Tuesday, 31 January 2012

To Have by pete marshall

To Have
by pete marshall

Entice the will that rules the mind
as spoils gleam through tarnished eyes
for all that glitters, hope wants gold
where from the depths their greed will rise
on bodies crushed beneath their perch
a force that hides its fearfulness,
empowers rage to rear itself,
to smite the meek who they possess.

No more the kin of bonds that tie
as price will pay their chosen whim
then chew the fat of those who fail
to feel the charge that flows within.

Tempers fall on weakened pawns
when bile thrusts its brooding glare,
pennies sent from heavens purse
will line the streets of those who dare
for powers rage is Satan’s curse
hid beyond their strengthened walls,
a conscience hemmed and lost to greed
that beats the weak and shits on fools.


image courtesy creative commons flikr

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Bring it on

Bring It On
by pete marshall

The sacred towers stand aloft
as gods caress this trodden earth,
Man will hold a pensive breath
when legends walk upon the turf.

The drums will sound to fuel their charge,
a clash of Clans that roar their cry,
through seas of Blue and Reddish hues
upon the stands their flags will fly.

The English dream and Spaniards hope
that rest upon a score and two
who ride the waves upon this storm,
a battle fought amongst the few.

The speed of wit and agile charm
that pierces steel with subtle ease.
The thud of hooves that dances past,
the pirouettes upon the breeze.

No broken soul or beaten man
will see no more than triumph brings,
who scream their cries and battle on
towards the realm of hopes & dreams.


Originally published at One Stop Poetry 28th May 2011

This poem was in honour of the Champions League Final of 2011 between Manchester United & Barcelona

Where are they now?

Where are they now?
a poem by Pete Marshall

Her back was slumped against the wall
of needled art on fresh tattoo
A taste of beer would wet her lips 
as smokes were passed amongst the crew
and velvet tunes would pump the streets
as cans were kicked in DM’d feet
and Lucy laughed and smoked the skunk
as minds would turn in disbelief
but stocking tops and ripped up seams
and high heeled chicks and thigh high dreams
were all a part of teenage scenes
where boys would pain and girls would scream

Heady daze and heady girls
whose makeup wore upon myself
and clubs would buzz off Soho streets
for midnight dates in backroom suites

Debbie stood and laughed aloud
she drew the vibes from passing crowds
who threw her looks of dread and fear
her leather worn and makeup smeared
Jon would watch in silent stream
he liked the times with me and Dean
but never touched the liquid stuff
that rushed our nose and made us laugh
or smoked the stuff that Lucy sank
or drew on lines we paid with thanks
or took the pills and coloured tabs
or threw his life on needled jabs.


Originally published at One Stop Poetry 27th Nov 2010

This poem was a homage to my youth, way back in 1983, when I used to visit the Batcave, a club in Soho, London and be....a Goth....some great and sad memories...good times and bad....I saw so many things happening around me and although I kept my head clear others suffered for it....and I wonder, Where are they now?

image care of creative commons flickr

The Riddle of the Fish

The Riddle of the Fish
a poem by Pete Marshall

As gold would rise in morning skies
Across the fjords and mountains high
A cat would mew a man would sigh
And toss a Dunhill on the fire

The Danish blue was soft to chew
As plans were made for tea for two
She’d knead the dough and blend the food
He’d tend his horse and wait for you

The Red coats marched in Pall Mall’s streets
To words of war and drummers beats
The milk would sour as mothers weep
And doves would fly for peace they seek

The Kaiser came upon the green
Where troops would march and death was seen
The coffee pots would shine and gleam
As Princes rode towards machine

The White flag flew above the rim
No beer would flow nor Nobel’s sing
For canine joys had seen them sin
When masters blew and sent them in


Originally published at One Stop Poetry 20th Nov 2010

Albert Einstein posed a riddle and said that 98% of the worlds population would never solve it! The riddle was the Riddle of the Fish? Today Poetry & Science intertwine as I ask you "who has the fish?"

The Riddle is as follows

There are 5 houses that are each a different colour.
There is a person of a different nationality in each house.
The 5 owners drink a certain drink. They each smoke a certain brand of cigarettes and also have a certain pet. No owner has the same pet, smokes the same brand of cigarettes nor drinks the same drink.

The question is. "Who has the fish?"

1. The British man lives in the red house.
2. The Swedish man has a dog for a pet.
3. The Danish man drinks tea.
4. The green house is to the left of the white house.
5. The owner of the green house drinks coffee.
6. The person that smokes Pall Mall has a bird.
7. The owner of the yellow house smokes Dunhill.
8. The person that lives in the middle house drinks milk.
9. The Norwegian lives in the first house.
10. The person that smokes Blend, lives next to the one that has a cat.
11. The person that has a horse lives next to the one that smokes Dunhill.
12. The one that smokes Bluemaster drinks beer.
13. The German smokes Prince.
14. The Norwegian lives next to a blue house.
15. The person that smokes Blend, has a neighbour that drinks water.

I hope you have enjoyed this little piece of fun & if you are stuck...therein the poem lies the answer?

The Estuary

The Estuary
by Pete Marshall

The tidal surge that flows upstream
and creeps along through shallow creeks
the waders dip and search for food
as boats will rise from peaceful sleep

The sea will swirl across the banks
and fill the channels searching claws
that suck the souls of those who walk
upon the flats when tides no more

The cockle sheds still thrive with life
as wind blows through this busy wharf
and out to sea where boats once sailed
who gathered strength for England's cause

A walk beside this sheltered marsh
sees kestrels swoop upon their prey
and boats that sailed now gather mast
as tides will flow and drift away


Originally published at One Stop Poetry 6th Nov 2010

This poem is written about the small fishing village of Leigh - on - Sea, Essex, situated in the Thames Estuary. The artwork accompanying this is a pastel drawing by local artist Donna Cove.

I have known Donna for many years and her drawings are always a joy to behold so its been a great pleasure of mine to be able to show her piece "Abandoned" which was drawn on the marshes of Leigh on Sea.

Leigh is just down the road from me and is located on the marshes of the Thames Estuary. Recently it was nominated as the 2nd most desirable place to live within the UK. It has a great history, having been mentioned in the Doomsday Book of 1086. From here in 1940 a large flotilla of little boats were to depart and rescue British Troops from the beaches of Dunkirk. In 1620 the Mayflower was to dock here to take on provisions before beginning its epic voyage to the new world with the Pilgrim Fathers. In 1917 the famous writer H G Wells was to purchase a house here for his mistress, and John Fowles, author of the French Lieutenant's Woman was born here in 1926.

A walk down the cobbled streets of Old Leigh is a walk back in time. If you are ever visiting the UK it can be found, by train, about an hours journey from London. 

A Deathly Tale

A Deathly Tale
by Pete Marshall

An axe that falls upon the neck
Of smoothen skin of innocence
Will draw the breath of life’s regrets
And spasm truths of brilliance

And from the earth the flowers grow
That suck on blood of those before
Who lay beneath in rotten casks
That bide their time with tooth and claw

For in the sky the moon is full
That shines upon the marbled tomb
Who’s stones are etched with flowing words
That speak of tales yet hide the truth

A howl is heard across the pond
As dust would settle on the shrine
The miller works within his realm
As wind blows sails that move with time

And blood will flow and rush through veins
As taste desires those who prey
To suck on sweetly sugared flesh
And stop once more to stay and play


Originally published at One Stop Poetry 31st Oct 2010

Lord have mercy on us

"Lord Have Mercy On Us"
a poem by Pete Marshall

Darkness falls on cobbled streets
That lead to doors of deep despair
The bell is rang for those that died
As wafts of death pollute the air

A heavy cart that trundles on
Collects the love that fell away
As Royals feast in silver halls
And chew the fat of life’s decay

The fires roar and warm their bones
Whilst bells are tolled and paupers roam
And streets are paved with others gold
Who hike the rates beyond two fold

A weary beast that pulls his load
As master sits with whip in hand
Is led beyond the outer walls
To bury hope amongst the damned

The petals fall from flowered stems
Of roses sung in lullaby’s
The pits are filled from broken homes
And dreams that lived and slowly died


Originally posted at One Stop Poetry 25th Sep 2010

Autumn Dreams

Autumn Dreams
by pete marshall

The winters chill is drawing near
As wind whips through my tired bones
The furnace sparks and flares alight
The conkers placed around the home

The cobwebs hold a magic charm
As morning dew paints crystal scenes
The spiders knocked but cant get in
And lanterns glow in darkened dreams

The candy taste of trick or treat
That warms the mouth of innocence
Yet baptised souls will better fare
From witches spells and temperaments

And portals lay as weakened paths
When all who’ve gone can walk again
We pray their souls are one with God
So Man can walk once more with men


Originally published at One Stop Poetry 18th Sep 2010

image courtesy creative commons 


by pete marshall

The amber glows on darkened walls
as embers spit within the hearth
A finger trawls an ancient list
and takes a name that’s walked its path

The creak of leather mars the sound
as Death would glide across the floor
and from a hook he takes his robe
and holds his scythe to reap once more

The horsemen ride beyond his grasp
to sow the seeds for Death to seek
the roots lie strong within the fields
as harvest gathers in the meek

His mouth is curled with withered lips
and eyes are sunk beyond his soul
his mind cares not for creed or Man
as Death collects his countless toll


Originally published at One Stop Poetry 11th Sep 2010



By pete marshall

Homes that are silent apart from a tick
the creak of the pipes and the hum of a fridge
the hub of a kitchen now cordoned with tape
a house that lays dormant alone and awake

A path that lies beaten , a broken front door
the smell of the damp and the chill of the floor
and breath that sits heavy upon a cold face
the coals in the shed and the ash in the grate

The rooms that are empty and a bed that is cold
the sheets that are soiled and the truths that are told
and skies that are angry from tempers that flare
the shouts in the house from the souls that lay bare

The stains on the walls are the strains of a fight
the sound of the heart that beats through the night
and the hub of a kitchen now cordoned with tape
a house that lays dormant alone and awake 


Originally published at One Stop Poetry 4th September 2010

image courtesy commons flickr 

Monday, 9 January 2012

7:25 by pete marshall

by pete marshall

The 7:25 was always late
as heels would click upon the path
that led past booths and open gates
and gents would fold their Telegraphs
and brollies sold a blue chip name
as brogues would splash in puddled rain
for Mondays were a weekend draft
that blew through minds and rumbled past

The 7:25 was always late
as heels would rush and clatter by
in A line skirts with seams so straight
that caught a flash from anxious eyes
and some would take a last long drag
and girls would rummage through their bags
for Mondays were a weekend draft
that blew through days and rumbled past

The 7:25 was always late
as heels would scuff and take the strain
for office clocks would never wait
and empty desks would cause complain
as woollen suits brought heavy sweats
whilst being late showed no respect
for Mondays were a weekend draft
that blew through hopes and rumbled past


Originally published at One Stop Poetry 28th August 2010

image courtesy creative commons flickr 

Tintagel - Birthplace of Arthur
by pete marshall

Perched high upon this jutting cliff
The flint felt hard upon my feet
I lay with lizards and basked in warmth
As waves rose high and swirled beneath

Across the bay the castle walls
That stand in time & in a time
Many have been and dabbled with myths
Whilst taking steps to do the climb

Below the surf strikes on the rocks
And hides the cave where magic lies
As people wait for seas to drift
And search for quartz beneath the tides

The rolling slopes and ragged crags
Engulf the isle that now lays calm
Where once was death and battles fought
And magic brought the golden one

My eyes search out the fabled tales
As colours blend upon this land
And birds that swoop in endless song
From grass & rock to sea & sand

Behind my back stands Barras Nose
Who’s clash is vain with battling seas
As heat comes down and warms my soul
I lower my head in prayer for thee

And those before and yet to come
Like beating drums within my mind
To find a place that brings you peace
Away from truths that take you home


Originally published One Stop Poetry 21st August 2010

image courtesy creative commons flickr 

The Wreckers by pete marshall

The Wreckers 
by pete marshall

The bells would chime as lowered heads
would march in line to pay their debts
but coppers weighed on ravaged hands
as wolves would bay in greedy clans

And nights would close on darkened rooms
where paths were chose that led to doom
and on the beach from tunnels deep
the ships would breach as wreckers meet

Among the brine the cries of men
that took to crime to feed their bairns
whilst sailors drowned in torrid seas
and booty found beseeched by pleas

They climbed the rocks and journeyed home
as hope would mock their tired bones
but death would lay upon the cliffs
when state would claim their laden gifts


originally published One Stop Poetry 14th August 2010

image courtesy creative commons flickr 

The Dawn Chorus

The Dawn Chorus
by pete marshall

I felt the chill upon my face
that urged my mind to open eyes
I heard the tune of morning song
as light would waken from the night

I heard the wind blow through the trees
as children stirred and stifled yawns
I smelt the bacons wafting scent
that welcomed in a summers dawn

The ground was wet with morning dew
that glistened on a fallen leaf
and as I cupped my steaming mug
the coffee found my lost belief

I looked out far across the fields
and watched the crows that ruled the sky
I watched you slice the crusty bread
and let the time just pass on by

I heard a noise that brought me joy
as children laughed from deep inside
beneath the quilts and sleeping bags
they  wiped the sleep from off their eyes 

I laughed at hair and ruffled clothes
that sat beside and watched the dawn
and though the chill would keep us cold
the taste of bacon kept us warm


originally published at One Stop Poetry 31st July 2010

image courtesy creative commons 

Jack: A Poem from the Darkened Tales Series

by pete marshall

The sound of heel on cobbled stone
that stalked the streets of yesteryear
as sewage flowed with soiled dreams
Jack would walk bereft of fear.
His mind was caged and wrought with grief
as pain destroyed his inner eye
and cancers crept and clawed his soul
A lovers voice that hushed goodbye.

A nothing moon that held no light
on darkened paths and brick red walls
and staggered coves would leave their slums
to rest in doors amongst the gloom.
No bells would ring in East End homes
as night would fester cold and smog
and as his heels clicked on the stones
the hooves of carriages on would trot.

And on this night he saw her there
as charm would ‘tice a drunken Lord
who’s sword was stiff between her thighs
whilst shillings lined her wayward hoard.
But in the dark on hidden streets
the stench that reared on soiled paths
Jack lay down his leather bag
and drew the tools that played their part.

And as the Lord would hasten thrusts
her teeth bit deep on glistened vein
and then the whites within her eyes
would roll as blood was left to drain.
And as he pulsed between her legs
she drank the life he clung on to
but from the shadows Jack would walk
and drive his stake so hard and true.

The night was filled with eerie screams
as Lord fell hard and wrestled free
he turned and fled beyond the street
as Jack knelt down on bended knee
and with his skill he’d cut & slash
to take a heart of hardened stone
that led a path to darkened graves
for him to walk once more alone.


originally published at One Stop Poetry on 2nd July 2010

Image courtesy of walraven @ flickr