Her Voice by Pete Marshall

Her Voice

a poem by Pete Marshall

Her voice now fades, her distant beat

that rides the mists of ancient time

where paths once weaved the spinners yarn

beyond the yews  & creeping vines

Its cold again, these biting winds

that blow through gaps in wooden boards

that rattle bones in withered skin

then grasps at hearts with icy claws

The sparkles flow down hollow cheeks

as children wait, she stands alone

beneath the swaying , barren trees

where life is etched on hardened stone

Where hope is lost this winters eve

beyond the yews & creeping vines

on paths that lead where none will roam

bereft upon the mists of time

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

A little poem and warm Christmas wishes to you all

image courtesy wikipedia

I Too by pete marshall

I Too

by pete marshall

I too, like you

have sat alone

with flickered thoughts

caressed by screens

that weave, entice and play my mind

with words you spun from make believe

I too, like you

have once embraced

the words that flowed 

upon my page

that weave, entice and play my mind

then left me spent and wrought with rage

I too, like you

have once felt peace

escaping from

my troubled times

that weave, entice and play my mind

blurring life from words unkind

I too, like you

now sit alone

my words are spoke

for none to know

that weave, entice and play my mind

for words are spurned, now cease to flow

I too, like you

thought once a friend

who hung onto 

my every breath

that weave, entice and play my mind

who yearn their loss upon ones death

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

image courtesy wikipedia

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 http://www.flickr.com/photos/schipulites/

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 http://www.flickr.com/photos/strangrthancandy/

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 http://www.flickr.com/photos/sis/