Tuesday, 18 December 2012

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

Wednesday, 8 February 2012

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

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