Thursday, 27 September 2012

Golden Wing

Glides on golden wing majestic
Moves through the air with grace
Silent silhouette against the blue
Watching, ever keenly watching

Winding through the valley floor
She whispers in the silent fields
Graceful blue cascading maiden
Twisting, ever gently turning

Silver streaks glisten in the light
Dart through the flowing rushes
Heading home to life’s beginning
Leaping, ever higher leaping

Glides on golden wing majestic
Moves through the air with grace
Silent silhouette against the blue
Watching, ever keenly watching

Carpet strewn with speckled patches
Golden yellow border hues of green
She rolls with flowing dip and crest
Sprawling, ever gently sprawling

Senses twitch at every movement
Dash through the corn filled forests
Tail gaily bobbing he goes to ground
Staring, ever fearful staring

Glides on golden wing majestic
Moves through the air with grace
Silent silhouette against the blue
Watching, ever keenly watching

Lifeless carcass spied from above
Swooping down with grace and poise
Proud golden wing and yellow beak
Feasting, ever cautious feasting

Spreading arms reach out in welcome
Shoulders hide high nesting grounds
Where mother feeds the hungry mouths
Waiting, ever patient waiting

He glides no more on golden wing
No movement now through air with grace
No silent silhouette against the blue
Dying, ever slowly dying

He smiles through twisted rotten teeth
Poisoned bait, twisted traps of steel
Man hunts misguided in his mission
Murdering, wantonly murdering

© Fergus Martin

Sunday, 23 September 2012

Three Little Words

Three little words
Mean so much
Soft to touch
Make my day
Guide my way
Quell my fears
Stem my tears
Keep me warm
Calm my storm
Break my heart
Mould my art
Sing my song
All day long
Feel so right
As I write
Three little words

© F Martin

The Silent Land Screams

Green glens lie quiet in the bitter chill of winter’s night
Summer golden valleys echo the eerie sound of silence
Hillsides rustle as natures beasts wander proud and free
In the air sing the voices of winged hunters in full flight

Northern soil turns as hardy souls eke out their existence
And in the hills and glens wild peoples stake their claim
In rocky coastal waters silver fish provide a meagre morsel
A fledgling nation’s psyche is forged in their persistence

With every birth they spread familial reach into the wilds
Bonding with their neighbours in protection and in life
Small tribes become great clans united in their struggles
Borders stretch across the land encompass windswept isles

Warring Chieftains come together forging destiny in blood
Painted people chase invading legions back to walls of stone
Horned raiders coming to the shores vanquished to the deep
Southern hordes left rotting in the bloodied fields of mud

Ancient cultures come together, stride forth as a nation grows
A warrior race emerges from the rugged hills and barren moor
Wanton eyes glint with menace and the need to dominate
Once again the warriors clash, their dead feed the brazen crows 

Proud people stand as one whilst their brothers sell their souls
Birth-rights sold for the southern coin, rich promises and tithes
But still they fight for freedom and their continual existence
Free from foreign domination and twisted silver tongue controls

Fallen kings and warriors lie buried in the blood-soaked past
Those battlegrounds now the silent graves of a nation’s sons
Crushed rebellions and slaughter fuels the warriors descendants
Fighting blood fills the pounding veins of a people built to last

And as the land lies quiet in the bitter chill of a winter’s night
Valleys echo once again to the clarion call of freedom
Hillsides come alive with shrill mutterings of nationhood
And on the air voices sing once more of a country and its might

© F Martin

Sunday, 16 September 2012

The Neighbours

Infested with roaches
It sits
A concrete jungle
On the edge of society

In forest green shade
It spawns
It’s insidious half-lifes
From the rest of humanity

In little grey boxes
They swarm
In moth-like attraction
The life from community

From father to son
They pass
The rules of avoidance
Each illegality

Opposite side of the hill
They weep
In tear strewn confusion
At life’s new reality

A lifetime of labour
They bled
The fruits of their toils
In a life of frugality

In grim silent houses
They mourn
The death of their every dream
In life changing finality

They stare at the jungle
And scream
At outrageous injustice
Systemic brutality

© F Martin

Friday, 14 September 2012

By The Side Of The Road

As the bitter chill bites
I raise up my collar and shiver
And stare frostily down
At the cold hard black tarmac
Slowly stepping away
And leaving no trace
On the whispery topping
Of the ice-covered track
Shivering now as I watch
Throngs descend on the scene
Of carnage and chaos
Of metal twisted and cracked
Glancing around once again
On a beautiful wintery morn
I gaze at my own sad reflection
As my dying eyes stare back

© Fergus Martin

Tuesday, 11 September 2012

Glory Days

Sitting in a silent world of contemplation
Thoughts roam untamed in fields of liberation
Gently prodding at the hidden memories inside
Conjures images of a life once full and dignified
Drifting slowly over embers of remembrance
He meanders through a maze of circumstance
Eyes sparkle once again as fireside tales expand
Recalls a life directed by another’s guiding hand

In quiet solitude he seeks peace to reminisce
Of glory days and nights of honourable service
Companions true forever standing freely by his side
Smiles at their unquestionable loyalty and pride
Bonds of dignity, respect they proudly built together
Steel within their souls, hearts gentle as a feather
In unison of spirit eternal brothers they will stand
Their lives directed by another’s guiding hand

Silence of the night invokes the horrors that he’s seen
Memories of places he wished he’d never been
Shattered lives and buildings flash before his eyes
Infestation of the soul silences the battle cries
Smile quickly fades from trembling lips in fading light
Bitter memory he’d left behind charges into sight
Brutal execution of a child in a foreign war strewn land
Simple life ended by another’s blood-stained hand

He flees once more to the sanctity of the memories of joy
The beginning of the journey of man growing from the boy
Pondering significance of all that he accomplished
Grips tightly to the whispers of memories he’s cherished
Old soldier’s time is over; all that’s left are tainted dreams
Of joyful laughter and exuberance and biting bitter screams
And each and every day awakes free at his command
A life no longer driven by another person’s hand

© Fergus Martin

Sunday, 9 September 2012

Ghost Train

I sit and I think
But no train comes
The mind a blank canvass
But no ink dries
Thoughts ramble incoherently
Drifting slowly away
Plan erupts suddenly
Then slowly dies

Craving interaction
With nothing to say
Screaming out for company
Ignoring every one
Dying to communicate
Fragility of mind
Words unsaid, unwritten
Empty to the bone

Life’s rich tapestry
Passes swiftly on
Contemplating emptiness
Shallow to the core
Retreat again within yourself
Your private safety net
Seek solace in the solitude
To think once more

© Fergus Martin