The Wind

The wind will blow and trees will bend and bow
the blades of grass will dance their gentle sway
the pond ripples like gentle rings of silk
and ears of corn will move and bob all day.

A gentle breeze is felt to cool the brow
when summer sun is blazing in its high
a gale will tell you button up your coat
and blow the clouds away across the sky.

An icy chill will cut across the face
and make the ends of fingers throb and hurt
it brings the frost that nips the buds so harsh
and all the shoots will stay down in the dirt.

A hurricane up-roots the mighty trees
it takes off chimney pots and blows down stacks
it blows down walls and takes of roof and tile
and when it dies, we know it will be back.

© D Marsden 2016


The Tree

The tree stands tall reaching to the sky
a canopy of leaves and branches there so high
its hollow trunk a testament to age
its mighty girth is weakened by this stage.

The wind has moved its mighty head about
making it sway and creak and groan and shout
it has a split along its trunk severe
that opens wide and then to disappear

The weary tree is strained it creeks and groans
now doomed its trunk is like a broken bone
the canopy is blown from side to side
Its ghastly riven wound is opened wide.

Its fight to stand so proud gives trunk an ache
from ground along its trunk it has to break
and canopy will crash one day in storm
laid down to rest on soil for all to mourn.

© D Marsden 2016

The Blue Lady Ghost

She comes at night walking on stony path
lady in blue from some time distant past
no rest, tormented, trapped, in endless time
how long to stroll in dream, how long to last.

Her home, nowhere in this forsaken land
her time like an hourglass has long since gone
she walks at night through graves of distant dead
she knows not how and wherefore to move on.

Death has no rest for lost and lonely souls
it takes all life and leaves decay and bones
no thought, no sight, a spectre trapped alone
the restless spirit walks it has no home.

The church and grounds are paced as spirit glides
along the cobble stones and through the grass
a priest will kneel and ask repent in name
so ghost will find its way to sleep at last.

© D Marsden 2016

Shopping

Sitting in the park
dusk turning to dark
radio on and songs abound
just watching the world go round.
A woman passes by, she's sold
her baggage is testament to be told
all the shops along the street
hurting legs, aching feet.
Bags galore around wrist and arm
boxes on shoulders to strained alarm
people hurry, it`s so cold
young legs skipping beside old.
Rain and sleet, wind and snow
what is the force that drives them so?.
Trolleys pulled, laden down with ware
do they see the point? Do they care?
Sat in car, no cold or cuss
wondering what is all the fuss
wonder why they waste their time
wonder… why not shop online.

© D Marsden 2016

Moving On

We have no time to go here or there
we have no time to do or dare

we have no time to ponder at the stars
we have no time to see Saturn or Mars

we have no time to watch or play
or do a chore from yesterday

we have no time to do those things
in our dreams and daily whims

only have time to lay and stare
never again our favourite chair

no time to reminisce or cry
we only have the time to die.

© D Marsden 2016


Happy

The world is beautiful, I can’t be sad
my life is full of joy and I am glad
the trees are full of fruit for me to eat
apples and pears, so ripe they taste so sweet.

So warm a site, watching the children play
the sun is shining on a lovely day
the branches bow along the avenue
their welcome shade they give to me and you.

The seasons come around I love them all
winter and spring, summer and then the fall
I like the spring after the winter fest
it leaves the gloom and brings me happiness.

The birds will sing upon the early morn
the sun will kiss my face and break the dawn
I’ll walk along the path I know so well
the blossom on the trees, a fragrant smell.

The sun will shine upon our earthly land
the doom and hate I cannot understand
the beauty of our world, a happy place
I wish it so for all the human race.

© D Marsden 2017

Winter’s Walk

The crisp and frosty leaves do lay
like nature’s carpet all the way
they crunch and crunch under the boot
till dense wood joins and churn to mud.

Beech trees shed nuts on the ground
and squirrels leave the shells around
another sound is played by trodden foot
a sharp crisp, crunchy one of empty nut.

We reach the shrubs along the route
A walk on twigs to snap with heavy boot
the hawthorn is unclothed today
its wedding gown will show in May.

The brambles show their withered fruit
another victim for trodden boot
the bracken dead, no shoot in site
the path is clear for easy flight.

© D Marsden 2016

Dancing Flowers

As I lay awake resting in my bed
staring at the ceiling, an empty head

not a single thought enters there at all
watching the tiny flowers on the wall

they start to dance; I stare as I lay still
a fear, I’m curious, or am I ill?

Flowers parading all in long straight rows
swaying from side to side, and why, who knows

so strange to see, they say it is a dream
a little boy with lots of tales to glean

or just my vivid thoughts, or just a lie
I swear I saw but understand not why

fifty years have passed, at my mother’s bed
a wall of flowers right behind her head

unlike the little ones that I once knew
they seem so bold, they have so grew and grew

do they remember me from way back when?
for when I stared, they danced for me again.

© D Marsden 2018

By The Lake


I left the gravel park and hurried so
to get a seat and stare
number plates lined neatly in a row
children run without a care.

Nestled in among the trees
across the lake a chapel spire
pointing up towards the sky
but towering so much higher.

A rabbit runs across the ferns
stirred by a searching hound
in panic it darts to save its life
a dog left sniffing on the ground.

Ducks and geese glide along
like skaters with much ease
the most majestic of them all
the swan, to the eye does please.

Nature is so full of life
the smell of dew, the sound of leaves
bees buzzing all around
the feeling of a cool light breeze.

© D Marsden 2019

What’s In The Woods (in the dead of night)

`Ever laid under the gleaming stars?
Watched with awe on a moon-lit night
walked through the woods in pitch darkness
heard her screech, a barn owl in flight.

A silent flight on spread out wing
so quiet you do not hear a sound
and then at once her voice is there
you`re wide awake, hear your heart pound.

Still walking on in dead of night
a tow-path weaves under arched bridge
bats fly with speed the tunnel dark
first underneath then over ridge.

Like mice with wings, vampires, some fear
a high pitch squeal, oh what a fright
get in your hair and won`t let go?
Or mere catching insects at night?

Back in the trees and through the dark
a curdling screech in dead of night
a being in torment it`s said
will make the timid cringe with fright.

So eerie is this squeal, so creepy
the unaware will taste the fear
a haunting sound, an evil note
though the devil himself is near.

But if you want to know the truth
stroll in the woods at dead of night
catch a glimpse at the hour so late
the wily young fox under moonlight.

Filling his lungs to let it out
stretching his chords to call a mate
warding off kind who dare intrude
Guarding his own like an iron gate

But can you be sure what’s out there?
Does everything seem to be right?
Is it just the wind rustling?
or is something lurking in the night?

© D Marsden 2019