High Street Blues: by Pete Marshall

High Street Blues

By Pete Marshall

A lonely man upon a bench

with rolls that spilled from out each side

he must have been, what - 60 plus?

but high street blues had passed him by.

And shouts were heard from teenage gangs

who jostled chips and KFC

whilst girls would egg and push them on

then tease them with virginity.

Some kids would laugh by sequined dolls

in stockinged thighs and see through tops,

and next door folk would come and go

with bucket grub from burger shops.

Beneath the bridge the busker sang

where once the pigeons played their games

as mothers pushed their laden prams

and passed his cap of measly gain.

The rows of shops no longer seen

for coffee bars and fast food dreams

and Bank’s & Cash for precious things,

or pawn that sits where hope has been.

A family pushed and rushed on past

in clothes that once would fit them proud,

where goods are bought too quick and cheap

but never last beyond the sales.

Around the square that marks the end

A man would preach of Lord & God

His voice would sell a damning world

yet, troubled souls would laugh & mock.

And boards were placed on shattered glass

where fights had spilled the night before

when high street blues would come alive

to late night drinks and booze fuelled wars.

***********

I was walking down my local high street this weekend and my mind drifted to how things had changed, even in my life time...heck they have an Ann Summers shop next door to a KFC!

This is my poem for One Shot Wednesday, hosted this week by Adam Dustus. A great platform to share your work, opens at 10pm UK time

The 70's: A poem by Pete Marshall

The 70’s

by Pete Marshall

Darkened rooms and parlour games

& lights were out before we slept

the TV still as silence framed

and trips on stairs where terror crept.

The shadows loomed outside the door

upon a saucer burning bright

in flickered light upon the floor

we journeyed forth into the night.

The mornings came to see your breath

that floats across a nylon sheet

the ice would sit on window ledge

inside the room where children sleep.

You’d walk alone to school that day

as wind would whip around your legs

in tank-tops wove by Auntie Mae

upon the streets where life was led.

Heat would burn upon your back

midst children’s screams & drive by cars

as waters rushed the children clapped

with saucepans filled and skin picked scars.

The pistols shot at neighbours kids

that stung the eye with bubble soaks

whilst mum would spend a paper quid

to buy us drinks of bottled coke.

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

The poem I have written today is a reflection of my childhood growing up the the 1970's. History will tell you a story, one of power cuts, the three day week, water shortages, heat waves and so forth, but it never captures the excitement of children running around a water stand pipe, collecting water for their parents to boil, whilst having an amazing water fight!

And then there was the power cuts, no TV and candle light throughout the house. With only one toilet I will never forget how lonely and brave I felt as I wandered upstairs alone!

This was also life before double glazing & central heating when you would wake to see ice  inside your windows.

This Poem is also shared for One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, a great platform for sharing your work and meeting other poets. It opens tonight at 10pm UK time. 5pm EST

A Shared Desire: Poetry from the Darkened Tales

A Shared Desire
Poetry from the Darkened Tales

A howl would carry on the wind

that whipped through bones, lay bare and broke,

where slumped against a concrete wall

lay worthless scum the Scarecrow choked.

Yet once this waste was mothers pride,

before a life of drink and dope,

and ravaged arms and needle marks

disguise where once lay parents hope.

The cards are often stacked against

and praise was ever rarely spoke,

he chewed the fat of life's mistakes

and left them there, these ravaged folk.

She lived through years, a lasting hope,

as times would change and battles fought

but always looked beyond her back 

for time was all her battles brought.

Her age would show within her eyes

as tears would flow and gently soak

and stain the flowing tapestry

where words were sewn and softly spoke.

She felt the warmth of raging flames

then slipped herself from out her cloak,

her body lithe upon the bed

awaiting Scarecrows fumbled grope.

The blood was caked upon his face

when joy would come and with him hope,

she held him close, her talisman,

as Cougar smiled her yearnings woke.


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


This poem belongs to the Darkened Tales Series, and has also been shared with One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, which opens tonight at 10pm UK time

If you haven't already, please also vote for One Stop Poetry in the Shorty Awards. There are two categories applicable, Art & Poetry, many thanks, Pete

image used creative commons flickr gforster67

Broken Breakers

Broken Breakers

In line they stand so proud and tall

whilst comrades lie both beat & broke

and sunsets blur a weary sky 

as pebbles wait for tides to choke

the boats set sail on evening swell

that sweeps beyond the swollen creeks

and cast their nets with hope held high

yet on the shores a lover weeps

for three set sail just yesterday

yet two returned to share their hoard

amongst the rocks & cockleshells

lay those that left to meet their Lord

the tides have strength but lack in heart

and choose not man for all they see

but flesh upon a beaten soul

that takes the breath too easily

and then they drift and out they go

to leave once more a broken beach

the breakers stand a mournful still

to wait once more for tides to reach 

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

Today's poem for One Shot Wednesday, which opens at 10pm UK time tonight, has been inspired by the art work of my friend & local artist, Donna Cove, who, I am pleased to say, has finally set up a blog to showcase some of her work. This can be seen at coveart.wordpress.com

For My Boy

For My Boy

My boy became a man today

as tears flowed down his youthful cheeks

and pain was felt within his heart

with strength he fought as armies meet.

And whence no more the battle came

he limped across the soaken’ field

as eyes would meet and mouth his name

and there was I to be his shield.

The skin was sore in blood soaked cloth

yet steel was born within his mind

despite the wound he carried on

and fought until the end of time.

*******

This poem is dedicated to my oldest son, who is 9. It simply is inspired by his braveness this Sunday, during a soccer match.

My boy played his heart out but came off in tears. The boots he was wearing where too small. He had outgrown them. He loved these boots but knowing how much they cost he kept this too himself because he didn't want us to have to worry about the money.

As he limped off the pitch, despite being man on the match and not letting his team mates down, he couldn't stop crying and that is when i found out. The back of his ankle had rubbed raw and was bleeding.

My boy grew up today, and my boy got his new boots.

*********

This is my poem for One shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, which opens at 10pm UK (5pmEST).  A great platform for poets to share and promote their work

image courtesy creative commons flickr http://farm1.static.flickr.com/95/217725023_b4e6827028_m.jpg

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.

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

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

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

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/

With Love

With Love

It snowed the night I walked you home

As snow still falls this very day

My heart would beat to whispered sounds

And woke to call your very name

The mist would pass between our lips

And carve a heart that hung entranced

That swirled upon a moonlit sky

And stopped to ask you for this dance

Our feet would glide across the ice

And feel the warmth of youthful throes

That thawed the snow and frosts of life

And held you so you’d never go

******

Today I wanted to do something special, today I celebrate with my wonderful wife 25 years together. This is my little thank you to her, for putting up with me through all these years, and for giving me my three wonderful children. And here's hoping that the next 25 years together will finally bring her all the things I have ever wished for her. Thank you...with love

I also would like to take this time to wish everyone one of you that have visited my site over the last 7 months a wonderful Christmas and to thank you for all your wonderful comments and continued support. Support that you have also taken over to One Stop Poetry which again I will be forever thankful.

This poem I have also shared with One Shot Wednesday

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

Fallen Dreams

Fallen Dreams

Your castle walls where built upon

A dream of gold and wondrous things

But dreams will die when trust has gone

And hope will fade when truths are seen

The friends that come will offer words

But words are all they have to say

As ego’s fight for all their worth

Whilst those that gave are left betrayed

Outside your dream the world still moved

And spun as one with life’s new threads

That passed you by whilst others fought

To live a life with hope bereft

When pinched to stir and waken thee

You rubbed the sleep from out your eyes

But all had gone with walls decayed

And all had seen through all your lies

A walk was sought through moonlit streets

That felt the cold of winters chill

Alone you paced the cobbled paths

And touched the pain that keeps you still

As fire fades within your soul

And dreams no longer rule your home

The castle walls will tumble down

And in the ruins …..you sit alone

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

I have been in a reflective, melancholy mood and, although this is not one of my best, this was what flowed from my pen.....

Fallen dreams is my poem for One Shot Wednesday, week 24, part of One Stop Poetry. A platform for sharing and promoting poetry. Check out the latest announcement about their forth coming anthology also

image courtesy creative commons flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/24072855@N08/

The Return of the One: A Poem From the Darkened Tales Series

The Return of the One

In shallow graves lay withered bones

that once had walked with strength in life

but sharpened knives and broader swords

took breath with Death upon his scythe 

And stones were placed upon the mound

as heathen crowds would gather still

the clans would pray for her return

as winds blew forth a deathly chill

Delores watched from high and far

as songs were sung and blood was splayed

the throats were cut in sacrifice

whilst bodies thrived upon the stage

The Jackal pawed the sacred earth

and sniffed the lust that rode the air

the scarecrow smirked and felt his blade

and knew that life would not be spared

As mist would sweep across the ground

and hide the surge of man and beast

who flashed their teeth in maddened rage

and gorged upon a blood fuelled feast

Delores cried and felt the pain

as clans would strike and show no fear

tonight they died in spite of death

amongst the graves of yesteryear

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

The Return of the One is the latest poem in the Darkened Tales Series.

I also share this with One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, a great platform for poets to meet, share, learn and embrace, which starts 10pm Tuesday night and remains open for submissions all day Wednesday

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

A Cold Touch

A Cold Touch

a poem by pete marshall

Beneath the ice the fish still swim

as sacks lay strewn around the bins

where food is dragged from bags that split

mixed with snow and dirt and grit

sprawled across the concrete street

where foxes sniff for scraps to eat

and people tread and slip on slush

or slip on turds beneath the crust

The frozen earth and crumpled sounds

of angels dancing on the ground

and children sleighing down the hill

A snowball thrown, a wondrous thrill

Inside a house of Christmas scenes

the old will freeze in log fuelled dreams

and cars still churn their poisoned fumes

that stain the snow from white to gloom

the shops will sell and clear their shelves

as panic mounts a war with wealth

whilst those without will be the damned

as winter grips this wonderland

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

Snow has hit the UK!!!!!

This is my poem for One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, which is a great weekly platform to help promote your work, make friends & learn new styles. opens tonight at 10pm UK time

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

Self.......A poem by Pete Marshall

Self.....

by Pete Marshall

She felt the chill of yesteryear

that touched her skin and scratched the spine

and blew through hope and distant tears

and curdled screams within her mind. 

She hung across a kitchen sink

with wrist that limped upon the bowl

A knife in hand that grazed her skin

in cries of help for none to know.

As waters steamed to scalding hot

the blood would swirl and run to clear

her tears would fall beyond her cheeks

in cries of help for none to hear.

She washed her hands and gently rinsed

the blood that stained her calloused skin

that bore the scars of OCD

and life that pained her thoughts within.

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

Reading through the poems of last weeks One Shot Wednesday one poem touched on me personally. It was by chance that Shewriting, AKA Sheila Moore, was spotlighted also at One Stop Poetry by Dustus a couple of days later. It was her poem She Writes LOVE on her arm that i am reffering. 

The poem stood out as it touched on a subject that hit a nerve, it wasnt about me but someone I know and am very close too. Her poem left me thinking about this person and that is why I have written my piece today.

Sheila wrote her poem in support of a charity, To Write Love on her Arms, which is a non-profit organisation whose mission is to present hope and find help for those struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide.

Although I am a UK poet, I completely agree and support this cause. In the UK I have also used my work and my position with One Stop Poetry to support various similar causes.

Recently I did a spotlight on UK award winning poet Mat Lloyd and his poem, Blokes which was in support of the UK Charity C.A.L.M which does so much work to try and reduce suicide amongst young men within the UK.

A previous poem that I had written, Broken, was also in support of M.I.N.D, which is a UK Charity for better mental health.

Mental Health is an issue that still is treated sceptically by so many and yet throughout the World so many people are struggling to come to terms with their problems, when at times, all they need is somewhere to turn, some help to prevent them from suffering or, even worse, finishing their own lives. The Internet often gets bad press for the things that can be viewed and seen and how it can be used for bad things BUT the Internet is also a very powerful tool for helping unite people, throughout the World, and offer them hope... Together we can raise awareness on these issues and spread the word of so many good causes.

I have shared this poem with One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, which opens every Tuesday at 10pm UK time, 5pm Eastern Time, and remains open all day Wednesday. One Shot Wednesday is a platform where you can share your work, promote yourself, meet other poets and, generally, enjoy poetry

Robbers Bay: A Poem by Pete Marshall

Robbers Bay

by Pete Marshall

The sunset burned the Autumn sky

as waves would lap a gentle sway

that rocked the berth of one's desire

alone she moored in Robbers bay

and legend told of love that passed

that sailed the lake in summers heat

when boats would glide across the mere

and hearts would dance a merry beat.

But storms would come as waves would rise

and mar the blues of darkened skies

that played a song, a maudlin weep

as truth was told in eyes that seek

and on that day her love was spurned

as two would fall and one return

and from the deep she'd clasp for air

and mourn the one who brought despair.

The trees that stood in silent peace

had watched the flow of centuries played

this eve they watched a broken heart

that chose to act the legends play

and as she fell beneath the blue

the ripples softly spread afar

as breath would leave a broken soul

the boat would float beneath the stars.

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

A few weeks ago I wrote a poem, The Estuary, which featured artwork by a local artist, Donna Cove. Tonight's poem has, again, been inspired by her pastel drawings. 

This picture was called Robbers Bay, a name she admits, she plucked from the air, but the image, a lonely boat, the burning sunset and deep blues, coupled with its title, inspired myself to write a tragic love story. I hope you enjoy not only my poem but also the wonderful art of Donna Cove

This poem has also been entered into One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, a place which celebrates both new & old poetry alike. If you would like to participate in One Shot Wednesday it opens 10pm UK, 5pm EST every Tuesday night and remains open all through Wednesday, closing Thursday morning