almost a haiku

haiku, oh haiku
ravage my too few brain cells
and won't let me sleep


Copyright © 2010 by Shawn Murray

Haiku #2

the crickets echo
through the rain drenched trees, singing
a lost lullaby

Copyright © 2010 by Shawn Murray

My First Haiku

lightening bugs flutter
sending morse code quick flashes
relay all is well

© 2010 Shawn Murray

Something She Wrote

This poem is a favorite of mine written by a good friend, Ryan King.
You can read his poetry at RyanKingOnline.com.

She who speaks softly and carries a big pen,
Always looking for the writer’s zen,
She who writes vivid and bold,
Always caring with a heart of gold,
May she be ever successful again and again.

© 2008 Ryan King

My Prince Charming

used to like your smile once,
you were charming and could sway
even the most stoic of us,
or me. your beguiling wit
and romantic ways entangled
my heart so thoroughly,
that even now and possibly
forever more, I may still fall
completely under your spell.

Goodnight Sweet Soul

Dedicated to Karl Campion, who passed from
this world June 10th, 2010, and to the legacy he
has left behind; his wife, Cheri and three children,
Jean-Luc, Jeremiah, and Amelia.

A heartbeat slowly diminishes
and stops, while the world carries on.
Other hearts stop, if only for a moment
as love dies,
and look to the world in astonishment
and wonder how can it go on
without noticing that another heart has stopped?
How does ones passing
barely get noticed
when all the world
is diminished by the loss
of a soul,
and all that is left behind
is legacy?


©2010 Shawn Ann Murray

Used to

Does she make Oatmeal Raisin Cookies
for you, just because, the way I used to?

Does she make you breakfast in bed,
or draw you a bath, the way I used to?

Does she clean up you mess,
or collect all your stuff, the way I used to?

Does she support your music,
or your career, the way I used to?

Does she pay half the bills and rent,
and buy groceries, the way I used to?

Does she love your dog,
or love you, the way I used to?

Do you use her and abuse her,
like me, the way you used to?


©2010 Shawn Ann Murray

Writing

I dedicate this poem to my friend cel,
whose poetry more often than not rhymes,
when mine more often than not doesn't.
This one is your fault.

I write when the world is quiet
and everyone's asleep,
the phone is still,
I don't hear a peep.

The tick of the clock,
the only sound,
is when the words come crashing
in leaps and bounds.

I must force myself to sit;
Butt In Chair, Hands On the Keys,
a little nudge to the Muse,
and pray I don't freeze.

Fiction flows fast
when on the laptop I do type.
Poetry comes best
when in longhand I do write.

Journaling comes easy
at the kitchen table.
Research is always
when the desktop is able.

Writing comes easiest
when I'm away from home;
Starbucks, Borders, Barnes & Noble,
or at a friends' when they're on the roam.

Writing is my life's blood,
as you can see.
It's the one thing that makes me
me.


©2010 Shawn Ann Murray