The Art of Tea and Poetry

The Art of Tea and Poetry

The Imprint Remains


What will I leave, as my days drain away?
Dark rings through dead wood, do they whisper my age?
How shall I grieve when decay has its say?
Stark realism's good when I play on my stage.

Life's what you make it! Echoes the trumpets of time
That have followed my breaks, beating blues with their rhymes.
I'd strive not to fake life, nor flee from shadows behind.
Wallows of heartache, cheating tunes tolled the chimes..

Will I crumble? Stand tall? My eyes hold no illusion.
Misspent youthful behaviour; when to play or to slide.
Will I stumble, or fall, into times of confusion?
Strength be my favour, I pray, you stay at my side.

Dreams that time lasts forever, life past is a beat late.
Shall my fingerprints leave an imprint that stays?
My symphony severed, breathing body migrates.
To linger long in this stint, grips my instinctive ways.

I'm the dust of a memory, frayed and decayed.
As the curtain call darkens this light of my stage.
Shall my song fade and rust, when my soul finally says,
"Am I certain I marked every note I have played?"

©  Paul Murphy. Dec. 2014.


Paul Murphy

Life for this poet was full of turmoil, anger and a rusting childhood oiled by drink. On his thirteenth birthday, he asked for a guitar, and it changed his world. It became his best friend and companion. His guitar fed him once he gained the courage and the need to follow it. He left home at fifteen, lived on the streets and in prison until the age of nineteen. Then, he found women to go with the wine and song of life. He writes down his thoughts and experiences on scraps of papered moments. Poetry for him is freedom. It is his way of talking to himself, and hoping others will understand. It has opened a new road for him, due to a car accident in 2001, which disabled the travelling gypsy in him and stopped him dead in his tracks.

Yet, it brought him home, to a place - here, in the Now. His words have not yet begun to  describe the anguish, the pain and the destruction of his lost plans. Until now, he has told few of his accident, for no reason other than not to draw sympathy. His written words are his road to freedom as they fall onto his many pages of truth.   

About Paul Murphy

Life for this poet was full of turmoil, anger and a rusting childhood oiled by drink. On his thirteenth birthday, he asked for a guitar, and it changed his world. It became his best friend and companion. His guitar fed him once he gained the courage and the need to follow it. He left home at fifteen, lived on the streets and in prison until the age of nineteen. Then, he found women to go with the wine and song of life. He writes down his thoughts and experiences on scraps of papered moments. Poetry for him is freedom. It is his way of talking to himself, and hoping others will understand. It has opened a new road for him, due to a car accident in 2001, which disabled the travelling gypsy in him and stopped him dead in his tracks.

Yet, it brought him home, to a place - here, in the Now. His words have not yet begun to  describe the anguish, the pain and the destruction of his lost plans. Until now, he has told few of his accident, for no reason other than not to draw sympathy. His written words are his road to freedom as they fall onto his many pages of truth.   

© Frecklewood 2017, All rights reserved.

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© Frecklewood 2014, All rights reserved.