James Murdock

Think, Dear Daughter (for Tallulah)

If I have any advice, it is to think,
think, think, dear daughter
of actions, as cannonballs, laying waste
of words, as timbers, crashing down--
splintering skulls so silent as snowfall
Think of the world as a canvas, not square
but everywhere free, your intentions, the paint
Think, think of cars as strange machines,
that houses could be better, such dull old things
Think of plants as people, still good, and
people as sad plants someone stopped watering
Think forever on that interior space
given to us upon our fall from grace,
for those of us who cannot simply go about
never considering our footsteps
as ineludibly vehement and ever-precarious
This world does not treat its thinkers well
People sing forever only songs of our death
Think, my dear, forever of their insanity, and
sing the song of eternity in your low-lying breath
Think of bluebirds as angels, watching--
who have transcended all this ground-dwelling,
living above, wishing for better ways below
but you, good girl, can do more than dream,
as if dreaming were merely a thinking thing
You may think, and therefore grow
an idea which few will know--
that to be simple is to be free, that
nature is given anarchy, and that thought
though burdensome, can be filled with love,
that life -like a spring- is rising up 

Former Albany resident James Murdock is a poet and essayist originally from Athens, Georgia.  He is an environmental science teacher by trade, and his will for expression stems from an ardent love for the wisdom of American Transcendentalism.  He has been published in Penumbra Magazine (Spain), the Blue Mountain Review, and Deep South Magazine.  He currently lives on a farm in Jasper County, Georgia with his wife, Jenna, and their daughter, Tallulah.

1 comment:

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