Friday, 26 August 2011

What Lay Before by pete marshall

What Lay Before?
by pete marshall

They hopped along this sacred earth
where bones would lay in open graves
picked the worms from rotting leaves
that turn to mulch and then decay

A flap of wings upon a gust
would settle forth within the trees
perched on high to spy the world
tears would flow as all would grieve

Feather’s fell from high above
floating past an open view
they sat upon a window ledge
where dolls would play in solitude

Bars align this sheltered space
hardened steel surrounds the home
boards are trod by strangers who
remove the tiles where magpies roam

Two would sit upon the slate
beneath where dreams of hope now fade
rock is dropped to crash and break
upon the path where gold once lay


Ever wondered What Lay Before? My home has a history and the land is stands on can tell even older tales. 

image courtesy creative commons flickr

Thursday, 18 August 2011

Match Day

Match Day
by pete marshall

Floodlit dreams upon a baize
where shadows waltz and serenade,
who dance & weave within a heart
as man turns boy, as light turns dark.
When thoughts are lost within your dreams,
seasoned hopes and passions screamed,
bags are packed but never seen,
lovers leave as games have been.


Tonight my good friend Julie Watkins hosts Meeting the Bar at D'verse, when challenged with "tackling the big subjects", heck she could only mean football...surely

image courtesy creative commons flickr

Tuesday, 9 August 2011

In Justice

In Justice
by pete marshall

Cobbled stones that lead unto
a granite wall & iron rails,
death would walk 'mongst weeping cries
beyond the gates of Bodmin gaol.

A smile that pulls past ragged teeth
bestows a child with ashen hair
who walks past rows of sullen homes,
dampened cells & stifled air.

Rights are called on bastard thieves
who stole a hunk from bakers fayre.
Alone she sat beyond reproach
yet fairies brought her food to share.

For troubled times begin to brew
as torches burn in hate filled streets,
the hangman bows upon a door
that opens forth past 13 feet.


Having just returned from visiting so many wonderful sites in Cornwall, this poem has been inspired after my first ever visit to Bodmin Gaol, and perhaps the troubled times we are currently envisaging.

This is  also shared with Dverse

image courtesy creative commons flickr