Posts Tagged ‘National Poetry Month’

Reading my poem Buffalo 66 in Bloomsburg Pennsylvania

Buffallo 66

The roof is leaking in the $2 theater
dripping near my popcorn as the screen flickers.
I’m as excited at a 12 year old seeing Star Wars.

I’m nearly alone in my cinematic enlightenment.
It’s useless to say not another university student in sight.
Romantic notions of what college was to be faded to black,
and I am content to watch my first independent film.


With so few roads on the reservation

it’s hard to turn the wrong way.

But when the roads are long and it’s your first time

you wonder anyway.


For the next two years

whenever I’d drive by that green sign

I’d always chuckle to myself

and remember that time.


I missed the left turn.

I saw the sign but just my luck,

spray painted over it was “D.G.A.F.”

“Don’t Give A” you know what.

Reading at the open mic at Woodstock in Seoul South Korea.

The Geekiest Moment of My Life.

It wasn’t even Dungeons and Dragons
that the average person might have heard of.
It wasn’t even World of Darkness,
Rifts, Gurps, Deadlands, or Call of Cthulhu,
that at least nerds knew.

The Role Playing Guild gathered in the dorms that evening
to play a homemade game
designed by one of our own members.
If only I could recall its name.

According to our character sheets
we are all aliens investigating an extra-terrestrial mystery.
We have strange names, equipment,
character traits and history.

We may have weaknesses
but can also achieve superhuman feats.
My roommate is a claustrophobic archeologist
who is allergic to dust.
We investigate the starship,
searching for clues, watching who we trust.

A student pokes his head in the window
wondering what on earth we’re doing.
The dice are out, the pencils are sharp.
We roll for initiative, and perception.
The game is on, and the TV is off.

I bet I was the only one who even knew.
It was Super Bowl Sunday.

James Murray reading the poem Almost Normal from his poetry collection of the same name. Poem below.

Almost Normal

Who knows when it ended,
but I know when it began. That summer my Aunt visited out of the blue with a pack of baseball cards and next thing I knew a whole world of diamonds opened before me.

My first and only team was the Phillies and the only sports hero of my childhood
was Mike Schmidt.
I watched his 500th home run against Pittsburgh, but at some point the ball dropped, as if on a whim, and one day I’d forgotten all about him.

I do remember dad giving his only fatherly advice, never bet on Philadelphia sports. After the Phillies one the game
and dad lost the gamble I’d sit in my room with my plastic Phillies helmet, and in the years before
I dreamt of science fiction sagas
I had fantasies of winning the big game.

In 1986, comic books greatest year, I knew nothing of Watchmen or Alan Moore. While nerds in newsgroups were trying to figure out who killed the Comedian I was finally figuring out how to ride a bike. While fanboys geeked out over
the Dark Knight Returns I was fishing on the lake,
shooting archery, eating smores.

Who knows why it ended, let alone when? All I know is when Tyson was in his heydey, and He-man was the Master of the Universe, I was climbing the hill, I read comics only sometimes, and I didn’t like girls yet.

I was almost normal.

The Almost Normal poetry collection can be purchased here.