His Little Voice
By Sheila Murphy
His little voice his soft voice said
I don’t feel good and he meant it.
He meant I should tell someone who could
help him away. I said I would and he
never the same again maybe at least felt
relieved he said but I was sure it was late.
He rose a little way north I now feel his beautiful way
of watching hearing taking charge but on that day
he knew harsh wind not cooling his little face
as if no one understanding he looked away.
News Light
By Sheila Murphy
Scent of watercress
Mixed with tourniquet
Of blanched Pacific
Background light
Are you free tonight
Despite crispness
Of a week no longer
Nascent now a blip
Of unworn saffron
Robes and cotton
Frugal belt
A fugal line
Auden conquering
A still heard
Thing within
That unworn cloth
