Friday, February 6, 2015

Sheila E. Murphy

Hope for Flowers

in Honor of Jorge Guitart

To have chaperoned 
free will reveals
a shared devotion
to earned quiet. 

One registers
so many laps around 
the foreground,

while the young begin 
to cut their teeth
on vowel sounds. 

The moon comes 
visibly true, 
guides sense
down to a window light, 

the painted wood
a painting of the wood
a mood and meaning

in those understood 
vowel tones, hope
for flowers 

yet immune to winter.

From Lauds (22) 

She instruments me (forth
Calmly collectedly (we emerge
One sings apart (from song
A scale from plus-one (to infinity

Blessed are we (together
This apartness (stings
I walk off (torment
Spend my daylight (seeking

Syncing whole days (faster
In precision's roundabout (as if
To train the mind (to multiply
Rein in (to reign

Heard thought (her thought
My eyes hold (her
Take her (and treasure
Forward (her direction 

From Lauds (23) 

She wakes my true north (the vicissitudes relax
I turn my life to temperate (a region no more resolute
The calm I feel is overturned (the venture wheel
May she be similar (be simple, be complete

I calm myself (the self that thrives amid the weeds
I speak affluent keepsake (other winters thrive
I open likelihood to brothers (as they shield me
Brothers shield my lack (I hope the safety holds

The hold I have on liberty (may I shellac your sweet
The hold you have on me (allow my safe enough restraint
The hold we better give away (retrench within our capabilities
The hold we say we're worth (I give to thee

How many posses can we gather (to evict the tide
How many calm reductions can we make (to feast along the ride
How many overtones we undertake (abide
How many overtures (can I deride 

I Do

Yes to the taking and the giving and to all
Of the unspecified replies to questions that you cannot 
Think might be.
And yes to non-reciprocal endowment of new being
No one can describe. And yes.
It is not going to be this.
It will be
That. Proceeding in directions
Yes to the unfathomable wavelength. Yes to who is 
This who occupies my living
Room my bed and board my total un
Deservedness. My sprees of newly crafted
That. To all of it. I care from here. Yes
In the little window that needs cleaning as attention
Lifts the daylight into me. And lets it
Do what it has learned to thrive and do,
As I am learning. Yes. I do.
I acquiesce to what I do not know.

Because it’s you.

Like Yesterday

I watched her drink until the light matched its companion darkness.

She taught me not to live tall. 
Coast was never clear. 
No fine, woven moments would cohere.
To relieve the self of dearth, 
Filled the whole cell with no reply 
Bled liquor all inside these clothes. 
One forms cocoons reflexively.
To be alone beside
The others if they’re there.

Quotidian Ghazal

The office chair as big as the backside of a large and tall man
has been plucked out of my office, that I might learn to sit down comfortably.

Definite articles reveal their uselessness when laissez-faire comes round
to perform a non-routine situation analysis.

Oatmeal is next on the agenda: presently housed in the small freeze.
To date, my happiness has experienced a kind of distant chill.

She recommended that I visit him for therapy
because to see his face upside down resembled a space individual.

My chosen instrument was flute, based upon a collaborative
look-see through a golden book with Bernadean for a lightweight woodwind.



Until she was 22 years old, Sheila Murphy was mainly known as a flute player who practiced 6 hours a day without provocation. She has been surrounded by people she loves for all of her life to date, in which she is just getting warmed up.

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