Saturday, 25 January 2014

It Wasn't

It wasn't meant to be like this.
It wasn't meant to be,
Like this.
It wasn't
to be
It wasn't meant to be.

© Fergus Martin


Thursday, 23 January 2014

The Kirks at No. 42

Emily puts the washing on,
just another weekend at home.
The usual chores, kids running wild,
a mother's love reborn.
A happy life, contented, safe,
her dream had come to pass.
Suburban life, the man she loves,
they all said it wouldn't last

Lazy afternoon sitting on the couch
another beer suits James just fine.
Football on the telly, can't be beat,
comfortable in his prime
The raucous din, he zones it out,
focussed firmly on the glass.
His dream lady just next door
they all said it wouldn't last

The ball, the ball, the crazy chew
Bobby darts around, fur flying
Mum and Dad home, a happy pup
tasty treats, no trying.
Grey coat shines and bounces,
eyes sparkle as he dashed.
Happy hound, this ball of fun,
as through the house he crashed

Headphones on, texting friends,
Alice lives every teenage dream.
Wants for nothing, sings out loud,
with her boyfriend of her dreams.
Closets crammed full of labels,
how much could she amass.
Top notch her academic skills,
she's quite the clever lass

Speakers shake and rock the room,
rock anthems through the ages.
Bill rocks and plays his air guitar,
upon imaginary stages.
A life of Riley some would say,
of metal, rock and thrash.
Still he cut the neighbour's lawn
and helped them with their trash.

Another summer's afternoon,
flowers wilting in the sun.
Rubble now, where was a house,
a void where once was fun.
Explosion ripped away the lives,
of the family at forty two.
James, Emily and Alice
Bill and bouncy Bobby too.

© Fergus Martin


Monday, 20 January 2014

Roses and Violets

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Thoughts in my head
Always of you

Roses are red
Violets are blue
When I had bread
I also had you

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Tears that we shed
Together we two

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Lies that you fed
Keeping me true

Roses are dead
Violets are too
Blood shining red
Once it was you

© Fergus Martin


Saturday, 18 January 2014

Surviving The Winter Storm

Cold, dark, roaring thunder fills the night
slashing at the undergrowth and as
torrents of abusive power rain down
my thoughts explode into nothing.
Bitter winter winds blowing through
miniscule gaps in the battered frames
of windows that no longer repel
the demons that inhabit my mind.
The bleak solitude of the winter storm
relents for no man as merciless waves
unleash their force on the sleeping village
whilst I battle alone the torments of old.

Candles flicker as the gusts breeze through
the pine floored rooms of the silent house
while the groaning rafters creak and twist like
the knife that cuts through my empty heart.
Chilled air whistles through the empty corridors
the merciless tune that becomes the white noise
beating a tortured rhythm of relentless pain
whilst frosted panes provide a mirror to my soul.
Clouds, grey like the emptiness of my mind
gather in the hallways of my thoughts
coagulating in the consciousness of dreams
becoming nightmares in the wilderness of loneliness.

The dark, sullen, pervasive fog carpets the horizon
diffusing the light of another breaking dawn
whilst golden lights struggles to break through
to break the patterns drawn by winter's discontent.
The ghosts of the past must be exorcised from
the deep dark sanctuaries they occupy within me
shadowing my every waking hour they must move on
setting me on the road free from heartache and loss
Another oaken beam sparkles and spits, casting
fiery fingers into the morning breaking the cycle
of never-ending gloom that pervades my life and
snapping me into the now and the future that must be.

© Fergus Martin


Tuesday, 14 January 2014

The First Cut

Sweet taste of summer
so refreshing, so clear
the first cut of the lawn
a memory so dear.

Her hair
shone in the sun,
I remember

Her eyes
sparkling delights,
I remember

Her face
a vision,
I remember

Her lips
cherry red,
I remember

Her skin
soft as silk,
I remember

Her hands
in mine,
I remember

Her heart
always giving,
I remember

Her warmth
welcomed all,
I remember

Her love
given freely,
I remember

Her perfection
was plain,
I remember

That first cut of summer
I remember

Her name?

© Fergus Martin


Monday, 13 January 2014

Extract From The Company Annals

The Company's Betrayal
Sawtooth - Company Scribe

Wind whipping through frost covered branches,
rattling like bones of the dead in a box,
the night sky turns red as I gaze at the moon,
I hear the laughter as the devil he mocks.
The battalion stands strong as it's done through the ages,
our battles fought hard and with honour,
our commission was paid and we fight to the end,
only this time our fight is not pure.

Outsmarted, deceived, the contract was signed,
and we fled to the north and it's battles,
the frozen lands and their great carpets of ice,
all through the winter, that devil he cackles.
Through the ages of man the company has stood,
five thousand strong and feared for their skills,
most honourable foes to take to the field,
no honour this time as we number our kills.

The quick silvered tongue of the man with the coin,
laid out a path that was righteous and good,
but the truth was revealed through the battles we fought,
as we drove north to the stench ridden wood.
For each battle won revealed the truth of our fate,
usurped into serving those gods from the past,
the demons of tales that become myth and legend,
the brotherhood sold as the die was re-cast.

Standing knee-deep in the blood of the fallen,
I search for a path that will lead us to freedom,
a light in the dark we have chosen to follow,
a home with the righteous for this proven legion.
The battalion stands strong in the face of such evil,
the light in the sky may provide our source of salvation,
the tales from the past shine like new in our darkness,
will a ghost from our history be our redemption?

© Fergus Martin


Sunday, 12 January 2014

Constant Companion

As the dawn arrives I look for her,
seeking comfort in her presence,
her hands pushing me to consciousness,
I stumble into the present.
At her insistence my journeys begin,
travels that will follow other's demands,
her existence drives me forward,
moving gently through the day.
As I gaze upon her face I know,
she'll move silently through my life,
her movement will be no distraction,
but the heartbeat of my being.
She is the companion that is constant,
always with me, always on the move,
she is the epitome of perpuality,
an everlasting mistress.

© Fergus Martin


Friday, 3 January 2014

The Muse

Moving effortlessly across the page, the ink flowed,
and on the page
words tumbled into the white open space of neutrality,
creating new worlds in paragraphs of beauty and wonder,
with vistas stretching out to the far corners of the blank universe,
sculpting out new sanctuaries on a wilderness of white.
A gentle tap was heard.
The pen continued on its uninterrupted journey of deliverance,
and on that journey
mountains rose from the depths and great valleys swept across the land,
mystical creatures danced with mythical peoples in realms of fantasy,
vast meandering rivers swept along great chasms and channels to seas of blue,
great worlds of myth and magic rising from the depths of the papyrus.
The tapping becomes a thought.
The hand ploughs on through the barren fields of endeavour,
and in those fields
Seedling civilisations sprout and spread their tentacled thoroughfares,
great minarets pirouette and spiral upwards, dancing with the stars,
gold encrusted temples glitter and shine with sparkling magic,
and the world becomes reality within the imagination.
Thoughts become distraction
Words clashed and clattered into the incoherent
chaos of confusion.
Rhyme and reason reached into the abyss and were
consumed in the carnage of calamity.
Sentences spluttered and splintered their way
across the page,
making no sense,
following no pattern,
creating no beauty,
merely leaving a trail of crows scratches upon the paper.
Riven by pain, the hand stopped.
The pen fell silent.
The muse was gone.

© Fergus Martin