Pete Marshall

Her Voice

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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"

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

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

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

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

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

Broken

By Pete Marshall

Homes that are silent apart from a tick

the creak of the pipes and the hum of a fridge

the hub of a kitchen now cordoned with tape

a house that lays dormant alone and awake

A path that lies beaten , a broken front door

the smell of the damp and the chill of the floor

and breath that sits heavy upon a cold face

the coals in the shed and the ash in the grate

The rooms that are empty and a bed that is cold

the sheets that are soiled and the truths that are told

and skies that are angry from tempers that flare

the shouts in the house from the souls that lay bare

The stains on the walls are the strains of a fight

the sound of the heart that beats through the night

and the hub of a kitchen now cordoned with tape

a house that lays dormant alone and awake 

**********

Originally published at One Stop Poetry 4th September 2010

7:25

by Pete Marshall

The 7:25 was always late

as heels would click upon the path

that led past booths and open gates

and gents would fold their Telegraphs

and brollies sold a blue chip name

as brogues would splash in puddled rain

for Mondays were a weekend draft

that blew through minds and rumbled past

The 7:25 was always late

as heels would rush and clatter by

in A line skirts with seams so straight

that caught a flash from anxious eyes

and some would take a last long drag

and girls would rummage through their bags

for Mondays were a weekend draft

that blew through days and rumbled past

The 7:25 was always late

as heels would scuff and take the strain

for office clocks would never wait

and empty desks would cause complain

as woollen suits brought heavy sweats

whilst being late showed no respect

for Mondays were a weekend draft

that blew through hopes and rumbled past

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

Originally published at One Stop Poetry 28th August 2010

Tintagel - Birthplace of Arthur

by Pete Marshall

Perched high upon this jutting cliff

The flint felt hard upon my feet

I lay with lizards and basked in warmth

As waves rose high and swirled beneath

Across the bay the castle walls

That stand in time & in a time

Many have been and dabbled with myths

Whilst taking steps to do the climb

Below the surf strikes on the rocks

And hides the cave where magic lies

As people wait for seas to drift

And search for quartz beneath the tides

The rolling slopes and ragged crags

Engulf the isle that now lays calm

Where once was death and battles fought

And magic brought the golden one

My eyes search out the fabled tales

As colours blend upon this land

And birds that swoop in endless song

From grass & rock to sea & sand

Behind my back stands Barras Nose

Who’s clash is vain with battling seas

As heat comes down and warms my soul

I lower my head in prayer for thee

And those before and yet to come

Like beating drums within my mind

To find a place that brings you peace

Away from truths that take you home

*********

Originally published One Stop Poetry 21st August 2010

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

The Dawn Chorus

by Pete Marshall

I felt the chill upon my face

that urged my mind to open eyes

I heard the tune of morning song

as light would waken from the night

I heard the wind blow through the trees

as children stirred and stifled yawns

I smelt the bacons wafting scent

that welcomed in a summers dawn

The ground was wet with morning dew

that glistened on a fallen leaf

and as I cupped my steaming mug

the coffee found my lost belief

I looked out far across the fields

and watched the crows that ruled the sky

I watched you slice the crusty bread

and let the time just pass on by

I heard a noise that brought me joy

as children laughed from deep inside

beneath the quilts and sleeping bags

they  wiped the sleep from off their eyes 

I laughed at hair and ruffled clothes

that sat beside and watched the dawn

and though the chill would keep us cold

the taste of bacon kept us warm

************* 

originally published at One Stop Poetry 31st July 2010

Jack

by Pete Marshall

The sound of heel on cobbled stone

that stalked the streets of yesteryear

as sewage flowed with soiled dreams

Jack would walk bereft of fear.

His mind was caged and wrought with grief

as pain destroyed his inner eye

and cancers crept and clawed his soul

A lovers voice that hushed goodbye.

A nothing moon that held no light

on darkened paths and brick red walls

and staggered coves would leave their slums

to rest in doors amongst the gloom.

No bells would ring in East End homes

as night would fester cold and smog

and as his heels clicked on the stones

the hooves of carriages on would trot.

And on this night he saw her there

as charm would ‘tice a drunken Lord

who’s sword was stiff between her thighs

whilst shillings lined her wayward hoard.

But in the dark on hidden streets

the stench that reared on soiled paths

Jack lay down his leather bag

and drew the tools that played their part.

And as the Lord would hasten thrusts

her teeth bit deep on glistened vein

and then the whites within her eyes

would roll as blood was left to drain.

And as he pulsed between her legs

she drank the life he clung on to

but from the shadows Jack would walk

and drive his stake so hard and true.

The night was filled with eerie screams

as Lord fell hard and wrestled free

he turned and fled beyond the street

as Jack knelt down on bended knee

and with his skill he’d cut & slash

to take a heart of hardened stone

that led a path to darkened graves

for him to walk once more alone.

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

originally published at One Stop Poetry on 2nd July 2010

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

A Broken Home

by Pete Marshall

I walked around an empty home

Despite the toys that laid upon

An unkempt bed with duvet drawn

Where Mickey sat withdrawn, alone

Beneath the bed a comfy den

Of cushions , sheets & cuddly friends

Yet mum has gone and taken him

The room lays cold, unwelcoming

And dads alone, beside himself

As tears pour down his reddened cheeks

The life he’d slaved to bring them wealth

Just gathers dust whilst mother weeps

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

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 Tales

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

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

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. 

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.

In Justice

by Pete Marshall

Cobbled stones that lead unto

a granite wall & iron rails,

death would walk 'mongst weeping cries

beyond the gates of Bodmin gaol.

A smile that pulls past ragged teeth

bestows a child with ashen hair

who walks past rows of sullen homes,

dampened cells & stifled air.

Rights are called on bastard thieves

who stole a hunk from bakers fayre.

Alone she sat beyond reproach

yet fairies brought her food to share.

For troubled times begin to brew

as torches burn in hate filled streets,

the hangman bows upon a door

that opens forth past 13 feet.

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

Having just returned from visiting so many wonderful sites in Cornwall, this poem has been inspired after my first ever visit to Bodmin Gaol, and perhaps the troubled times we are currently envisaging.

This is  also shared with Dverse

The Pale Horseman

by Pete Marshall

Alone he rode through darkened nights

beneath the seas of raging storms

beyond the realm where others fight

to feel at peace, alone, forlorn.

Yet was this not a personal choice

where trust was found upon one's steed

to ride afar than use one's voice

to swing one's sword with bitter ease?

Darkened nights gave way to spring

the storms are just a tempests swirl

alone but full he found his place

then drew the curtains on this world.

In time they came to beckon thee

for legends spoke of mighty strength

the spinners weave embellished tales

yet battles fought had left him spent.

His steed had passed from journeys long

across the moors & winding roads

but never more to be alone

not now or then whereon he strode.

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

Today see's the final One Shot Wednesday, the end of One Stop Poetry and as sad as it is to see a wonderful venture close, the legacy of One Stop is all around, and can be seen in all of you.

It saddens me also to see others drawn in to a debate as to the whys & wherefores of why One Stop finished. The reason is simple, without one there is none.

If you were to read my pages both here & at One Stop over the last few months then perhaps you would also read that I was taking a back seat, in truth I had lost my passion, enthusiasm & muse, and could not be involved in something that I was struggling to participate in. Perhaps the reason that One Stop closed was because of this and me?

I do not wish to read anything further on this matter. One Stop has closed and we have all moved on to other things. At the moment I am taking a rest, so is Adam, Leslie is looking into other ideas whilst recuperating, Chris is moving and both Bri, Claudia & Gay are launching a new project, d'Verse, which begins tonight.

In time other communities will surface, we already have The River, which is a great bi-weekly newspaper.

One Stop was a great idea but stars will fade. I am sad that it has passed but I have been sad for a long time and perhaps that sadness was the start of its closure. 

I have always said, Poetry is the Winner, and it is poetry that unites, good life to all......Pete

Ruined

a poem by Pete Marshall

Walls were built, bards would sing,

rendered words, hardened seams,

rotting beams, timbered dreams,

weed's that grew a wondrous green.

Stones that spoke of many tales,

weathered shrines, holy grail’s,

cracks beneath a plastered veil

lost beyond entangled trails.

***********

I wrote this poem for this weeks One Shoot Sunday, but also felt that it should be aired today. I would like to say a big thank you to each and everyone of you that has been part of One Stop Poetry, cheers Pete

Today is One Shoot Sunday and this stunning image is provided by accomplished photographer Neil Alexander.

Taken

by Pete Marshall

Dolores smiled and held my hand,

her touch was soft upon my skin,

her lips were full upon my nape,

her thighs were warm and welcoming.

I felt a breath that chilled my skin

then crept along each vertebrae.

I closed my eyes and saw the joy

of devils dancing on my grave.

As willows hung above the stream

the winds would blow and gently sway,

the cry of lambs within the fields

as wolves would circle in the fray.

The pulse that beat within my mind

that flowed on through my poisoned veins,

the joy's I felt within your arms

upon your bed where dreams are made.

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

Today I bring you a new Darkened Tale, an offering for One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry.

The Shoemaker

by Pete Marshall

I carve the shape of trodden souls,

fastened tight to harden skin,

mallet’s wait for hearts to pound,

for Elf’s to come and roam within.

I’ve lived this life from boy to man

in tangled doubts with callused hands

that stitch the threads of spinners charm,

alone I work, this tranquil calm,

that knows no life thus what I am

a cobbler slaved to work the tan

who hides the loss of wasted years,

who cuts the cloth with sharpened shears.

Yet light will filter deep within

to reach upon this battered stool,

Elf’s will come each darkened night

and  work the minds of bitter fools.

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

One Shoot Sunday provides a wonderful interview and picture prompt challenge inspired by Rob Hanson, who is accredited to the wonderful image above.

Pride

by Pete Marshall

Within my grasp lies Eden's fruit

as apples bob in weary eyes,

that caught my breath, its hidden guise

to choke where snakes would slither by.

Upon my hands are hardened lines

that fortune wrote when luck would smile,

who shamed my soul with her beguile

then left me high but never dry!

Within my heart lies judgement day

where names are tossed upon a pile,

a random path, a lonely mile, 

darkened thoughts that fight denial.

This life exhumed upon the pyre

that burns with hate from vicious liars,

their webs are spun to feed desire

then leave us spent, betrayed, expired!

Storm

by Pete Marshall

As darkened skies begin to close

storms have gathered in the bay,

winds that whip, that swirl & sway,

boats that rock upon the waves.

I felt like shit upon the pier,

my hate would spill from deep inside

to spew out forth on your denial

where dreams were thrust through ones desire.

You bitch, you whore, you brazen slut

that played my cock and left me sore,

and licked those lips where once I spent

just left me quivering on the floor.

The gulls have flown as waves still rise,

the cracks, the roar within the skies,

 pain that grabs between my eyes,

dreams are hate I now despise.

Beneath the waves still crash and spray

as I would ride a freakin whore,

who knew the game, who screamed for more,

who stroked my arse to sell her cause.

The boats still float on ravaged seas

as lightening strikes a figure head,

a bolt is cast that strikes her face 

that leaves me short in angered breath.

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

I haven't been around lately, and life has had a few downs for me too! Today's poem is the first poem I have written since I last posted on my blog, about 3 weeks ago! Things haven't been too good on the unemployment front, everything is starting to catch up, not just the unsecured debts but also the mortgage! A long story that perhaps I will relate some other day.

Today's poem is an angry scream that spits venom at lady luck and the hand she has played.

Back to Reality

by Pete Marshall

The Drive was long but too much road

forced the eyes to stare ahead,

see not what the rear view found

but follow stars that shine instead,

and then the gas ran dry,

so I walked home,

but home was also dead.

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

The Blues

by Pete Marshall

Into the valley rode the 600

carrying the hope of all who came.

Blues would swirl on banners high,

drums would pound to beat their name.

Whistles blew as cries were heard

midst screams of man, their thumping hooves.

Flesh would sweat 'mongst blood & dirt,

defiant yells the charge let loose.

Tender years too young for war,

fought as one despite their pain.

With gritted teeth they battled on

to take the prize and win the game?

***********

Those of you who know me on twitter, @petemarshall1, will be aware that I manage an under 10's soccer team. This Sunday, a win will see them win the league. 

Today's poem, The Blues, is for them, who have fought so hard this season and are on the brink of winning their first ever trophy.

This poem is also for One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, which opens tonight at 10pm, UK time  (5pm EST). If you love poetry, whether reading or writing then stop by and take a look.

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

Sun, Sea & Sirens

by Pete Marshall

Her silken skin, a shoulder strap

slipped to show a hint of pink,

her thighs that sung a lilting tune

a sirens call where dreams would sink.

Too long I spent just looking past 

hidden from a shaded view,

where waters lapped a flowing beat

of dreams that floated on the blue.

Tousled thoughts & ruffled hair

beyond the beach her longing stare

behind the cool, abrasive wall

the lust of man, the wanting fool.

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

Hope No More

by Pete Marshall

The stars fell out the sky tonight

to sink beneath the estuary waves

that licked the shorelines tarnished sand

and cause a swell within the bay.

Hope was blown through open doors

across the green beyond the street

to fall amongst the rubbish bins

where foxes fought for scraps to eat.

Cobwebs filled a sullen room

as dust would swirl outside the door

where words were mixed with scattered doubts

within the books strewn on the floor.

His life was lost in wishful dreams

across the pond, the waters green

the stagnant smell of rotting weeds

the loss of all that could have been.

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

Love Thy Neighbour

by Pete Marshall

I stared behind a wooden fence

that hid my face from neighbours eyes,

where in my house my love was spent

as dreams would take me back outside.

I stared upon the gap between

that caught my eye, her whitened thighs,

I saw her jump and hoped the hem

would lift up high and gently rise.

A sultry voice and bright red shoes

that danced a beat of wicked lies,

a sirens call on errant runs

where love would hide & I’d oblige.

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

Chocolate

by Pete Marshall

I stole a chocolate from the box

that lay discarded on the side,

its sickly taste that pained the root

but warmed the guilt of wicked lies.

Nothing seemed to fill my mind

I stopped, I thought, I paused a while,

then time would drift to where you were,

as hands would search beneath the foil,

where warmth would feel the sticky goo

that oozed upon my lingering touch

and cling onto my fingertips,

your scent, a sin, a wanton lust.

I craved the taste of sugared lips

that felt so sweet upon my tongue,

I sucked the tips of mellow bliss

as you would melt & we came one.

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

The Carvery

by Pete Marshall

Pride & dreams were laid upon

a smorgasbord of shattered souls,

yet dude was smooth and played his tune

as time would pass and pay its toll.

Hope was breathed as clocks would tick

whilst stifled air would fill the room,

faces strained in summers heat

to force a smile beyond the gloom.

Silence fell on nervous smirks

who doubted all their wasted years

that lived a life beyond respect

whilst hiding from financial fear.

Cards were played upon a desk

as jokers tried to pass the time

looks were glanced with eyes ahead,

the scythe was splayed across the line

and all were left with mouths aghast

as blood would flow across the floor,

The Carver claimed these wasting souls

then licked his lips, their life no more.

*******

Legend

by Pete Marshall

Whence Tristram rode his mighty steed

to claim the hand of fathers pride

she bade him hush and honoured thee

with love that rushed from deep inside

Tempers flare when darkened moods

that grow inside the blackened mind

ignite the seeds of solitude

where screams are all a love will find

A sword is pulled from Arthur’s stone

that dwelled within a shattered heart

which broke the walls of hardened bone

to tear a soul in two, apart

Alone he sits as legends pass

to gently fade and drift away

where idylls sing of distant lore

inscribed in stone for here to stay

********

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!

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

**********

Cockle World 

A Poem For My Daughter
by Pete Marshall

Within her mind is Cockle world

that hides from truths in fluffy clouds,

with trees of pink and lilac hues,

orange streams and purple views.

Where Lep – Lep roams & rules her land,

fairies come & brothers banned!

Those large brown eyes tell stories too

the ones that love & listen through.

She never pauses or takes a breath,

she roars through life on urgent quests.

But do not think she doesn’t care,

beneath those clouds that crazy hair

is a heart that’s pure, that’s kind & true

that when you’re down will comfort you.

And don’t be fooled that she’s not there,

lost in the clouds above her hair,

for this ones mind is very bright

she’ll dig in deep, she’s always right!

Then back she goes to Cockle world

that hides from truths in fluffy clouds.

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

Alas

by Pete Marshall

Dreams are doubts that spinners weave

and hope is lost in make believe

for in this realm where lovers leap

where leeches suck and ogres creep

and truths are hid behind a screen

a flickered mask of hopes & dreams

a cradled babe for all to preen

and puff their pride beyond extreme.

Life that ebbs and gently flows

that hides the storm as tempers glow

and spawns a mind of vicious twists

who pray to Gods that don’t exist

but sit up high within the skies

and eek their truths with wicked lies

and from the clouds where heavens seek

to strike the damned and rule the meek.

Hope has blown though all my dreams

as spinners cut the threaded seams

that patched my quilt of sheltered life

embroidered thoughts of paradise

and apples scrumped from guarded trees

enlighten minds to trickery

and make it all so plain to see

that dreams are doubts that spinners weave

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

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

I was 10 in ‘77

by Pete Marshall

I was 10 in ‘77

when first I felt the force

of hardened fists from wayward scum

that pinned me down in makeshift courts

I was 10 in ‘77

when first I heard an iron lung

that breathed in deep and rasped for breath

as grandpa’s life was finely hung

I was dead in ‘77

until they came and filled the screen

and gave me hope to live each day

amongst the stars and laser beams

I was 10 in ‘77

when  faith would come into my life

and gave me strength to fight the dark

that gripped my mind throughout the night

I was 10 in ‘77

the age my boy is now

when sci-fi scenes and school boy dreams

caused visual sensual wow

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

Wasted

by Pete Marshall

I lay upon a soaking sheet

as bile would spit and curse inside

and hope betrayed in loss fuelled sleep

as young would cry and seek the night

Where acid rose and tore through me

like fists that punched my very heart

that yearned for calm from troubled seas

to take my pain and soothe my fight

The days would merge through darkened gloom

with blinds drawn tight on littered rooms

where sleep would fall for weary heads

and life would stop the living dead

Your body lay so still yet burned

and roared the furnace in my soul

that raged upon my clammy flesh

and forced the sweat to ebb & flow

The chills would shake my tired bones

and light would hurt my aching eyes

where coughs & calls for mother’s love

would bring forth strength to hush their cries

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

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.

Within His Realm

a poem by Pete Marshall

H.G. Wells would sit upon

a swivel chair and ponder on

a World at War with Time Machines

where Halo Reached beyond his dreams.

And in the cellar far below

a Martian searched, an amber glow,

as rain would fall and wet the ground

revealing Man whose footsteps found

the Shape of Things within this barn

where years would pass and come to harm

and Sleepers Woke to tell their tales

as Orson spoke a Country wailed.

Whilst Man would walk upon the Moon

Begotten Stars saw purple blooms

which led to where the flowers grow

upon the isle of Dr Moreau

**********

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.

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

Alone

by Pete Marshall

No one seemed to smile today

upon their face a weary frown

with troubled eyes and heavy hearts

and souls that wandered through the town.

The rain had spat across my brow

and chills would mar my aching bones

inside I sat in warmth and prayed

but still no smiles were ever shown.

Yet hope was sought on flickered screens

in numbered doubts that troubled minds

a pen was held in front of me

to sign once more upon the line

and painted nails played QWERTY tricks

who's eye's would stare inside of me

beyond her gaze I saw the clouds

and hardened times on troubled streets.

No one seemed to smile today

so I took the car and drove away

I found a place to be alone

and watched the passing of the day.

I saw the birds all huddled tight

to ward the chill from causing ill's

and watched the cars just drive on past

yet no one smiled behind their wheel.

I saw the joggers running by

who breathed new life into their soul

and as their feet would pound the ground

the fear of loss would take its toll.

I saw the pain within your eye's

when I returned to be alone

I held you close to hide despair

the smile was gone no longer known.

***********

This is my poem for One Shot Wednesday...a fantastic platform organised by One Stop Poetry...opens tonight, and every Tuesday at 10pm UK Time

Broken Breakers

by Pete Marshall

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 

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

The Pulse

by Pete Marshall

I count the beat within my head

you whisper words so soft and true

I feel the heat that warms our bed

The love that flows our passions fed

that makes me cling inside of you

I count the beat within my head

I feel you rush as love is spread

upon the throw you softly mew

I feel the heat that warms our bed

As love lays blind and hope lays dead

where now its just a wanton screw

I count the beat within my head

The crimson sheets where love has bled

the punctured vein the blood you drew

I feel the heat that warms our bed

Into the night this evil fled

to leave me here in solitude 

I count the beat within my head

I feel the heat that warms our bed

***********

Forever in Blue Jeans

by Pete Marshall

Poverty pinched on denim jeans

that sat above her hard earned shoes 

and he’s the boy from up the hill

where social heights will sing the blues

She works the line from 9-5

whilst daddy pays his college fees

yet money’s tight and honey talks

and love is found  inside her jeans

He stole a kiss behind the shack

where beers will flow too easily

and spoilt kids with far too much

will take a hint of ecstasy

But love was found within the shade

where hearts would melt on shabby walls

and there they kissed in shadowed light

as denim jeans were lost with fools

***********

For My Boy

by Pete Marshall

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.

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.

My Coney Island Baby

by Pete Marshall

Hedonistic summer dreams 

within this sandscape world

Crazy Feeling's rising high

and tricks with Charley's Girl

Parasols that hide our shame

for She’s My Best Friend’s pearl

sequinned lace, her painted face

and Kicks that made us whirl

His Gift was she or maybe me

Oooohhh Baby take this pain

in summers heat where lovers meet

they play their heady games

Nobodys Business on this beach

androgynous dreams were maybe

A fluttered fan, a soft held hand

my Coney Island Baby…….

**********

The wonderful image is taken by Danielle Kelly and simply titled "Coney Island". It is featured today on One Shoot Sunday, part of One Stop Poetry, and forms their picture prompt. Check out the amazing interview with Danielle Kelly whilst you are there too.

A New Years Wish

by Pete Marshall

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

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

Christmas Past...

by Pete Marshall

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

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

With Love

by Pete Marshall

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

******

Bedlam

by Pete Marshall

Echo’s follow fallen souls

who drift and glide within a tomb

and arrows point to show the way

of paths that lead to darkened rooms

The corridors hold the chill of air

and darkness wait’s in perished dreams

light that flows through broken glass

and life that ends in heightened screams

Dampness spreads across the floor

and creeps upon the tiled walls

where those who once had come for hope

but died as life’s forgotten fools

*******

Fallen Dreams

by Pete Marshall

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.....

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

The Return of the One

by Pete Marshall

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.

*****

A Cold Touch

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

Homeless

by Pete Marshall

Water soaks through shredded news

That’s wrapped around a hungry heart

And as I walk in heelless shoes

I wonder forth around the park.

The nights are cold and days are long

My mind replay’s where I went wrong

And rain will soak and wash my tears

Where strength resolves to show no fear.

And last nights meal was found in bins

Of salad tossed in throw out things

And smokes are found upon the floor

The stubbed out tabs I barter for.

The children stare as mums walk past

A school runs joy a nervous laugh

That sees no soul as thoughts are cast

Their eyes look down and cross the path.

My callused hands and grubby nails

Grip plastic bags that hold my life

And heelless shoes pace endless trails

That tread beyond this bitter plight.

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

A Christmas Wish

by Pete Marshall

Darkened nights have come too soon 

As daylight saves the winters day

The wind that blows and rocks the trees

Its branches dance a frantic sway.

The spiders webs have disappeared

As rain has washed them all away

And hope is lost as candles burn

To save the lights of yesterday.

When hope will ride across the sky

And bring the joys to all who’s good

Your children’s eyes will open wide

And feel the pain that neither should.

For Tuesdays child is full of grace

Yet dares to ask what angers me

As wind blows through those hidden gaps

And chills the souls of all who flee

From truth that waits on Christmas morn

When roots are shown beneath the tree

And children's tears are all too real

As gifts are passed from you and me.

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

A Moment Framed

by Pete Marshall

This lonely place within my mind

Reflects upon the clouding sky

As fossils lay across the beach 

And rock pools filled with shallow life

The black that flows across the bay

That shades the sun and paints the grey

That holds my mind in withered frame

That wants no more to play your games

I walk across the rocky path

Where seaweed lays in scattered death

I hear the crash of coming waves

And welcome them to take my breath

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

Remember, Remember

by Pete Marshall

Glitter falls and sparkles bright

open mouths absorb delight

flares that shoot across the stars

smoke that chokes the weeping heart

jackets hot with molten fat

children warm with scarf & hat

lanterns glow on frosty nights

bangers shared are warm delights.

Logs that crackle on the fire

waxen faces, heat perspire

flames that rise toward the sky

lick through masks of wicked lies

that curl a lip in twisted hate

as flesh is burned and anger sate

for pennies bought this funeral pyre

and treason tore through his desire.

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

Remember, Remember the 5th of November! Every year in the Uk we celebrate Bonfire Night. A time when a guy is made and thrown on the fire as fireworks are released into the nights sky. But as with so many traditions its true meaning has so often been overlooked. The guy was Guy Fawkes who, along with his comrades, tried to kill the English King James I and replace him with a Catholic Monarch. Having been captured an tried for treason, Guy Fawkes was to jump from the hangman's platform and break his neck on the fall, thus saving himself from being hung, drawn & quartered.

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

Trick or Treat!

by Pete Marshall

The clouds would float across the moon

upon a breeze that blew so cold

a howl was heard from distant shores

and clocks would tick for stories told.

A scratch upon a pane of glass

that sent a tingle down your spine

a blanket pulled up close and tight

the hour struck as bells would chime.

And in the road a car would pass

to circle round the neighbourhood

you sat alone and watched the time

as Michael preyed on all that’s good.

The creak of pipes and chilling air

and flickered light from TV glare

a child’s laugh, a withered stare

impaled your mind, alone and scared.

You heard the gate that creaked at night

but never feared its eerie squeak

the footsteps trod on gravelled paths

and knocked on doors for trick or treat.

The lanterns glow shone through the glass

as shadows loomed upon the drive

you felt the hairs stand on your back

as life would flash before your eyes.

And as the door was gently pulled

a face grotesque would stare askew

his mask that came from silver screens

would hold a bucket out for you!

**********

Halloween is fast approaching which gives me the chance to celebrate! Join Dustus & I this weekend as the mischief takes over at One Stop Poetry!

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

The Passion & The Pain

by Pete Marshall

As fires drove an incessant burn

that pained the very  path of life

silhouettes flashed across the heart

and warmed themselves upon a knife

who’s hilt was jewelled with sapphire & pearl

and blade was tipped in purest gold

her breath blew air across its spine

as mercury dripped in eyes of coal

An image spurned in mirrored light

reflecting back upon his soul

as nights were dark the bed was cold

and earth was where she slivered home

the blade would shine and captivate

exploring eyes and pain alike

the pearl was smooth and creamy pale

but hard to touch in stubborn light

The sapphire burned upon a wound

that filled the room in crimson red

and spread across the unkempt sheets

and tore at flesh no longer dead

the air was breathed in gasps of joy

as earth lay fresh  upon the ground

the jewels were shared between two hearts

the blade lay spent within the mound

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

Today I offer a symbolic tale of passion & pain, that so often comes together after emotions have run high, for One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, a great platform for poets from all over the world to unite, explore and promote poetry of all genres. One Shot opens tonight at 10pm UK time, 5pm EST 

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

The Pier

by Pete Marshall

I walked along these wooden planks

as wind would lash and tear my face

the seas would crash beneath my feet

and rain would strike my inner faith

my eyes stared down as feet trod forth

my coat was buttoned, drenched but warm

the gulls would screech and ride the storm

as depths were dredged and hope reborn

upon these planks that Satan swiped

who’s bombs would fall in darkened nights

but seas would swirl and hold its strength

as planks were walked and centuries spent

A tram would pass and catch my eye

as lovers kissed a mile goodbye

A child waved through misty glass

the planks were heavy, wooden paths

and blackened skies and cloudy greys

that hid the shores of Kent’s parade

would mark a time when boats would rise

and clouds would clear from weeping eyes

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

In the Thames Estuary stands the longest Pier in the world, Southend Pier, reaching out to 1.34 miles. There are times in my life when my mind needs cleansing and there is nothing more refreshing, whatever the weather, of a walk along this Grade II listed landmark. 

The Pier has a history dating back to 1830. It has been spoken of by Sir John Betjeman, mentioned in the Hitch Hikers Guide to The Galaxy, and thwarted Hitler's plans as a major landing stage during World War II, serving over 80,000 ships. To me however, the Pier is and has always been part of my life. As a child my parents would often taken me on weekly walks along this landmark and today I still enjoy and celebrate its beauty.

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

In Search of Albion

by Pete Marshall

I wandered down a beaten track

That led to paths no longer seen

Where once we walked in years gone by

But covered now by fallen leaves

The ancient paths can still be found

Beneath the concrete thoroughfares

Where rowan grows by roadside cafes

And thrushes sing in Autumn air

The frogs will always find their home

Where once the streams ran wild and free

Beneath this land of brick and steel

Where people fought to own our green

The signs are there on roadside names

That tell of tales from long ago

But life is led at such a pace

The past has gone before we know

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

History is all around us but in our fast lives do we ever stop to notice? The UK is steeped in history, our street names, pub signs, the list is endless.....perhaps, just once, we should stop and pause for a few moments and wonder where we are and what it was once like....

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

A Stranger Within

by Pete Marshall

What lies within a secret mind

That bars itself from all who know

Its shuttered depths and hidden doors

And keys that only one can stow?

When left to think what does he know

When doors are locked and left alone

And pleasures felt from tip to toe

And hope that comes with dreams that go?

What lies within his deepest thoughts

That keep themselves so far away

Is he the man you know and love

Or is there more he wants to say?

What yearns inside a twisted mind

That aches for times when fun was quick

That hides himself as walls collapse

And plays his hand at dirty tricks?

What lies within a blackened heart

That wants you dead but loves you so

That licks the lips of gluttony

And wants for kicks you’ll never know?

So do you know the one you love

That sits beside and holds you tight

That gives you hugs and shows you love

Then walks the streets alone at night?

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

On Higher Hill

A Poem by Pete Marshall

The castle walls lay quiet now

yet high above the rooks still fly

the siege has left in gentle style

and moved beyond the petting farm

The rations came on tartan cloth

and shots were made by touch screen phone

the soldiers fled across the hills

dressed as cubs in summer sun

And walls that once looked out to sea

that saw the ships and pirates flee

stand sad and torn as moss sets in

awaiting flames to welcome thee

The ramparts lay in crumpled heaps

as knights now storm with digicams

and helmets hide their watchful eyes

as I-pods play a wicked sound

And far below before the flats

where tides drift in from Northern seas

the roar of trains that clatter past

on trips to see the English Queen

And blessed with tales from far a field

these walls remain a special place

that stand today as once was then

upon a canvas where they graced

***********

Standing on the mouth of the River Thames, the above picture of Hadleigh Castle was painted  by the great English artist, John Constable, in 1829. Today, not much has changed. In two years time the location surrounding the ruins of this wonderful place will form the setting for the Mountain Bike events during the Olympic Games 2012. 

********

Caged

A Poem by Pete Marshall

And through this glass you stare at me

yet what I see is nothing new

A person framed for one short time

who looks at me in solitude

Who wants to see me in the wilds

and run the plains like fathers do

that sees me in this small, cramped place

yet comes to see me at the zoo….

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

Dorothy

by Pete Marshall

(A Tale in 160 Characters)

Her ruby heels whirled on bricks of gold

Whilst growls would make this Lion start

The Scarecrow lacked all kinds of thought

And Tin Man’s words would show no heart

**********

A Fall From Grace

A Poem by Pete Marshall

The swings were still on Sabbath day

with padlocks clasped across the chains

as Father stood on lectern high

he mocked the weaks enduring pain

Whilst in the pew you sat so still

in clothes that covered teenage pride

ensnared by light that shimmered down

and framed your soul in celluloid

The numbered psalm was 23

that spoke of paths of righteousness

but boys would look and make you want

to raise the hem upon your dress

And temperance spied a whisky glass

as sweats would trickle from your brow

you plucked an apple from the tree

as weakness broke your solemn vow

Yet Father watched you from up high

in spittled rants and raging tongue

he laid the ghost upon your soul

and warned the Lord of what you’ve come

***********

A Gift From Grandpa

(A Tale in 160 Characters)

Softness wrapped in weathered skin

That takes the strain and holds you tight

Whilst dreams would pass from man to boy

He cradles your love and rocks you good night

********

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.

*********

Let The Show Begin:

A Poem By Pete Marshall

The Cockerels crowed 

and Magpies flew

the Wolves would bay

as Black Cats mewed

And Vllains stole

the Citizens pride

behind the Cottagers

Gunners would strive

The Blues were sung

in Tangerine dreams

the sweets were Red

and Toffees cream

The Trotters growled

the Rovers attacked

the Irons were hot

and the Baggies were back

And Devils roared

whilst Potters played

the Pensioners fought

as Latics slayed….

*****

The English Football Season 2010-11 started last Saturday. The above poem is a tribute to all 20 teams competing this season in the Premiership....how? I will let you decide.

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

The Thinker....

(A Tale in 160 Characters)

What thoughts can lurk within great minds

That brood on life whilst watching worlds

From depths the springs of life unwind

From heights you feel your doubts unfurl

**********

The Waiting Room:

A Poem By Pete Marshall

I sat within a crowded room

awash with sounds of Monday gloom

and watched the clock

and wished each hand

would reach on down

and strike the damned.

People stared and others yawned

the clock would tick for those unborn

and watch the rain

on sun soaked streets

A rainbows arch

was incomplete.

A handkerchief would catch a sneeze

A bulbous face, a heavy wheeze

and death would sit

beside my chair

texting friends

polluting air.

City gent would read the news

as others read back dated views

the door burst forth

the silence wrenched

kids poured in

with clothes all drenched.

Eyes would stare but look straight down

coughs were heard and others frowned

then right behind

A mermaid swam

hushing kids

 and pushing pram.

And through my aches my manners gave

I smiled in warmth and offered shade

she took my seat

her baby screamed

she looked so sad

alone in dreams.

Then as she spoke in softened tones

my name was called, its time to go..

*********

Eye, Eye Cap'n:

 A Poem By Pete Marshall

The seas would lap upon the hull

and gently wash their starboard bow

the sails were rolled into the boom

and winds too far to journey now

They stood in line alone in berth

A breeze would rattle empty masks

the sailors gone in town to dance

as captains sample rum from casks

But from the shore a man would watch

as pirates stroked their silent oars

between their teeth clenched sharpened blades

and on his shoulder a blue macaw…

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

this is my poem inspired by the above image, taken by Adam Dustus, for the One Shoot Sunday picture prompt & photo feedback

Posted by Pete Marshall at 12:36 25 comments  

The Dance of the Masquerade...

(A Tale In 160 Characters) By Pete Marshall

Oh how the joys of youth would cry

Whilst mouths were fed their veins ran dry

With those that joined this masquerade

They’d dance through realms their masters made

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

The Lykewake Of Morag: 

A Poem By Pete Marshall

The crows would circle high above

As death would waken on the ground

A hand would stretch and flick its claws

To trap the prey that swooped on down.

As feathers fell on sodden earth

And float as boats upon the breeze

Bones would crunch and blood would splay

That fed the Scarecrows dark disease.

The haar would creep along the links

As song was heard beyond the hill

The tabor marked the lykewake start

As clans would bow and mourn their still.

Upon the beach the waves would crash

And curse and spit their maddened angst

The mortcloth lay across her soul

As friends would come and offer thanks.

Through wynd and vennel souls would part

As spirits fled the darkened streets

The Scarecrow watched in silent thought

Whilst winds would blow through mans deceit.

And dirks were drawn at Morag’s hame

As Chiefs would curse their spoken vow

Blades would clash and wounds were deep 

But one remained to tell this tale…….

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

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?

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

Hopes And Dreams:

A Poem By Pete Marshall

Silence views a numbered face
its tick a steady, constant pace
disturbed by shouts & breaking glass
doors are slammed on parking cars
and parent frets alone in bed
whilst vodka fuels a gangland debt
an acned face that puffs on bob
and work is just a sign-on job
who meets his mates in cycle P
then sits and stares at soap filled screens.

Single mum will bring him chips
then out to screw some local chicks
that pride themselves in nothing skirts
who eye the metro-sexual shirts
then up against abrasive walls
that rub the backs of hardened fools
who’s future lies in wasteland dreams
and bass that pumps from flash machines
that burn on hopes of fast earned cash
and live the life’s of spoiled WAGS
whilst mum still sits alone and frets
her lonely life of drunk regrets.

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

The River Runs Wild...

(A Tale In 160 Characters)
By Pete Marshall

The current flowed beyond the rocks
Where fish would dart and children stopped
And mothers would grieve on Parson's Lawn
As waters still flowed from dusk till dawn

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

The Haunting...(A Tale In 160 Characters)

by Pete Marshall

Shivering and scared we would hide in fear
As we watched you glide across the room
And through your face we saw no smile
Whilst midnight songs would play your tune

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

Alone in Her Dreams:

A Poem Of love Unknown
by Pete Marshall

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.

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

The Piper: A Poem That Tells The Tale Of Hamelin

by Pete Marshall

From out of shadows crept the night
that forced its will upon the streets
as voices drifted on the breeze
A swing would rock an empty seat
A buxom girl in loosened clothes
laughed as hands would paw her breasts
and as they fell on cobbled stones
he rummaged mongst her ruffled dress

Behind the doors the weak would pray
as children slept in hallowed rooms
and voices soothed and whispered psalms
as piper played his lilting tune
the rats would gather from the drains
and twitch their snouts at blackened fayre
but piper passed their gathering throng
and played a song that filed the air
doors were closed and bolted tight
and lovers fled to darkened homes
but children stirred and crept to see
from where the tune would gently flow

And from the windows out they climbed
as beds were left all soft and warm
they followed him beyond the bridge
and out of town and in to dawn
the wails were heard as mothers cried
at rooms where souls no longer slept
the village grieved the rats still played
as Hamelin cleared its final debt

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

Drive By Dreams & Seaside Themes:

A Poem About The Great British Seaside
by Pete Marshall

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

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

The Lovers:

A Poem From The Darkened Tales Collection
by Pete Marshall

The room was filled with summers heat
and heavy scents of stifled air
I lay upon a burning pyre
and gently brushed your raven hair

I watched you hide behind a mask
that fuelled the urge of lover’s dare
I cupped your face between my palms
our pupils spoke in whispered stares

And as you slipped from off my bed
I hoped the Lord would grant my prayer
I watched you softly paint your lips
Then strike and fill me with despair

You scoured my eyes with fists of sand
and grabbed my face and pulled it tight
you ripped into my pulsing vein
then fled into the darkened night...

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

The Sacrifice....(A Tale In 160 Characters)

By Pete Marshall

I travelled deep into her wretched heart
and staked my claim upon her will
I watched her screams whilst darkness danced
And prayed with friends that gathered still

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

Sunken Dreams: A Poem From The
My Struggle With Unemployment Series

by Pete Marshall

I sailed a barge of purest gold
That travelled far on clear blue seas
Aware of mists that followed stern
And ships that chased my golden dreams

In ports I berthed that welcomed me
And treated me the conquering lord
But masks would hide my failing charms
As rot was all that lay onboard

The sea would roar beyond the cliffs
As winds blew dreams down empty streets
And beggars gathered in cardboard homes
As sweat and vomit masked excrete

A shadow fell on yesterday
As clouds crept in on stifled air
Alone inside I hid the truth
That stares down barrels fraught with fear

I came to rest where once I prayed
For here now lies my wasted years
And pass the stones that told my fate
As storms grew strong I battled tears

I stopped to smell my favourite bloom
That always flowered so fragrantly
But what’s the point, I broke its stem
Then turned and fled away from here.....


For those of you that have followed my journey there should always be hope, but I have lost some of that. I have a hearing set for unpaid bills which I now face with bated breath. I look at all I have and what I have given my family and I see it slipping away. My poem, Sunken Dreams, reflects this..

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

Mr Plush

Mr Plush to some is cute
Cuddly, warm, a soft brown suit
With button eyes and patched up nose
Sentiments bought from long ago

Mr Plush sits in his chair
And rocks the rooms foreboding air
His hands tight clasped with eyes of steel
That scream in silence with foul ill will

Mr Plush first built his pile
When played a hand at Falstaff’s trial
He lines his pot and builds his walls
And loves to see how others fall

Mr Plush sits on a chair
Loved by all with cuddles & care
Mr Plush looks down his nose
And hoards the cash that sentiment flows

Mr Plush once had it all
Friends that came to summer balls
But Mr Plush is now threadbare
All have gone & no one cares

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

Come On England

by Pete Marshall

In prayer I’ll let the face paint dry
As three lions roar in cider me
For Rooney and Cole I’ll wear the flag
Come three they play for all OUR dreams
COME ON ENGLAND

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

A Soldiers Tale

by Pete Marshall

You walked as one in troubled times
As comrades fell in open arms
Whilst life’s are led without concern
Man gives all on other lands.
And pain is seen upon a friend
As wounds cut deep & scar for life
But deeds are all we seem to hear
As medals hang & gleam with pride.

We doth our cap to all that’s been
And honour those that walked this path
But nights are long in broken dreams
As friends lay still in shallow graves.
And words are said and soft with peace
Whilst fear will stay within your life
And battles fought will always be
The pain you bare & sacrificed.

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

Jack: 

A Poem From The Darkened Tales Series That Tells The Real Story Of Jack The Ripper
by Pete Marshall

The sound of heel on cobbled stone
That stalked the streets of yesteryear
As sewage flowed with soiled dreams
Jack would walk bereft of fear
His mind was caged and wrought with grief
As pain destroyed his inner eye
And cancers crept and clawed his soul
A lovers voice that hushed goodbye

A nothing moon that held no light
On darkened paths and brick red walls
And staggered coves would leave their slums
To rest in doors amongst the gloom
No bells would ring in East End homes
As night would fester cold and smog
And as his heels clicked on the stones
The hooves of carriages would trot

And on this night he saw her there
As charm would ‘tice a drunken Lord
Who’s sword was stiff between her thighs
Whilst shillings lined her wayward hoard
But in the dark on hidden streets
The stench that reared on soiled paths
Jack lay down his leather bag
And drew the tools that played their part

And as the Lord would hasten thrusts
Her teeth bit deep on glistened vein
And then the whites within her eyes
Would roll as blood was left to drain
And as he pulsed between her legs
She drank the life he clung on to
But from the shadows Jack would walk
And drive his stake so hard and true

The night was filled with eerie screams
As Lord fell hard and wrestled free
He turned and fled beyond the street
As Jack knelt down on bended knee
And with his skill he’d cut & slash
To take a heart of hardened stone
That led a path to darkened graves
For him to walk once more alone

**********************************  

Cinders

by Pete Marshall

She wandered to the waters edge

As tears fell down her sullen cheeks

And as a frog would gently croak

A kiss was far from in her reach

As Cinders swept a dirty floor

Of trampled mud from sisters who

Would want for this & shout for that

Her dreams were washed in soiled gloom

And birds would sing on window sills

As mice would strive to clean all ills

But apples bite would taste so sour

As spindles jab destroyed her hour

And so she slept away from pain

Within her fragile, glass domain

Whilst others cursed at wasted youth

That lay so still in tranquil peace

As knights would ride & pass on by

In search of love to fight their deeds

Yet place a kiss upon her lips

Was all it took to waken thee

But Cinders part had long been played

As caution rode on thickened paths

And as the weeds encircled time

Alone she stayed bereft of love

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

A Birthday Wish 

by Pete Marshall

The morning sun rose in the sky

And soaked the dew within its rays

The snakes would slither across the path

And warm themselves in shallow graves.

A postman’s foot upon the drive

That caught my breath and signalled dreams

But youth has gone and doesn’t last

As bills replace the cards have been.

Another fleck of greying hair

That marks the face of yesteryear

But dreams are sought in hopeful eyes

As children wake to bring you cheer.

A smile spreads across your face

But deep inside you feel the pain

As gifts they bring are cherished thoughts

Of money spent that leaves a stain.

And hope is all but candles breath

That blows the flame of burning truth

We taste the cake of Antoinette

And gorge ourselves on wasted youth.

Whilst on the path the slugs will crawl

As damp and moss encroach your door

And snakes that bask within the warmth

Lay siege as debts hide in your drawer.

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

Rub My Palm : 

A Poem Of Love 

From The Tales In 160 Characters Collection
by Pete Marshall

Lover's come calling full purses in hand

Leaving huge tips and swelling glands 

When sated throes have reached great heights

You leave them change and say goodnight 

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

The Scarecrow & The Cougar: 

Poetry From The Darkened Tales Series

by Pete Marshall

When Van Gogh drew across the sky

He circled stars & captured life

And silver birches shimmer bright

Reflecting moons ensnaring light.

As dreams were told in epitaphs

He stayed beside her fresh warm grave

And clawed the earth with sharpened nails

Afraid to leave this sullen place.

But Jackal growled and sniffed the air

As blood & lust kept dreams alive

And as the yews would sway and dance

He turned his head in search of vice. 

The copper trees have withered stumps

And elms no longer roam the fields

The hedgerows choke on passing fumes

As Jackal preys upon our ills.

And fired light & candles burned

That glowed a hearth of hardened stone

A tingled air & painted lips

Awaited him in cougars home.

He wrestled thoughts from sunken minds

That stained the brains of self neglect

As smoke encircled doubts unwind

Where gin is poured with no respect.

And ragged jeans are ragged things

That hang upon a scarecrows legs

And as a crow would take a perch

He turned his head & snapped its neck.

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

The Grove: 

A Poem Dedicated To A Street Near You - 

From The Poems That Stand Alone And Stand Proud Collection
by Pete Marshall

These streets that I walk down`

I know them so well

I’ve lived on these footpaths

And tasted their hell

Behind twitching curtains

And dog soiled paths

A mattress that's dumped

Stained with memories and laughs.

And kids wearing hoods

That cover their eyes

Hands in both pockets

But empty of life.

Amid sacks of rubbish

Where innocents play

Drowned by the noise

From vehicles all day

Mornings bring laughter

As school runs begin

Slapped made-up faces

Hide desperate things.

Billowing smoke

From the mums pushing prams

Throwing their smiles

With a fake golden tan.

And shouts heard from windows

Of partners in fight

Bereft of their boundaries

It goes on through the night.

Yet birds will keep singing

And cars drive on past

These streets that I walk down

And their dog soiled paths.

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

Pete quit posting a few years ago.
I hope that he is still writing, composing, making music
and expressing his artistic talent in his own way in his own realm.
He was very encouraging to me and his poems here inspired me.