivered into the heavens.



CACOPHONY (cack-AH-fuh-nee or cack-AW-fuh-nee)

Discordant sounds in the jarring juxtaposition of harsh letters or syllables which are grating to the ear, usually inadvertent, but sometimes deliberately used in poetry for effect.
so okay I might could have used the word


The beasts that chase us through times door

Can catch us not. So I implore

That you have faith in God's sweet love

And his fairness from up above.

From spark of time we did know

That no matter what this life did show

From birth to death, yes we would know

We'd alway know each other


I was writing an email to a friend when this poem came to mind


Work in Progress

I feel as if I'm in the dark with my eyes wide open but I can not see

It's not a frightening dark

It's a soft, liquid, slightly out of focus dark

As I move through your mind

Everything is soft

Like down pillows and down comforters


Like feathers falling from the sky

Snow flakes


Like a whisper of a wisp

When I stumble and I fall?

I fall into clouds


Wisps of clouds like dust swirl up around me as I fall into the emotion

That's how this afternoon felt

Words like






Sad...because a friend was leaving

A smile -- because another friend had stayed

The day soft

I wrote the sorrow away from my heart

The emotions coraled into a box of words

Put back into Pandora's Box

Only this time Hope

Outside the box


Falling up

As I move through the soft in slow motion

Soft word on the lips

My mind's eye comforted

Writing in slow motion

My heart sings

Please don't be angry with me

All unintentional

I have to write



Author Ann

21 October,2008


Kind words for kind hearts to hear.

Not to worry friends of mine.

The Constant Heart

Weathers all storms.

If hearts be kind?

Then hear me now

Your love I honor.

But if hearts be foul?

On love's rocky road?

Your love may sour.

Think well this path.

Think well his hour.

Both hearts of gold

An hearts that are foul.

Have tried this road.

Heard Jaguar's howl.

Many have tried

And many have failed.

A heart of gold will serve you well.

So what's this path

That you seek here?

The path that true love holds so dear?

Tis' path of love you wish to take?

Your path be clear

And love you'll make.

But once again

I do plead now.

That this fair journey

Can sometimes be foul.

So bring a love, a watch and a compass.

And bring truth and reason

Be ready for love's rumpus


[Multiple Infinities Sideways]

Also known as MIS. (Kind of like the "Coma Sutra" version of multiple orgasms mixed up with multiple infinities meets La Petite Mort. With Cyndi Lauper in the back ground singing "Time After Time" as elevator music.)

She wrote about her experience in " MIS: revolving sideways."

"...I was revolving.

Then evolving,

And again revolving

Through my life.

Then revolving simultaneous evolving.

Spiraling upward.

Such was life.

Then you left me

Spinning silent

as spinning in a vacume is.

Now still revolving

while evolving.

Still a spiral.

Only which way?


Hannah Murphy, 5/29/2008 "Hannah in Blogland"


The story teller looked into the fire again.

Then shuttered.

There was no entertaining way to say this.

Only plain words for a simple story.


The beasts that chase us through times door

Can catch us not. So I implore

That you have faith in God's sweet love

And his fairness from up above.

From spark of time we did know

That no matter what this life did show

From birth to death, yes we would know

We'd alway know each other.

The story teller's eyes grew quiet.

Their heart beat rang in his ears.

Time, not life, stopped in Wicklow Mountains.

Time, not life, stopped to correct a wrong.

Time, not life, stopped in Wicklow Mountains.

Time, not life, stopped for a simple song.

I love you. Self evident.

For love's argument so strong

Did bend time's ear

And charmed times heart

That day.

The storyteller smiled.

Simple simple story

Kind heart met kind heart

And formed that day



I've been trying to remember.
Trying to put my memories into words in this journal.
Imperfect snap shots of barely tangible emotions
Graceful like the smoke from a candle
I watch the words bend and form
Gentle swirls
But when I try to hold them?



We Are Nomads Of The Sea.

Hannah Murphy. 17 August, 08

We are nomads of the sea.

Restless souls looking for peace

Never putting our heart's feet on dry land

Like a stone our spirits skim across the salty Gulf

The songs of Wind lull us to sleep

Rocked in the arms of the wreckage

The souls of waterbabies rocked in the waves...

The tears of angels rain down upon us all.

As they look into the eyes of God


"Give them back their home."


Looking into a hurricane sky

is like looking into the eyes of God.

Hannah Murphy

17 August, 2008


I Didn't Know You Could Walk On Air

Hannah Murphy 03 August, 2008

There's a smile on my face

As I skip by the sea

Lighter than air

Your words to me

Like willow the wisps

or mirages, it's true.

I can barely make out

the soul of you.

But I feel your smile

Like the warmth of the sun

I hear your heart

As if we are one

Whisper again to me


Flowers in Summer
by hannah murphy 7-12-08

Flowers in summer
The heat of noon
Ice tea and salads
The smell of roses fills the room
Ladies drift in cool summer dresses

Hat and gloves

We speed through this life in armor and steel
Hardened and wise in steel high heels.
But ladies who lunch in those cool summer breezes
Haunt like a ghost
Gosemer ghosts who float on the breeze.
Glide through my mind
On this hot, dusty road.
Like the ghost of a gentle mirrage

Poem dedicated to LadyWhitknee to say thank you for her kind encouraging post. Regardless of the detours of life, let's keep our eyes to the stars.


Orange Skies of Mars

Thought any other way and my heart grows green

Sickly with the forced responsibility of this love.

Chained to a rock my heart. Dusty relic on the shelf.

Each rare laugh the efforts of Hercules.

The sound shatters and falls to the ground.

Shards of brittle laughter are all around me.

My body in turns hurling and creeping towards death

Towards the edge of light and shadow

My mind. banshee, howling cross oceans

Waiting for the sound that doesn't come.


Waiting and calling

Longing for the soul that long since found it's home elsewhere.

Crying for husband

Still waiting like a ghost trapped in twilight.

Banshee cries home.

Hannah Murphy 8 July, 2008


The Neti Pot and me.




If my nose drips one more time I will scream.

Mucus from my nose doth stream

I can not take another day

From allergies that come from hay

I live beside a great big field

With tons of pollen it doth yeild.

All conspire to bring me pain

Unless perhaps the sky will rain

Oh hurry rain do not delay

Rid my air of pollen hay

If you don't then in misery I

Will be with out the rainy sky

If it don't rain I'll have to choke

On saline water from this little boat

Shaped Netie pot. Which is all I have.

This durn Netie pot is just as bad.

As the post nasal drip I have.

The only difference I can see

Is the length of my allergy misery.

We aren't sure why this is happening.

But there is alligator in my toilet."

Channel 5 News @ 10

Silly Season for Tryork


Do we keep her?

Do we feed her"

Do we give her to the zoo?

She's really very special.

She's playing a kazoooo.

We aren't sure how she got here.

Yes we're sure she is a she.

I remember clear Wild Kingdon.

Where they "sexed" them on tv.

Well that and she has a girdle

And she is dressed to impress

And there's lipstick on her lips

And she is wearing a frilly dress

Yes I know that doesn't make our lovely alligator female.

I learn from watching Late Late show

There are also folks called "shemales"

But she says her name is Allie

And she's most definate a girl

She just made a wrong hand turn

While out in our human world

So we aren't sure what to do now

You see we're used to cows

So we thought we'd call you zoo guys

Yes we thought you'd tell us how.

To remove this Allie from our toilet.

See it's causing quite a mess

And well it's not doing great things

For Allie Alligator's dress.

The End

For Tryork



Where do I put this heart?

When life has laid it low.

Where do I ease my mind?

When there's nowhere else to go.

Why do I wait so long?

Please tell me where this road ends.

Why do I drag my feet?

Waiting for you my friend.

Deep within your eyes

I look for signs of fight.

Some hopeful thing

To tell me that your fighting for the light.

But all that's looking back at me

Honey, it just aint right.

What's deep inside that heart of yours?

Come back to me tonight.


I'm here.

Right here.

I haven't gone.

I'm still here.

Have they made it easy for you to leave?

To start some new adventure without me.

Some new game.

You promised that you'd trust me.

Promised you'd not leave.

Said that you'd be strong for me

If I'd became so weak.

Now some new game, some siren's song.

Says, "Leave. She's going. Yes, going away.

Can't you see that much is clear.

She's going. She can not stay."

I saw you look at her. I cried.

Saw the sadness that she missed.

Saw the tired within your eyes.

And the "breaking heart" she missed.

The bitter tears you cried inside.

Mourned the loss of that last kiss.

We always "knew" each other.

In ways she'll never know.

So cavalier her ways of love.

I saw this clear. And so-

Now here I lay.

Mute and still.

But very much alive.

Encased inside this tearless room.

Crying tearless tears inside.

Coma Heart.

Hannah Murphy. June 11, 2008


Its a Monday morning thing

You and me

The nuts and bolts of love

The work horse of emotions

As in the world we go

To our lives and jobs

Separate in our lives

And yet I know

You're there.

Not a Friday night adventure

Or a Saturday night affair

Those fleeting, flitting creatures

Who shun the light of day.

Capricious, ephemeral


But not much in the long run

Momentary silly things.

But Monday morning relationships

Stalwart grown up things

Like good friends.

Don't flit like silly Saturday

But dance elegant through our life

They waltz us through

The drudgery

Of our Monday morning days.


Hannah Murphy. 6/10/2008

Hannah in Blogland

c2008 Ann


I wish that I could show you.

All our moments together

Points of color

They take flight like birds on the beach.

Points on a computer screen.

A swirl of color with no rhyme

Then like birds they settle down to form a picture.

A memory

If only I knew how to say

Then those restless colorful birds are points again

Taking flight.

Only to settle down into another pattern

Another picture

Another memory of our life.

We'd walk though the maestrom.

Those birds minutes flying around us free.


A friend told me along time ago about his walk on the beach. He was walking along the beach at night. He could hear the Irish sea but what he saw was inky black. No moon or light. That was how he came upon what happened next. One minute he was in his thoughts and the next minute he was in the middle of whirring. All around him the sound and feeling of birds flying. All around him? Confusion.

He was roused from his waking dream *


to be continued


Good slumbers and happy dreams
With faery kisses bring soft breezes
May your worries be less than they seem
And may tomorrow bring a day that pleases

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