Tuesday, 29 March 2011

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.


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

Friday, 18 March 2011

Legend: A Poem by Pete Marshall


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


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

Tuesday, 8 March 2011

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

Monday, 7 March 2011

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.

Friday, 4 March 2011

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.


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

Tuesday, 1 March 2011

Alas: A Poem by Pete Marshall

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 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