Patrick M Murphy

The poetry and interests of Patrick Murphy.

[pmmurphyartist]

Coping in isolation

If you need help on this topic please message me.  I know real actionable advice that you can do.  If you think the medical world truly cares about this problem they do not.  So if shit hits the fan don’t expect someone to intervene.

[posttraumaticsarah]

Poetry Review

I’ve had the pleasure of seeing the evolution of this idea within Patrick’s writing from the beginning and I love the result. From the first poem he wrote nailing the concept of Recovery being an imperfect non-linear process, I’m not surprised I am sort of in love with this finished product of his.

I do agree with this review that, to the average reader, this book may not be fleshed out enough with explaining all of the different voices of Recovery, Suicide, PTSD, and Sarah to fully be understood. My perception of this book is that, it is told from the viewpoint of Recovery giving Sarah an update on their life. Recovery mentions the other characters of Suicide and PTSD but the book centers on a relationship between Recovery and Sarah.

Overall, I am thrilled to have inspired this body of work. A year ago, I posted my Dear Suicide series in which I was writing letters to different mental health struggles I envisioned as actual people. Patrick fell in love with the character and voice of Recovery, ran wild with this storyline, and has created a character that exists within a world of its own completely independent of my original idea.

In the midst of my first hypomanic episode while I felt like my life was truly ending for the billionth time, I wrote something that has touched someone so deeply they have been endlessly editing, writing, and re-working this concept for the past year. This book is a testament to not only how collaborative artistic mediums can be but how we should never give up in general. Your influence, time, place, and meaning in this world can be shown to you in the most unsuspectingly imaginative ways and being alive is so bizarre that it’s not just worth it but actually quite beautiful. 

I think Patrick is an exceptional writer but this book really showcases his talents with prose storytelling.

Sarah

I too am hanging on the edge wondering why I shouldn’t just end it as well

following you to another world

maybe land in some high up cloud where we are forgiven and can smile and joke relentlessly

who are we kidding we’ll be down in hell for sure

here I am though next to Suicide

Personally, I think it’s worth a read! You can find it here.

Here’s other poems my Dear Suicide series inspired as well.

[pmmurphyartist]

spooning

breath after breath leaving chills across your neck a toe curls  your hands fold into mine and the sun has turned and the moon has been delivered and the stars oh how the stars shine as we fall asleep

[unamusingsar]

Poetry Review:Recovering from Sarah

“you were this overbearing angel

in a world of forgotten religion”

It was a quite interesting read, fresh and with the perfect amount of emotion, enough to materialize the feeling but not so much that it becomes overwhelming.

I personally feel like there could have been a little more work put into it. Sometimes the language went from too elaborate to too casual in a split second, and even though a too elaborate poem would be boring, I don’t think the transition was well achieved, making it a little unpleasant.

I really enjoyed the feelings the poem delivered. You could reach out and touch the guilt, remorse and internal conflict depicted.

What really worked well was the scenery that was presented.

Before Sarah we are in a warm summer day, with chirping birds and heat pouring inside from wooden windows. And yet we can feel something is very wrong and we are merely experiencing the calm before the storm.

And these are the lines we get when we are transported back into the present

“this December wind never felt

so cold

and in the bitter gust I hold on”

However, this poem is supposed to explore PTSD. And, frankly, I think it mostly showed grief and guilt, rather than a mental disorder. For that, it would need to be more detailed and a little more focused on the internal feelings and external habits, rather than the memories.

What I really liked was the message, that, even in what we think is a lost war, we can still win.

Overall it was a nice read, but it definitely needed more work put into it so I’ll rate it 3/5.

“you breathed

Keeping me looking forward

Wanting that sun to stay up

Or that moon to park itself right back around

So my eyes can remember

All those reflecting hues from your face”

If anyone wants to check it out here’s the goodreads link, and I would click it if i were you, because it’ll give you a lot to think about

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48340419-recovering-from-sarah

[pmmurphyartist]

don’t look

nights are delicate and come once every so often. They can see your breaths- tuck them in your shirt and run look like that bloated cannibal they see you as the one always running away eating the pain and gushing of aerties of lost and forgotten hearts where you only hoped they loved a love so close to yours even when you locked your sensuality away just like your sexuality. you’re afraid of success afraid of special things and with this you look in the mirror you see no arms no fingers crawling and feel no warmth just a cold lifeless hollowed shell of a man

[pmmurphyartist]

a response to Deborah Paredez's weeping

here are bodies laying in the wake of a river that i cross over daily and in this crossing i never look beneath i never see their tears as they soak in the soles of my shoes drenching in my daily activities for i do a care but as the day come across i fear the ones who put the damage underneath an with this i part this river begging for their forgiveness

[pmmurphyartist]

quote and poetry prompt

❝ Late into the night I write and the pages of my notebook swell from all the words I’ve pressed onto them. It almost feels like the more I bruise the page the quicker something inside me heals. ❞

 —Elizabeth Acevedo, The Poet X

 maturity

 there is a place where only the damaged understand

where if I were to let it bleed it wouldn’t soak the page

but the very existential thing we call our soul

during this place and dark time

we hold on to the outerlayers of sanity

and through this we look through a kaliedscope of ideas

lost temptations and relationships past

and this is where I leave you to find your own devices

this is where I abandon you

[pmmurphyartist]

yes that is my photo and no i don't bleed

i guess i got lost alittle in the idea that i looked good naked i showed them my photo the instant i took it i believe SWAT came through my phone and stole my shirt and put it back on my chest then slightly afterwards you texted and through the text i felt the grief and regret of having a shirt on you always liked them thicc but there i was still found lost

[pmmurphyartist]

this is a poem that has too many characters

why must love always feel like breaking why are there sign-up petitions and auditions to the table where love needs to follow suite because anger dissatisfaction and oh lets not get started on how fat loneliness well you see we are at this party anger keeps hammering loneliness because she claims that her only way to survival is through some emotional breakthrough where and you see dissatisfaction was totally satisfied about it to the point we had to get a doctor anger seemed to have a thing for loneliness he loved the isolation and went buddy buddy he would even call his good friend lust to the ropes and oh how sparks would fly lets not forget how easy it is to get lust near loneliness all because communication was in the room i mean hell communication had a nice ass so with little bonding and the whole idea of anger flirting with danger, danger was only here because loneliness needed alcohol and alcohol only came to the party because well lets face its a party. alcohol isn't gonna miss this for anything so back to me i'm sitting in the corner people watching and here comes shyness ive seen him before he has nice eyes but never speaks because communication is always flustered with lust and lets not forget sexiness is the focal point of any party here and alcohol is always too busy drinking away sorrow under the table but i find myself lost in shyness not because of the crowd he has but because hes here at this party avoiding danger isn't talking to anger didn't drink with alcohol he might not be around communication but he at least helps see sorrow out the door then while loneliness was stuck crying next to the pool table he told solitude to get her a handkerchief so being love i can't help but find that attractive

[pmmurphyartist]

its always the little things

shh can you not hear the sigh of the ocean's breeze do you not see the nebula that fell in our atmosphere and kissed the clouds can you not feel the murmurs from the ground because mother nature is pregnant and kicking? shh this is no long avenue no broken patio not a fallen stick in a road to run over in your car this is a twirling tornado a forgotten tsunami a privileged hurricane ready to hit the coast and its hungry oh how its hungry its a climate shift its a delicate melt of the iceberg so the titanic doesn't have to sink jack and rose are still alive he didn't freeze before drowning shh your alone on your front porch and a leaf just blew by savor it

[pmmurphyartist]

memorabilia and things

if i could sigh again stretch a breath across several syllables as i rolled my eyes once more time i forgot why you were beautiful i glanced on a nearby bus whilst putting pattered change in to pay for my fare and with that i noted deep down inside that i've done this all before it was a routine by now a place i took on day by day everywhere i went and when i opened my book i always wanted to read that is when i sigh'd but my eyes never rolled you were not here to rip it out of my hands and tell me how its just ee cummings youll like plath better this isn't a sentiment for those who want to fall out of a tree and collapse on a soft patio cracking their own skull open its more of a reminder that it already happened and your in limbo waiting for the ghosts to pass on by

[pmmurphyartist]

loving again

we always look at a skyless sky with a secondary emotion like anger //   its easy to forget beauty //   when you can't even see the stars //   when you can't appreciate //   a sun-shower

and then you will dream of padded stars and a bright oasis where the sky is the sky and your dreams are held in your hand even though they may burn

for your heart has returned //     and your not looking anymore //     and you can see the solstice //     and the milky-way //     looks more then tasty

and after that you name your daughter galaxy

[writerscreed]

Writerscreed Discovery of May 2018

Writerscreed has been digging through the Tumblr Writing Community to find more writers to feature on our blog. Here are the talented writers we have found during May who deserve more attention! Check them out and give them a follow, and as usual, Keep writing everyone! We cannot wait to see who will make the list in June. 

@blackheartseverywhere

@manicmap

@hannahinks

@melancholicheartbeat

@arilesser

@ew-certain

@morgan-the-carrot

@apuweticsstuff 

@maybeartowl

@pmmurphyartist

@rtpoetry

@meg-collection

@404writewords

@poetryfrommyinnermostself

@atlas-existing

@sn3ak

@jamesponse

@readingrocks-liel

@panda-poet-storyteller

@wildheartedghost

@nullresponse

@groundcontrolpoetry

@lyndtly

[goldeh]

[pmmurphyartist]

indigo

people only type in contrasts, because black has such simple views. nobody ever lets color come through their screens never a hue as radiant as indigo, as these words only show when you press the right keys. while some of us tremble on a day to day basis, it grows difficult. hopefully you still understand the beauty of blue between these bold dark lines. black is an easy variant its formal and quite honestly pleasing to the eyes. if someone sent a text typed in indigo words it would scare me and i'm not quite sure i would read it. its abnormal and not dark like my own.

[gracebriarwoodwrites]

“From the end spring new beginnings.” - Pliny the Elder

I am so, so thrilled to be graduating with a Bachelor’s Degree in English Literature and starting on my journey to become a teacher. If you’d like to give me a little gift to celebrate my graduation, and get a little gift in return, I would really appreciate some coffee at my Ko-fi. The laptop I’m planning to buy will help me succeed in grad school, and it will also help me start a YouTube channel, which means that I can bring more content to you guys! You’ll also get a thank you gift–my chapbook, Made Mythic–and if you request a poem topic in your comment, I’ll write it for you! 

I am super grateful for all of your support over these past couple of years, and I love you all so much. If you want to give me a hand and invest in the future of my education and this blog, click here! 

[gracebriarwoodwrites]

I just had a very emotional awards ceremony today, and I can’t believe I’m graduating tomorrow! I’m filled with a lot of emotions, and I just want to take this moment to thank you all. Your support has kept me going throughout this year–knowing that such a wonderful and talented group of people likes my writing gives me energy and hope for my future. You are the best. 

[gracebriarwoodwrites]

I just graduated! I made it!

[pmmurphyartist]

summer trance

the climb of heat is but summer ploy, finding myself bed-ridden as if winter. laptop is open enduring the ideas of finding another. hoping my heart gets picked up like dangling dog tags after a murder. this window stays shut & i only see streaks of sun through my blinds. long summer bliss leaves me estranged wanting another time another reason, to open these windows as her faded hour-glass framed my recollection of facts. leaving this heart encased. glooming and adhering that we know this is time to get outside live the world. however, its just a padded memory & i too must realize sometimes, i'm still alone. as summer glares like matches struck in midnight heat. my toes stay uncurled as i find the latest edition of the daily paper & let it just burn in my hands because the sun forgot my name & i only leave so many articles of afternoon delight on the table. its a quick read afternoon passes for me not too fast, but fast enough. realizing the next day is at hand & summer entices me looking for bright rays, i hopefully open a window so it may kiss me on the forehead or maybe on the cheek.