Tag Archives: Friendship

Afternoon Thoughts


I sometimes wish
you would reach across the miles
to somehow smooth over
mountains of wrongdoings
oceans of salty tears
shine sun rays
on the tropical rainforest of my heart
where the colours just haven’t been as bright
since the day you went away



I remember
my fingernails once left bloody crescents on my palms
my jaw ached from gritting my teeth until they were broken
your empty promises split my skin like the edges of paper
and then
I remember
how much I enjoy sleeping through the night now

But still


wish I could hold your hand and giggle once more
wind up at the bottom of another coffee pot together
whisper secrets and promises anew
while writing poems about ghosts that linger in the shadows
wish that I was still the one you turned to at 4 AM
wind up choking when I hear your voice
whisper your name to remember the taste of it in my mouth
while writing poems about a love that never made sense to me



pretend that I never happened
only speak my name as a curse
only look my way when time stands still
only hope to keep me broken-hearted
like a child.
But friendships are not like playgrounds
and long after the bell rings
you are going to remember me
if only to sing yourself to sleep
if only to hold yourself when you are lonely
if only to remind yourself of a time when you had a home



I remember your name when I light my Shabbos candles
because no matter what, I still pray that you are blessed
I may not be able to look at the pictures yet
but the memories are never far from my mind
I will always look for you in a crowded room
I will always answer the phone when you call.
My heart will always be full of you.

I will see you in another lifetime
where our history together will be as light as butterfly wings
and we will be together again.


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This work, “Afternoon Thoughts” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.


On a Christmas Day Without Snow


On a Christmas day without snow,
the white, generously- bellied moon shone in an India-ink sky,
pouring incandescent light through your truck’s windows,
dancing off your mirrors until your chocolate eyes held diamonds.
The seat captured the cold night air and pressed through your clothes,
drying the sweat that glided down the winding roads of your body.
Your hands, still covered in the sweet resin of trees,
left the wheel only to turn up the volume on the radio
as you hummed along to the corn-kissed whine of Southern pedal steel.
The road stretched wide and endless before you,
and in that moment of possibility,
you thought of me.

full moon
Image taken from Pinterest 

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This work, “On a Christmas Day Without Snow” by Beth Murch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

~ 4 AM ~


~4 AM ~

I’m not reading C.R. Avery in the bathtub,
Prostate-exam deep into the middle of the night,
Chainsmoking Djarum Specials because I am depressed.
Really, I’m a big mama burlesque queen holding court in Bubble Kingdom.
Some birds wash for the hell of it.

~ 4 AM ~

I left my heart and my phone charger in Vancouver.
I miss one more than the other.
The mountains were the headboard to our bed,
And the ocean was the wet spot on our sheets.
I really wish I remembered my phone charger.

~ 4 AM ~

There is a piece of mail that I never open.
That last Christmas card you sent me
Sits on top of my stereo between the case for Erykah Badu’s Live
And some seashells from a vacation I never went on.
It’s getting harder to remember the sound of your laughter.

~ 4 AM ~

It scares me that when I die,
No one will notice that I am gone.
Everything that I ever loved will end up in a dumpster.
Flowers will grow through my ribcage.
Tree roots will crack through my pelvis.

~ 4 AM ~

He told everyone that I was too sad.
I didn’t have his cocaine to rub into my love to make my heart numb.
I had confessed I had a fear of abandonment.
He said he would never leave, and it is true.
I still find bits of his lies wherever I go.

~ 4 AM ~

I’ve stopped writing love poems for people who don’t appreciate them.
Instead, in red lipstick on cocktail napkins,
I write “if you park on my street after 2 AM, you will get a ticket.”
It’s not romantic, but neither is a $30 fine at 4 AM.
And let’s face it: nobody is staying for my complementary continental breakfast.

~ 4 AM ~

Dried umbilical cords, resin, old teeth, feathers, and herbs.
Prayers, spells, chants, incantations, dirges, and degrees.
Psalmistry and palmistry.
Someone once asked if I was a good witch or a bad witch.
I said if they ever figured it out to let me know.

~ 4 AM ~

She writes me notes saying that she hopes that I am okay.
I don’t know how to tell her that at 4 AM,
Nothing is okay.
The only thing to look forward to is the contused eye of night
Finally fading into the orange-green bruise of dawn.


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This work, “~4 AM~” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Stable As Eggs Served Over Easy


You set yourself on fire for people who are only too happy to watch you burn.
They dance hand-in-hand around your pyre singing horrible top 40 hits,
Celebrating with margaritas,
While you watch your body melt like wax,
And wonder why no one cares that you are starting to feel the heat.

Your hands are bloody with abrasions as the old woody rope you tie to friends in hopes of keeping them connected to you
Unravels so quickly between your fists that it smokes with heat.
A great white shark will struggle for its life while caught on a hook, smashing everything around it in the attempt to break free,
But you expect humans to behave so differently.

You live in a glass house so you know exactly who throws stones and how well their aim is,
So why are you so surprised when you find cracks under the eaves
And ragged holes with jagged teeth along the walls?
Car crashes always occur in slow motion, even when someone is speeding,
And yet, you never learn to get out of the way.

Nobody but you wears their heart on their sleeve as a fashion statement.
Ventricles are so last season
And love may be grand, but it is covered in blood.
You should spend less time concerned with pathogens and more time learning to keep your organs on the inside of your skin.

You are as stable as eggs served over easy,
The yolks of your eyes always on the verge of spilling out,
Getting feelings all over the plate, dripping them onto the table,
Knocking over water glasses as you try to mop them up with the hem of your skirt.
No one wants to eat with you because you are a mess.
Maybe if you learned some bloody table manners, someone would actually want to split dessert with you
Instead of running away and leaving you with the bill.

Some people know how to love appropriately.
They recognize wolves playing dress-up with cashmere.
They portion out their affection according to the calorie chart on the back of the box.
They don’t pray over strange babies or make up songs for their cats.
They don’t need anyone to stick around or to take care of them.
You have no concept of how to love appropriately.
Your expressions of love are the equivalent of broken heels on shoes, runs in stockings, lipstick on teeth, and stray M&Ms melting in the cups of your bra.
You love like the cloud of fragrance in a department store cosmetic aisle: too much, too strong, too migraine-inducing, too asthma-attacky.
You can’t tell the difference between predators and lambs, and you would probably still fight to give the wolf the benefit of the doubt even while you were halfway down his throat.
You think if you perfect your buttercream frosting recipe that you will heal the world.
You think if you hug someone hard enough they will just stop resisting, surrender, and stay forever.

In 2013, Walt Disney released a musical movie called “Frozen” with the breakout hit song, “Let It Go”.
For three years, you have heard this children’s anthem at nearly every home, every coffee shop, and every karaoke party,
But you still haven’t realized that the words won’t change into “Don’t Let Go” even if you shout them really loudly,
Because you are still hoping that someone will come build a snowman with you,
Because you still wish upon stars,
Because you still think there are pots of gold at the end of the rainbow.

When will you learn that growing up means no longer needing to hold hands,
And that love, much like most fast food, should never really be supersized?
People are going to leave you.
People will not want your love.
This is called “reality”.

Maybe it is time to go on a diet – a love diet.
Maybe I need to stop being an all-you-can-eat buffet of emotions,
And more like one of those microwave Lean Cuisines.


heart-shaped egg
Is this your photograph? Please let me know so that I may credit you!



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This work, “Stable As Eggs Served Over Easy” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

NaPoWriMo Day 2


2/30 Prompt: Write a secret poem.



She wrote me a letter
Saying that she knew that she could trust me
Because you love me so deeply.

I don’t know if it would matter to her
That you actually cast more shadows than love my way,
But I will keep her secrets just the same.


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This work, “Untitled” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Letters To A Dead Man


I spend my nights writing letters to a dead man.
Half of me lives in fear that he will answer;
Half of me lives in fear that he won’t.

 My heart floats in a dusty jar of formaldehyde,
Forgotten in the dark corner of a mad scientist’s lab.
I donated it to medical research because I wasn’t really using it.
Besides, it made my rib cage look cluttered,
And I can finally hear myself think now that the dreadful banging has stopped.

 I ask my friend,
“How is it that you, who had a heart so full of love, a heart that held up the entire world, could not survive
When I, someone incapable of love, completely devoid of strength, stumble forward year after year,
Like a zombie tripping over calendar pages?”

 The cold winter sky doesn’t respond.
The hard, frozen ground doesn’t crack open to reveal a revelation.
When I look in the bathroom mirror after taking a shower,
There’s no message written in the steam.

 If this poem were a joke
Instead of a confession,
The punch line would be that talking to a dead man is actually not the most one-sided conversation that I have ever had.

Is this your picture? If so, let me know and I will credit you!

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This work, “Letters To A Dead Man” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.



I knew you before.

I carried you in my salt-water womb,
Birthed you between mighty thighs
With a roar that frightened dragons from their hiding places in the cliffs
And sent them soaring into sapphire skies where they turned into mythology.
I severed your umbilical cord with my teeth,
Placed your hungry mouth to my breast,
And fed you milk made of starlight and moon glow.
I gave you the Earth and the Universe as siblings.
I formed deities to be your dolls and carved volcanoes from mud to entertain you.
Mother and Child – the most sacred of all unions:
How could I forget you when your placenta’s blood still stains my hands?

I knew you before.

 They called us “Gemini”
We were two bright stars;
The immortal twins
Forever stretching across the infinity of black sky to touch fingertips.
Our sacred geometry created plasma that crackled St. Elmo’s Fire,
Giving Tesla’s butterflies blue halos and promising that not even the gods themselves could sever our connection.
Together, we were luminous.
How could I forget you when I still hear the hissing of your electricity in my ears?

I knew you before.

 We were The Lovers,
Naked and unashamed.
We played beneath the golden glow of angels,
Finding pleasure picking fruits from orchards,
And licking sweet juices from each other’s chins.
It was all so blissful.
Our bodies were ripe and perfect.
We could not stop gazing at each other,
We admired our reflection in each other’s eyes.
The lovemaking we shared then led to the intimacy we would always feel ever after
Tumbling forward lifetime into lifetime.
How could I forget you when I still carry the taste of your kiss on my tongue?

 I knew you before…

…And I will know you ever after.
We are bound together through synastry,
Our individual energies destined to continue forming special relationships
Regardless of incarnation and manifestation
Thanks to a karmic magnetism that is timeless.
My inhalations are your exhalations.
You are engraved on my heart like a line on my palm.
How could I forget you when our planets intersect,
Our houses align,
Our natal charts overlap,
Our hearts beat in rhythm,
Our footsteps are in unison?

I knew you before.
I will know you again.
We are never really apart.


Brangelina – is it written in the stars?
By the way, if this is your image, please let me know and I will credit you.

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This work, “Synastry” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.