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……

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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.

Removed by pete marshall

Removed

by pete marshall

From deep inside she felt the heat

of scars that stained her swollen flesh

that burned upon her ravaged throat

upon a mattress soaked in sweat

An ashen face that looked beyond

the pale of hope and lost respect

a fetid breath that spoke of death

that uttered words yet felt regret

Sleep would fall upon her face

as eyes would flicker gently tight

a kiss that sealed a warm embrace

that kept her safe throughout the night

And moments pass despite the hour

as coughs awake her silken dreams

that flow with grace & dampen fires

that quell her fear & stem the screams.

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My 7 year old daughter has had problems all her life with her tonsils, having been hospitalized for a week in August with a severe infection. Today they were finally removed. She is fine & doing well.


Today I also link this poem up with a wonderful community of poets, D'verse

My Heart Not Knows: by Pete Marshall

My Heart Not Knows

by Pete Marshall

My heart not knows where love will lie

Upon a cursed & ravaged bed

And storms will rage in darkened skies

My heart not knows where love will lie

No longer touched by waking eyes

A love is spurned as words are said

My heart not knows where love will lie

Upon a cursed & ravaged bed

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Its Triolet Day at One Stop Poetry, hosed by Shan Hendry. This is my attempt at tackling this form.

A Hidden Truth

A Hidden Truth

by Pete Marshall

A spider clung upon its web

and held onto its social thread

that snared the very soul of life

and danced and spoke of wanton vice

A cuckoo found another’s nest

and there she lay her precious egg

whilst others fed her growing brood

she thought not once of gratitude

A magpie spied a shining prize

and with her tricks and masked disguise

she sneaked on in through open doors

and there she scratched and there she clawed

A wolf would sniff and paw the ground

whilst others rushed and run around

and licked her lips at fat to chew

upon the backs of those she knew

A bat would suck the heart & soul

that gave all hope then let life go

where off she took into the night

to seek out more upon her flight

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A Hidden Truth is my poem for One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, a platform to help promote & share your poetry.

One Shot Wednesday opens every Tuesday evening at 5pm EST (10pm UK)..come and join in the fun

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

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 

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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

Christmas Past.....

Christmas Past...

Snow and frost and hardened ground

where spades would strike no earth was found

the morgues would fill with silent sounds

that held the dead from journeys bound

The last I saw were tired eyes

that spoke of death and long goodbyes

and heavy chests and louder sighs

grasping hands and mothers cries

And Christmas Day was wrought with tears

amongst the gifts lay scattered years

the empty chair were once he cheered 

and bottles full of unused beer

But days do pass and time does heal

as Christmas joy belies the chill

with candles lit we mourn the still

and say our prayers for all who’s ill

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Christmas is not just a time for children and celebration but also for reflection and remembering. Christmas is always tinged with sadness as we remember those that have gone. The empty chair, the missing presence. 

We lost somebody very close to us just before Christmas a few years back, suicide was to take him, and I dont suppose my wife and I will ever forget. At this time of year when the snow is down and the ground is frozen, the funerals are always delayed as the earth is too hard for burials. The funeral is always a comforting closure to our grieving but as these are delayed so is the mourning. 

Its also at Christmas time when suicide rates steadily increase. If you were to take a walk down any street how many homes lay in the dark? As we all enjoy the festive season let us remember there will always be someone who's life is not want he or she perceived and is struggling on their own as others celebrate, and if we can, in any small part, help them in any way then let that be our gift this Christmas.

Lastly, for all of you have have taken the time to visit my site, read my poetry, share my work and support what I do. Who have offered words of comfort as I have struggled through being unemployed. Who tweet and make me smile, who encourage me with my work, and who have taken that support and followed me to One Stop Poetry...I would like to thank you all and wish the best of seasons greetings and a prosperous New Year!

all the best, and cheers, Pete

image courtesy creative commons http://www.flickr.com/photos/luchilu/2122762150/

Late Night Shopping: A Poem by Pete Marshall

Late Night Shopping:

 A Poem by Pete Marshall

Spirits gathered by the tills

as grey would colour cheap no frills

that stood in rows across the bay

mixed with juice and lemonade

that sat within a barge of steel

its frame was meshed, a squeaky wheel

would pause as chills would circle feet

in frozen foods our eyes would meet.

She touched her hair as mags suggest

showed signs she liked or so I’ve read

but eyes looked down on frozen peas

whilst I stood tall and hoped she’d see

the bogof sale that lined the shelves

her hair was red and loosely curled

and eyes that told a tale or two

were dressed for bed in midnight queues.

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This is my poem for One Shot Wednesday, run by One Stop Poetry, a fast growing community for poets & writers of all genres to share their work, express and make friends

image courtesy creative commoms http://www.flickr.com/photos/kallao/

Tintagel - Birthplace of Arthur: A Poem by Pete Marshall

Tintagel - Birthplace of Arthur

Please visit One Stop poetry to read my poem, Tintagel - Birthplace of Arthur. This piece was written a few months ago and is included in my Chivalry & Savagery series, however after rereading this piece i have  taken the opportunity to tweak it. The revised piece is now showing over at One Stop Poetry. I hope you enjoy it!

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The Red House...(A Tale In 160 Characters)

The Red House: 

A Poem By Pete Marshall

Who would live behind this red brick wall

Where flowers are left to grow so tall

Whose doors are locked to one and all

And windows are closed to drown their calls?

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This picture has been hanging in our house for nearly 5 years and was drawn when my son was in reception (that's first year at school, aged 4 -5). Its a glorious picture that always makes me smile, but I felt it was time to give it a twist!!! 

for more great tales in 160 visit monkeyman

The Dawn Chorus: A Poem By Pete Marshall

The Dawn Chorus: 

A Poem By Pete Marshall

Having returned from a fabulous weeks camping with my family, I celebrated my return with a poem, The Dawn Chorus, at One Stop Poetry. If you haven't read this already please visit. Cheers and good life to all, Pete

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Alone In Her Dreams: A Poem Of Love Unknown

Alone in Her Dreams: 
A Poem Of love Unknown

Silently she sleeps alone in her dreams,

is it here I exist or am I a myth?

Illusions are real as I lay by her side

yet tonight I felt lost, those fires have died.

The room where we loved no longer feels warm,

our once flowering bed now ravaged by thorns,

my head lays in nettles my limbs upon weeds

and still she sleeps alone in her dreams.

                           

I watch her breathe, she murmurs she moans,

there are two in this bed but one is alone.

Her mind is her secret kept hidden from me,

her words are like legends in stories she weaves,

but words are not spoken when love is not real,

truths are kept secret and never revealed.

A tear gently forms to run down my cheek

yet still she sleeps alone in her dreams.

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

Drive By Dreams & Seaside Themes

Drive By Dreams & Seaside Themes:

A Poem About The Great British Seaside

I pulled into a ravaged street

strewn with sacks of littered dreams

and policemen lay so fast asleep

as traffic flowed past hooded thieves.

The rays burned hard on suntanned arm

that hung outside my limousine

and girls would saunter down the path

in skirts that length was gauged obscene.

My shades were dark, I looked the part

I cranked the sound of heavy beats

and summer sun would make me sweat 

as I cruised into another street.

And people stopped, I did not care

I pushed the limo in spite of their

glares that strained a disbelief

I shaped my hand and motioned grief.

They scurried past , I laughed aloud

and turned the limo on the crowd.

But now I cruised the boulevard

its palm decked lines of disregard.

The beats that pumped as people stared

that shook the car and buzzed the air,

and women ran in jogging pants

with cheeks that squeezed beneath the hem.

I carried on down to where the slots

and lights would flash and bring them in.

I passed the rows of drunken sops

whose kids were left to run amok

and chase the sounds of grab machines

stuffing coins in plush filled dreams,

high on floss and candy rock

and sugar stains on summer frocks.

And tattooed man would cross the road

eyes on me he tried to goad

I squeezed the gas and edged on near

as bass was pumped his eyes showed fear.

And Whitney stood and smiled at me

her man was weak and I was king

but girls can come and usually go

the limo seats are where they show.

Fake Las Vegas bars and dreams

and seaside towns are hardened things

I push the limo further on

into the world where I belong

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as featured at One Stop Poetry

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image courtesy creative commons flikr 

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