Christine Murray – 5 POEMS




The four walls of the house are sealed

They will not slide


The four walls of the house are sealed



Four doors are shut to


Sit and remove from your book

The loosed strand of hair


Bind it

A charm

A Bracelet



To cast out onto the dreaming sky

As you would cast doubt


For when the walls slide

The doors will remain sealed



You must listen attentively

At each one to know when



To attempt to

Enter in.




There a gateway haunted by the stone remembrance of birds


There a gateway haunted by the stone remembrance of birds

Or something like birds perched atop the two-pillared gap


Pewter-stones cross into a narrow laneway that makes cruciform the path

There is the smell of sea beyond this black stream

A pool unrippled nor disturbed by leaf / reclaimed

This lock is banked up above the waterway

The black waves sluice to swinging back /

Pull in

And back 

Something sits at the centre of the waters reclaim

Covers a stone block

Some shape at the centre of lake















Trundle then the rim of black water /

Riddled with sea’s amniotic odour



               Trundle then the rim of black water

Riddled with seas amniotic odour


The shape of the truncated trees/

Their pillars boundaries of not-place


Shadows abound

Inky and dark


A light flare exposes their pillared row

Those truncated ones that line the periphery


Enclosure just left /

Where willows wept steel

and stones stood abject





Water is black ink almost edge-lapped


Water is black ink almost edge-lapped


Iron stakes step up from the river

This inlet/ this reclaim /the sea


A shiny leaf-wall of shells /or branches cling

Like beech / it coppers its metal / reaching into


Crumbling the concrete / it rises up its silence/

As the stakes / facing a shadowy tunnel agape/


From here a trickle/ maybe a step/ a step

A gown / a foot covered/ in linens so fine/ a dress


Cobwebs /agape the tunnel answers the black bars

The cruciform gateway/


Cold to touch /

Turn away to












See a woman there /

           On the causeway that revolves around lake


Her foot is covered by the hem of her dress/ light as

A spiderweb


The pulp of her heart is set red in her dress/

Colourless save for the red searing her lace



She will bring you to where he lies, a broken body

– Bruised in its flesh


She will show you in images

For She is bitter love /

She is aloes

She is sex


She begins to lead me with her wing tip

– With her grey hand


She will hold me down to look

At the body broken in its meaning




Christine Murray is a City and Guilds Stone-cutter. Her poetry is published in a variety of print and online publications. Her poem for three voices, Lament, was performed at the Béal festival in 2012.

Her Chapbook, Three Red Things was published by Smithereens Press in June 2013. A collection of poems called Cycles will be published at Lapwing Press in 2013. A dark tale called The Blind (Poetry) will be published by Oneiros Books in 2013.

She has reviewed poetry for Post (Mater dei Institute), Poetry Ireland and Chris writes a poetry blog called Poethead; a Poetry Blog, which is dedicated to the writing, editing and translation of women writers. She is a member of the International PEN Women Writer’s


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