Am G Am
He looks like a normal guy, he’s got a solid, dull career
C Dm G
His eyes were a safe warm brown, we’d been friends many a year,
He walked up with a troubled look, “hey, friend, you got a while?
There’s something I must tell you.” Then he gave me an odd smile.
“My mom said, ‘Keep the secret, or lose more than you could win’.”
I’ve been silent so long, I don’t know where I should begin—
Then he popped the contacts from his eyes, showed me the bright green hue
“I’m half an elf” he said, his eyes the proof that he spoke true
I refused to scream, although I’m sure the fear showed in my eyes
All know that you can’t trust an elf—why’d he show me his disguise?
But he didn’t offer any threat, just stood there awkwardly,
The same old nerdy space geek—so I just said, “Why tell me?”
“I could say I’m sick of wondering who would be friends if they knew
I could say I’m tired of lying, and God knows that that is true
But I’ve been too scared of what I’d lose to dare to stand so tall
And if I hadn’t got this letter, I’d have said nothing at all.”
“See, my sister, she got married, and some while back had twins
The elfin blood shone through in them; they suffered taunts and sins
Now, the boy’s committed suicide; the girl is at death’s door
I wish I’d helped them somehow; I can’t live silent anymore.”
He’d showed me pictures of those kids, bragged of talents they had shown
He loved them so, I’d wondered why he had none of his own
Now looking in his anxious eyes, a truth occurred to me
Elves have a lot to fear from us, that they all hide or flee.
I must have looked uneasy, for he looked down with a sigh
“If you feel we cannot still be friends, I sure understand why.”
I reached to stop him—touched an elf! But the world didn’t end.
I said, “I’m feeling kind of shocked, but I’ll not reject a friend.”
I remembered all the times we’d shared, how he’d helped when I was down
How he’d come to get me in the night when my car broke far from town
And I imagined that bright, pretty boy now laid out underground,
And I said, “this world’s a better place, with folks like you around.”
Copyright ©2007, 2012 (November 7, 2007) Deirdre M. Murphy, all rights reserved.
Young Tom’s Songs
Sing to the queens
Whose seductive calls, loud feline yowls
And scents drift, pleasing and teasing, past the screens
Sing to the mice
Who venture in where warmth’s within
To become a tempting, temporary, timorous, tasty toy
Sing to the birds
Whose appealing shapes spotted past the drapes
Twitter and tease in safety—he can’t pounce through pesky glass
Sing to the toys
Stored silent and still in the attic’s chill
At least he can set his teeth in their pelts when he wants to
Sing to the girl
Whose teenage hands tend books and pens
When they should be caressing his sides, and ears, and chin
Sing to the hands
That toss tasty fare high in the air
To be captured and scattered and chased and slain
Sing to the bed
Where he can lay curled and dream of a world
Where pats and beasts, critters and treats always appear when he sings.
©2010 Deirdre M. Murphy
I wrote this for an anthology that didn't ever happen,
which was to be titled Closet With Two Doors.
You can test the waters,
Talk about growing purple tomatoes, and eating nasturtiums.
If odd veggies bother them, you don’t mention poetry
Much less being bi, being Pagan.
But the test is inconclusive.
If you take the risk, talk about who you really are
Hoping their friendship won’t turn, like unwanted veggies in the fridge,
Will they accept your offer, verily heart’s-friend?
Or will they give you one last look—
A look that says, “I don’t want to know you.”
A look that condemns, or pities, or assumes you must be joking
This poem is about one of my characters at www.tornworld.net.
Lalya got himself relicensed as a woman so he can marry his sweetheart.
Lalya's adventure starts here, with the story of his proposal to Dini.
A Torn World Poem
As a boy,
Lalya thought poetry was for girls.
Though of course it wasn’t taught that way.
Now, as a woman,
Lalya finds herself writing tile poems
To personalize wedding invitations.
As a person,
Lalya finds the whole situation ironic.
She had no idea she would enjoy writing poetry
Until she willingly penned some.
Deirdre Murphy is a writer of speculative fiction,
artist, musician, and cat-lover.
You can find her work a number of places online,
including www.tornworld.net, a world with
steam technology, unique temporal anomalies,
deadly sea monsters, and mischievous
snow-unicorns. Her most recent sale
is to Uncle John’s Flush Fiction.
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Art and Poetry by Deirdre M. Murphy