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Moon Man

There he is, my other self, stumbling along
tone deft but insisting on playing life's
                                        symphony by ear

He is like a country fully inhabited but
waiting to be discovered       or like a
planet which, ever so gently, wobbles a star
to reveal it's presence

He has his history, his Alexandra, his Caligula moments. 
He has crossed the alps, the oceans, 
going from what he was to what he is
and like everyone else, has been nailed 
 called back from the dead                                               
 been a Buddha when it didn't

That's him, eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches,
shyly leaning too far over the ramparts while the enemy
waits below 
                  He has the great comfort of loving
                  and being loved, and still he is
                  hungry for something else...

We are so different, the two of us, two sides of the moon.
It seems almost funny we cast the same tongue-tied  
shadow, the same stuttering footprint. 

But there you have it, there's no stopping him
and maybe it's for the best. He plays everything by ear
and doesn't know one note from another.

Still, I  find myself tapping a finger to his beat.
He is, after all, my brighter side, 
the one facing the earth, the side that people see.

  Frank Murphy__


A looming shadow pours over
a simple flower
bathing in the glow of the sun

As the shadow draws closer
all light is stripped of
the flower

Loathing darkness
the flower strains its
delicate petals

desperately reaching towards
the sun’s warmth

The shadow reaches for the flower
Slowly plucking away every last petal
until the flower is left bare and empty

Finally the shadow flies away
having fulfilled it purpose

and leaving the flower in
crippled dismay.

                         Emma Brumberger__

The Owl, The Manatee, and the Flea

There is an owl in a willow tree 
To whom it prays I cannot see

It's dark and her prayers 
  are not for me

I'll let her be

And if you ask of the manatee,
ask how she bestows 
	her piety 

I'll say her prayers salt the sea

Just look at the history of a single flea
In all it's singularity, and you will see

a tiny spec of 


 Frank Murphy__

                            The Owl

A wise old owl may lay her bed
as a new young one emerges ready to face what's ahead
The wisdom of one passed on to another as they shed
a tear and say farewell to their mother
As a young owlet spreads their wings and prepares
for their journey
and carries what they must bring
Through cold, winter, and ice they grow older and smarter
and travel the world
they see new ways of life till the cold must return
Families thriving, crops surviving and the
circle of life and pursuit of dreams the owl settles down
to begin her own family
Until her children must leave and take their own
journey cross river and trees
Cross harsh weather and spread their own
feathers, like she once did till she found her way
She would teach her children everyday
She would teach her children what she knew
until one day it was their turn to fly up and away

              Emma Brumberger__

No Shell No Venus

Imagine the birth of time
beyond imagination

Not a dot of

Nor a blot of nothing


a vacuum neither vast nor small
a void profane…


And then something

a tick, a tock,
a bang

  Frank Murphy__

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