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

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/ 

Amen

Amen

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

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

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

Touched: A poem by pete marshall

Touched

by pete marshall

Touched by a walk through the bustling streets

lights that shine bright on the joys that we seek

laughter rings loud from the young & naive

yet darkness draws near on a cold Winters Eve

Touched by the wealth of those who walk free

unshackled by debt and goodwill to all thee

credit secured that brings forth some reprieve

yet darkness draws near on a cold Winters Eve

Touched by the brush of two lovers who speak

embracing in shadows in bars where they meet

dreams laced with passion as partners deceive

yet darkness draws near on a cold Winters Eve

Touched by the warmth of food that came forth

by fires that kindled and glowed in the hearth

of songs of our Lord and gifts we receive

yet darkness came home on a cold Christmas Eve

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

This year has had more downs than ups, and some of you know what the last few weeks have brought to the Marshall house, and, as optimistic as I try to remain, Saturday I went to town and just came straight back home!!!

Its hard being cheery all the time and at Christmas this is emphasized more. I felt low but so do so many others and whilst I had my reasons I was able to come home, talk to my wife, embrace my children and was back on track again, but for so many others this is not possible and with that in mind I dedicate this poem to those souls that are lost & lonely.

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


Today I also share this poem with dverse, especially my old friends from One Stop Poetry days, brian miller, claudia schonfeld, gay reiser-cannon who along with my brother, adam dustus and a very special friend in shan ellis, a collection of poetry, In The Presence of Poets, has been released.  For details of this publication please click on the following link


In The Presence of Poets

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Winters Blues by pete marshall

Winters Blues

by pete marshall

Leaves still cling upon the trees

as cloudless skies embellish rays

of sun that hovers low beneath

the Winter blues that shorten days

Breath encircles worried minds

that hang from spiders silken threads

that shimmer bright in morning light

yet in the shadows harbours death

Damp that settles on the ground

where grass & weeds are mulched as one

that sees the snakes go slither by

whilst Summers work is left undone

A child’s bike lays on its side

left alone to play no more

its wheels entwined with Winters grief

abandoned, broke, upon the floor

A veil is drawn passed waiting eyes

that looked beyond these changing times

where man once walked the beat of life

yet turned his back, we missed the signs

Where hope is lost to those that deem

when Winters wrath sunk Autumn dreams

and storms have battered withered souls

who slip from life before they go……

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

Elements in the news this week rekindled the pain of losing someone close. Depression is an illness, something that should never be taken lightly, something that is very close to my heart.

The Gathering by pete marshall

The Gathering

by pete marshall

As mice ran forth across the floor

from open boards, through rotting doors

where damp would crawl and spread upon

beyond the course the plaster blown

and sweats that chill the very skin

would soak the sheets of darkened dreams

hope would see the morning in

yet droppings lay by ravaged bins

amongst the crumbs of sweetened things

& faeces shared from deep within

upon the floor, across the beams

for hours count the gathering

Outside the mist a swirling screen

that creeps along and slips between

the leaves that fall from autumn trees

the taste of salt from off the sea

and sweats that chill the very skin

would soak the sheets of darkened dreams

hope would see the morning in

from out their nests they rode the wind

the rooks would kaah whilst circling

then swoop upon the menacing

across the paths and dew soaked green

for hours count the gathering

Within a damp and blackened cask

a heart would beat behind a mask

where eyes are wide & pained with fright

beneath the earth this fearful night

and sweats that chill the very skin

would soak the sheets of darkened dreams

hope would see the morning in

upon the boards you scratch & scream

your nails are spent and blistering

the blood is rushing from within

cries are echoes for your sins

for hours count the gathering

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

A new Darkened Tale

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

waves by pete marshall

Waves

by pete marshall

I saw you look across the bay,

A distant mast, the raging waves

Your ocean gaze that never strayed,

A recent past, the taste of spray

The brine upon a twisted lip,

A bitter taste, a sunken ship

A Wind that blew through auburn hair,

A tidal swirl, a silent stare

I saw a tear caress your face,

A smudge of kohl, a yearned embrace

A storm that blew and tossed the waves,

where love now lies in watered graves

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

Been a while since I have written but a yearning grabbed me today resulting in this. I hope that yearning stays!

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

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 http://www.flickr.com/photos/raulc/

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 http://www.flickr.com/photos/auro/