THIS STEADY PLACE
I am painting angels. These are spray painted.
Street angels. independently, Blayne writes about
how they steal lipstick from the dead
and draw on each other’s bodies.
These are my angels.
Angels who smoke cigarettes,
wear denim and heels–they are urban.
They are street talkers.
They have five o’clock shadows.
They watch over me, like a film,
feet up on the chairs, being shushed
by the theatre attendants–
talking, spilling coins and candy all over the place.
These angels have gum stuck on the bottom of their shoes.
Innocence surrounding the lines and sensibility of This Steady Place create havoc with readers who do in fact cry out, You can’t be this vulnerable. Be careful . Keely Murphy is the kind of poet who frighten parents–not for their rebelliousness–but for their purity. Her voice which we love on the page, and even more from a podium, is only hers, but it has been guided, nurtured–and discovered/uncovered by Dan Peters, her teacher. Murphy lives near Blue Begonia Press, and I came to know her poems from multiple postings on the Poetry Pole in the garden. I knew nothing about her, had never seen her–left in wonder when the next poem would find its way to the pole. –Jim Bodeen
Handmade / Handsewn $15.00