The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

Volume-1                                              december-2011                                                    Number-2






                       by Sally-Ann Murray


1am the living dark

a bat squeaks

a nightjar shrieks

a helicopter rotors

through clouded hieroglyphs.


Further off, the harbour creaks

and groans, craning towards the sea

as she washes the endless laundry

of the world swirled

plastic oilshine collapsed cardboard

washing up on the beach

in the world’s weary way.


A second of quiet.

Something cracks.


Slowly, determined,

she scoops into the sand

and hollows her eggs

one by one before turning

turtle, sad duct

tearing against the grit.