Paul Murdoch Poems

Goodbye for now my trusted friend,
As you’ve moved on and I remain;
Alone, but still I have your likeness
Etched upon my soul.
...

Yes, you’ll live forever;
Yes, you’ll turn to dust.
If only you would just accept
Your unrequited lust.
...

Lie still, ye bracken-covered giants, that sleep below the soil,
You patient, silent warriors; lie still and wait a while.
Ignore the prickles on your hide and wait beneath the stars.
Till days grow long and man subsides, you’ll never journey far.
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How can you be so selfish?
Would you ever fain to consider some other creature? Would you?
Is this art of altruism a passion or a curse?
I mean, do you like yourself?
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The murmur stops then finds its feet
The constant drone of bees;
A tiny angel’s song breaks through,
And puts the world at ease.
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To see a glimpse of god
That sets your soul alight;
The truth; complete, unqualified,
Perspective cannot fight.
...

The old piano’s rosewood face delights the dappled room;
It glows with winter’s wholesome warmth, and checks the musty gloom.
Its vibrant tone, now stilted some, still lures us to its side,
And though the keys are cracked and worn, we cannot shun or chide.
...

A tiny speck of shining black I sway on
Grasses, brace myself to bracken winds
That dance their trails between my prey.
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Lichen dusted bows stoop down to brave the wash;
Infused with mossy rootlets of Larch and Birch and Ash.
The chill of dawn is sharpened and icy light drawn down,
Beneath the winding Ivy, and Holly’s jagged crown.
...

The rhythm of the greylag skies is lessened in its wake,
The Celtic bell of bronze that sang so pure.
Its plaintive tone filled pinewood glens
And smeared the blackbird’s song.
...