The Carvery: by Pete Marshall

The Carvery

by pete marshall

Pride & dreams were laid upon

a smorgasbord of shattered souls,

yet dude was smooth and played his tune

as time would pass and pay its toll.

Hope was breathed as clocks would tick

whilst stifled air would fill the room,

faces strained in summers heat

to force a smile beyond the gloom.

Silence fell on nervous smirks

who doubted all their wasted years

that lived a life beyond respect

whilst hiding from financial fear.

Cards were played upon a desk

as jokers tried to pass the time

looks were glanced with eyes ahead,

the scythe was splayed across the line

and all were left with mouths aghast

as blood would flow across the floor,

The Carver claimed these wasting souls

then licked his lips, their life no more.

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This is my poem for the award winning One Stop Poetry and their weekly poetry fest, One Shot Wednesday.

Last night One stop Poetry were the proud recipients of winning a Shorty award in the categorary Art. Well done to everyone who helped make this possible...thankyou

Legend: A Poem by Pete Marshall

Legend

Whence Tristram rode his mighty steed

to claim the hand of fathers pride

she bade him hush and honoured thee

with love that rushed from deep inside

Tempers flare when darkened moods

that grow inside the blackened mind

ignite the seeds of solitude

where screams are all a love will find

A sword is pulled from Arthur’s stone

that dwelled within a shattered heart

which broke the walls of hardened bone

to tear a soul in two, apart

Alone he sits as legends pass

to gently fade and drift away

where idylls sing of distant lore

inscribed in stone for here to stay

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This amazing image provided by Brian Miller has formed a picture prompt for One Stop Poetry. This is my poem

High Street Blues: by Pete Marshall

High Street Blues

By Pete Marshall

A lonely man upon a bench

with rolls that spilled from out each side

he must have been, what - 60 plus?

but high street blues had passed him by.

And shouts were heard from teenage gangs

who jostled chips and KFC

whilst girls would egg and push them on

then tease them with virginity.

Some kids would laugh by sequined dolls

in stockinged thighs and see through tops,

and next door folk would come and go

with bucket grub from burger shops.

Beneath the bridge the busker sang

where once the pigeons played their games

as mothers pushed their laden prams

and passed his cap of measly gain.

The rows of shops no longer seen

for coffee bars and fast food dreams

and Bank’s & Cash for precious things,

or pawn that sits where hope has been.

A family pushed and rushed on past

in clothes that once would fit them proud,

where goods are bought too quick and cheap

but never last beyond the sales.

Around the square that marks the end

A man would preach of Lord & God

His voice would sell a damning world

yet, troubled souls would laugh & mock.

And boards were placed on shattered glass

where fights had spilled the night before

when high street blues would come alive

to late night drinks and booze fuelled wars.

***********

I was walking down my local high street this weekend and my mind drifted to how things had changed, even in my life time...heck they have an Ann Summers shop next door to a KFC!

This is my poem for One Shot Wednesday, hosted this week by Adam Dustus. A great platform to share your work, opens at 10pm UK time

My Heart Not Knows: by Pete Marshall

My Heart Not Knows

by Pete Marshall

My heart not knows where love will lie

Upon a cursed & ravaged bed

And storms will rage in darkened skies

My heart not knows where love will lie

No longer touched by waking eyes

A love is spurned as words are said

My heart not knows where love will lie

Upon a cursed & ravaged bed

**********

Its Triolet Day at One Stop Poetry, hosed by Shan Hendry. This is my attempt at tackling this form.

Cockle World: A Poem for my Daughter

Cockle World 

A Poem For My Daughter

Within her mind is Cockle world

that hides from truths in fluffy clouds,

with trees of pink and lilac hues,

orange streams and purple views.

Where Lep – Lep roams & rules her land,

fairies come & brothers banned!

Those large brown eyes tell stories too

the ones that love & listen through.

She never pauses or takes a breath,

she roars through life on urgent quests.

But do not think she doesn’t care,

beneath those clouds that crazy hair

is a heart that’s pure, that’s kind & true

that when you’re down will comfort you.

And don’t be fooled that she’s not there,

lost in the clouds above her hair,

for this ones mind is very bright

she’ll dig in deep, she’s always right!

Then back she goes to Cockle world

that hides from truths in fluffy clouds.

************

Brian Miller of One Stop Poetry is celebrating Spring today! 

Nothing reminds me more of spring than that of my daughter, and I couldn't resist surfacing an old poem that I wrote about her quite a way back. When we moved into our house the backyard was just that, a concrete hell. I began to dig it up, clear it out, bring in flowers & shrubs, lay a lawn. The following spring was when our yard became a garden, and that was when our daughter was born too. Now every spring, as the flowers bloom and the sun shines we celebrate not just spring but our daughters birthday too.

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Whilst posting this also gives me a chance to revisit the comments that I made about Blogging & commenting earlier this week, after my poem, Alas, for One Shot Wednesday.

The point I so tried to make was I didn't want people to feel they needed to comment on me, just comment because they want to. I also wanted people to understand that I knew how hard it is to try and comment on everyone's work and through my honesty I was hoping that I could give reassurance to those of you that struggled.

This week I read every single poem of One Shot Wednesday, yet only commented on a handful. I managed to do this because I didn't have to write a comment at the end of each, and by doing so I was able to savour and enjoy the poetry that much more.

The thing is though, after having left my views, one kind friend pointed something out to me that I hadn't taken in to account. I wont mention who she is, I will spare her blushes, but she made a very valid point that I had never realised. You see she said that what I was trying to convey may well have been misconstrued and read that I may be saying "I have no time for others poetry!" I was aghast at this, as she knew I would be. I hadn't realised that my  comment on another's poem was a comment that was seen as encouragement. The thing is I just see myself as a Blogger sharing his work.

I do read so much poetry and yes it is hard to comment on everyone's work, but I also understand what my friend was conveying and take her wise comments on board too.

Thanks for listening.........Pete

Alas: A Poem by Pete Marshall

Alas

by Pete Marshall

Dreams are doubts that spinners weave

and hope is lost in make believe

for in this realm where lovers leap

where leeches suck and ogres creep

and truths are hid behind a screen

a flickered mask of hopes & dreams

a cradled babe for all to preen

and puff their pride beyond extreme.

Life that ebbs and gently flows

that hides the storm as tempers glow

and spawns a mind of vicious twists

who pray to Gods that don’t exist

but sit up high within the skies

and eek their truths with wicked lies

and from the clouds where heavens seek

to strike the damned and rule the meek.

Hope has blown though all my dreams

as spinners cut the threaded seams

that patched my quilt of sheltered life

embroidered thoughts of paradise

and apples scrumped from guarded trees

enlighten minds to trickery

and make it all so plain to see

that dreams are doubts that spinners weave

****************


Today I am the host of One Shot Wednesday, which opens tonight at 10pm UK time. In my introduction tonight I mention an article by Brian Miller about Blogging & Commenting, and whilst I state that commenting and interaction can be fun I feel I must also explain my position on this as over the last few weeks I have not been seen about commenting as often as I normally do.


The reason for this is, to be honest, I enjoy reading poetry more than I do commenting. I find it very hard to read through everything that is posted and then think of a comment to write afterwards. I am much happier just reading the poetry, savouring it and enjoying it. 


The detrimental effect of this however is that comments are becoming lesser on my own blog, but to be honest this I do not mind. If somebody is only commenting on my poetry because I comment on theirs then I would rather not have their comment. I want an audience that WANTS to read my work NOT because I have commented on their work. 


I have found that by no longer commenting as often as I would I am achieving a clearer, more concise, critique of my work. 


This does not mean however that I do not wish to comment, I love commenting on the wonderful features spotlighted at One Stop as much as I love reading the wonderful poetry submitted to One Shot.  


My blog is purely a place to publish poetry which is there to be read and critisiced as one desires. All I ask is that if you wish to comment please do so because you want to.


Blogging can be and is fun...through One Stop Poetry a place has been created where Poetry can be celebrated and it is through One Stop where I enjoy the Blogging experience...as for this Blog, I am more at home socialising through either Twitter or email..


Thank you for listening and reading my work

image courtesy creative commons flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/looking4poetry/