7:25 by pete marshall

7:25

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

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Originally published at One Stop Poetry 28th August 2010

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

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

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originally published One Stop Poetry 14th August 2010

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

Hope No More: poetry by pete marshall

Hope No More

by pete marshall

The stars fell out the sky tonight

to sink beneath the estuary waves

that licked the shorelines tarnished sand

and cause a swell within the bay.

Hope was blown through open doors

across the green beyond the street

to fall amongst the rubbish bins

where foxes fought for scraps to eat.

Cobwebs filled a sullen room

as dust would swirl outside the door

where words were mixed with scattered doubts

within the books strewn on the floor.

His life was lost in wishful dreams

across the pond, the waters green

the stagnant smell of rotting weeds

the loss of all that could have been.

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This is my poem for One Shot Wednesday, at One Stop Poetry. If you like poetry whether reading or writing why not check it out, opens every Tuesday at 5pm EST (10pm UK)

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

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

Unknown

Unknown

by Pete Marshall

We walked along the beach today;

the waves lay calm and lapped the shore

but joys were gone for little ones

who traipsed to school  just like before

their dreams had come and warmed our home

where fire hearths had gently glowed

and song was sung and peace was known

but now its gone, we’re home, alone.

We took the tree down today;

as winds blew forth through open doors

that brought the angel to the floor

with sparkles boxed and stored once more.

I shed my first tears today;

as letters fell through broken doors

that crept like claws through darkened jaws 

and laid upon an unswept floor.

I went to bed today;

and pulled the covers close & tight

and waited for the little ones

to come once more and bring forth light

that’s left this house we still call home

where fires died and never glow

no songs are sung now peace has flown

and Christmas next, at home, unknown.

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Today my children went back to school, we took the decorations down and said goodbye to Christmas. Yet still I remain unemployed...and wonder whether this Christmas will be the last in our home!

This poem is for One Shot Wednesday, at One Stop Poetry, which opens 10pm UK time tonight.

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

A New Years Wish

A New Years Wish

From all around the usual cries

as revellers stop the passers-by

who hug and cheer and welcome in

A Year to come of hopeful things

but jingle left on Christmas Eve

and sparkle fled on Boxing Day

the sales were blown as greed crept in

whilst those without just watched and prayed

I blew across my fingertips

as icy breath hung in the air

and felt the chill of empty dreams

as lights would flash to sell their wares

The hugs are false as knives are drawn

and dreams are dashed in mornings dawn

whilst goods that sit upon the shelves

reduced as gifts for those with wealth

when pints are downed we venture forth

to hear the joys of New Years Eve

from drunken folk on cobbled paths

who piss on walls and vomit dreams

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This is my poem for One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, a great place to share your poetry, a platform to be recognised..

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

A Christmas Wish: Poetry by Pete Marshall

A Christmas Wish

Darkened nights have come too soon 

As daylight saves the winters day

The wind that blows and rocks the trees

Its branches dance a frantic sway.

The spiders webs have disappeared

As rain has washed them all away

And hope is lost as candles burn

To save the lights of yesterday.

When hope will ride across the sky

And bring the joys to all who’s good

Your children’s eyes will open wide

And feel the pain that neither should.

For Tuesdays child is full of grace

Yet dares to ask what angers me

As wind blows through those hidden gaps

And chills the souls of all who flee

From truth that waits on Christmas morn

When roots are shown beneath the tree

And children's tears are all too real

As gifts are passed from you and me.

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Every now & then I receive an email, or a Twitter, thanking me for my collection of poetry about My Struggle With Unemployment. This is a collection of work that is very real to me, and the comments that I receive are very uplifting...because these comments aren't praising my work but actually thanking me for writing this series as it has helped them come to terms with their own struggles. Although it doesn't help my situation it does lift me to know that somehow, somewhere, my words have made a difference.

I haven't written something for this series for a while, thankfully I have had One Stop Poetry to keep me busy as I threw myself into its creation, but yesterday I received another kind email which in turn inspired me to write A Christmas Wish.

We are now into November, the nights are longer, the rain is falling heavily and there is a serious chill in the air, yet Christmas is coming and as I am still unemployed money is even tighter! This poem is a reference to my hopes, that I am able to give my children a magical Christmas and bring them the presents they so deserve for they are wonderful people that I love dearly.Yet in their innocent eyes they will gauge their gifts on whether they have been good or not...and I so do not want them to think they haven't. I will struggle through Christmas and I will make it special for them...but at what cost? That's the bitter pill that unemployment brings.

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I have entered this poem into One Shot Wednesday, a special day that unites poets, every week, from around our globe at One Stop Poetry. Opens 10pm UK time, 5pm Est, Tuesdays and open for submission all day Wednesday.

Image courtesy creative commons flicr http://www.flickr.com/photos/joel_r/

The Wreckers: My Exclusive Poem For One Stop Poetry

The Wreckers: My Exclusive Poem For One Stop Poetry

Please visit One Stop Poetry to read my piece, The Wreckers. This piece came about by the thought of how far you would go to feed your family when faced by mounting debts and hard times? Being unemployed this is a thought that is constantly on my mind, but then I thought back to a time so much different to the one we live in today but when these problems were just as rife!

The Wreckers tells a tale of a village whose men were to pay the ultimate price.

If being unemployed has affected you in anyway, if you would like to share your thoughts, enter into a discussion etc. please feel free to comment. Regards Pete

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Sunken Dreams: A Poem From The My Struggle With Unemployment Series

Sunken Dreams: A Poem From The 

My Struggle With Unemployment Series

I sailed a barge of purest gold

That travelled far on clear blue seas

Aware of mists that followed stern

And ships that chased my golden dreams

In ports I berthed that welcomed me 

And treated me the conquering lord

But masks would hide my failing charms

As rot was all that lay onboard

The sea would roar beyond the cliffs

As winds blew dreams down empty streets

And beggars gathered in cardboard homes

As sweat and vomit masked excrete

A shadow fell on yesterday

As clouds crept in on stifled air

Alone inside I hid the truth

That stares down barrels fraught with fear

I came to rest where once I prayed

For here now lies my wasted years

And pass the stones that told my fate

As storms grew strong I battled tears

I stopped to smell my favourite bloom

That always flowered so fragrantly

But what’s the point, I broke its stem

Then turned and fled away from here.....

For those of you that have followed my journey there should always be hope, but I have lost some of that. I have a hearing set for unpaid bills which I now face with bated breath. I look at all I have and what I have given my family and I see it slipping away. My poem, Sunken Dreams, reflects this..

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image creative commons http://www.flickr.com/photos/dr-trix/

A Birthday Wish: A Poem From The My Struggle With Unemployment Series

Birthdays are times to rejoice but as adults we tend to reflect & dwell and none more so than when its your own birthday. This year I’m finding it tough.

Those of you that have followed my series will know how hard its been and as I face another year I can only reflect and look at my achievements, knowing that I am living on borrowed time as I worry about the mounting debts and keeping hold of my home.

Writing this series helps, it lets me purge and reflect, I also know it has helped others who are in the same predicament & as I write I secretly hope that this is where my future lies. But these are dreams and wishes to be had on a birthday cake?

The following poem, A Birthday Wish, explores my mood, my hopes, my concerns and my state of mind as another year passes me by

A Birthday Wish 

The morning sun rose in the sky
And soaked the dew within its rays
The snakes would slither across the path
And warm themselves in shallow graves.

A postman’s foot upon the drive
That caught my breath and signalled dreams
But youth has gone and doesn’t last
As bills replace the cards have been.

Another fleck of greying hair
That marks the face of yesteryear
But dreams are sought in hopeful eyes
As children wake to bring you cheer.

A smile spreads across your face
But deep inside you feel the pain
As gifts they bring are cherished thoughts
Of money spent that leaves a stain.

And hope is all but candles breath
That blows the flame of burning truth
We taste the cake of Antoinette
And gorge ourselves on wasted youth.

Whilst on the path the slugs will crawl
As damp and moss encroach your door
And snakes that bask within the warmth
Lay siege as debts hide in your drawer.

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Image Supplied Creative Commons http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevendepolo/3108269107/