Christine Murray – 5 POEMS

House

 

 

The four walls of the house are sealed

They will not slide

 

The four walls of the house are sealed

Tight

 

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

 

 

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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 Writing.ie. 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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