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     The Literary Review


Page 52

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Riffs

A bit of God in every word
and every god a bit absurd
                  And have you heard?

Rivers are rising, jobs are downsizing
buildings are falling, politicians stonewalling

                  God it’s appalling

the forests are burning and
everyone’s yearning to fly like a bird,

to fly fly away.

And what did I say?

A bit of God in every word
and every god a bit absurd

And hear’s a query,
dearie,
are you being fickle
with the Trickle Down Theory?

If he’s got a precondition
call an inquisition.
Where’s the damn mortician?

                  Can’t you do the damn addition?
                  Two plus two is five or six
                  Watch the card sharp do his tricks

Children suffering malnutrition?
Praise the lord but pass the ammunition.

                                    The eulogy is coming, coming from the past
                                    The eulogy is coming, and it’s coming fast
                                                      coming down the pipeline
                                                           like a sonic blast

The eulogy is coming, coming from below
The eulogy is coming, you can feel the undertow

just tugging through the river to the gulf of Mexico

                             The eulogy is coming like a cougar in the night
                             tearing through your mind at the speed of light

                             The eulogy is coming, oh you’ll never get it right
                             until you see between the bars of black and white.

Better be prepared when the ice begins to burn
Better pray that Jesus and Buddha both return

Better be prepared cause the temperature is rising
and no amount of advertising,
         neutralizing,
         polarizing,
         agonizing,
         hypnotizing,
         merchandising,
         moralizing,
         synchronizing,
         self-aggrandizing will,

not surprisingly,

save your poor besotted ass.

  Frank Murphy__







Hurricane

Craziness is you
You collect things along your way
You demolish anything that gets in your way
You go where you choose
No one is the boss of you
The only place of peace is inside of you
Your eye is where the craziness stops
Your eye is a haven
Only there in your eye you can call safe
for everywhere around you is insane.

  Emma Brumberger__


_______________________

Today I Will Be The Old Man Of The Mountain

Today I will be the old man of the mountain Standing on all my years, my hair white and gray like the top of a mountain, I shall write my poems on the rocks for the eagles and the mountain goats, for the moon and the stars to read. Or maybe Today I will be the bear that went over the mountain only to see another mountain, an old bear whose mountains are numbered among the pines along the streams in the quick rush of a sudden wind a rabbit's shadow falls across words I do not understand I am only a bear I will chase the rabbit Or Today I will be a mountain. Cold Mountain or The Big Rock Candy Mountain, or the mountain that came to Mohammed, or only the mountain of an apartment on the seventeenth floor of a building in a city where I am an old man looking out of a window and writing a poem now and then. Today I will be Maybe that is mountain enough.

  Frank Murphy__

On the Road to Where
                 CTvM: On the Road to Where-2001


After The Next Eternity

Pool balls and faded flowers
Flags to honor the dead
Summer nights in Fayetteville
    Games lost         games won

The fallen fall in their numbers
and their names. Bury them
                one by one,
salute them, fire bullets over
their graves. Honor their courage
and their fear, their beliefs and
their doubts .
        Hear them as they fall.
        Think of all the
        years taken away. The
children and the children’s children
aborted by a roadside bomb, by a
bullet, by the decisions of stubborn
men, inflexible in their evening prayers.

Halleluiah the winning team
Halleluiah the ball hit over the fence
Halleluiah the fans with their bumper stickers
Halleluiah the numbers, six ball in the side
                pocket, nine ball in the corner
Halleluiah the balls falling forever in their pockets
                        from which no light returns
Halleluiah the faded flowers, the dust that once
was something else

        Hosanna in the highest.
            From there they have fallen.

And honor the legs, arms, eyes, and minds
that have fallen in pockets below
the stadium,     away from the crowds
Honor the people of Mudville, they have no
Joy tonight —and Joe has no eyes to see the finale score.

The fallen are falling forever, pulling the clouds with them.
They will not rise no matter how loud we shout our prayers.
They have fallen asleep in the seventh inning and only in the
eternity after next will they rise. And who will be there to cheer
            the homecoming team?


  Frank Murphy__