David MurphyChurch Bell
The air’s dead in the cemetery.
Unmoving, the Spanish moss drapes
like monks’ robes in a monastery
in that gliding Reaper’s shape.
Live oaks stand as still as lead.
A sound. Through glossed air comes a knell:
sliding like glaze, sticking like dread,
conducting a new soul to its stone cell.
I’ll be uploading photos from my book, Afghanistan, every day till April 3rd, 2025. You can find the photos on my website, and you can buy an electronic copy of the book on Amazon.
The Witch’s Coven
There once was a foul witchy coven
Which met in the shire of Devon
They had cauldrons that boiled
And snakes that were coiled
And they baked small children in ovens!
The Cannibal Feast
There once was a cannibal feast
At which ten people were present, at least,
Although there may have been more
It’s quite hard to be sure
After they’ve been chopped and rolled in the grease!
The Woman from Marseille
A woman once lived in Marseille
Beneath the floor of the city ballet
The dancing went to her brain
And slowly drove her insane
Now she waltzes through graveyards for play!
The Enchanted Tomb
There once was an enchanted tomb
Which rose from a graveyard’s gloom
And it caused great delight
When it flew through the night
Before the bright shining white moon.
The Blind Witch
There once was a witch who could fly
But she was blind in both of her eyes
She flew with a cane made of bone
That was as white as sea foam
And she was at ease in the darkest of skies.
The Rainbow’s End
There once was a rainbow’s end
Which leprechauns did diligently tend
They planted a garden of gold coins
That any man could purloin
If they could but find where that colored light did descend.
