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

The Vagrant

Brother can you spare some change
food for a weary man, maybe a drink
I'm so hungry I'm quite ill
I've not eaten for three days, I think.

Thank you, kind sir, you really are
for I've travelled many miles and towns
I've really come quite far you see
most people stare and tut and frown.

The night is cruel you have no warmth
Here, take my coat you need it most
for when the eve' brings frost and cold
I'll be by the fire as warm as toast.

What lead you down this wretched path?
How did you lose your life?
Was it the bottle or gambling hard?
or some other form of strife.

No sir I had a wife and kids
a house, a job, a car
a working man I was and proud
the happiest man alive by far.

My job and car were first to go
then they took my goods
without my house I had no wife
I now live in the woods.

This is me now I'm on my own
begging for a crumb
I am no-one any more
It seems my life is done.

© D Marsden 2017

The Ruling Classes

I walked into a restaurant one day
looking for a bite to eat
all the folk were making merry
some dancing on their feet.
Eating juicy steaks
lobster and fine cuisine
washed down with sparkling wine
you know what I mean.
Their faces were familiar
for I'd seen them on the news
living in their second homes -
and fancy Mews.
I looked at the menu
wow what a shock
I can't afford these prices
for it's only two o'clock.
I'll happen down the road I guess
to the cafe that I passed
for an egg and bacon sandwich
and a coke in a glass.
Just as I turned to go
an M P shouted with a smirk
lunchtime over my honourable friends
time to go back to work.

© D Marsden 2016

The Poison

It sails on the morning breeze
goes through the bushes and trees

touches the hedge rows and fields
It catches you if you kneel

you can stand up if you want
You can be small, like an ant

you can climb ladder or stair
it will get you anywhere

or go way down below
in the cellar you know

or jump into the sea
but wherever you flee

nothing you can ever do
pollution is there waiting for you.

© D Marsden 2017

The Old Tree

Blowing wild is the wind
trees bending to and fro
grass dancing one last time
before the frost and snow.

The birds are dizzy up aloft
sitting, thinking what to do
squirrels out collecting nuts
busy just like me and you.

A tree is breaking it is time
to kiss the ground and lie
her stump is rotten to the core
It is her time to die.

As she stretches out her trunk
like an old lady in her bed
she’s grateful of her full life
it’s time to rest her weary head.

Birds have nested in her bows
squirrels in her trunk so free
she gave birth to leaves and fruit
she fulfilled he duty as a tree.

© D Marsden 2016

The Ghost Of Priory Church

Clink and clank down the aisle with frown or smile
rattling grates in the still dead of the night
moving swiftly as if in a mad haste
to go nowhere just lost in endless flight.

The air is filled with scent so sweet and bright
no light, no sound, but smell of rose abound
a fragrance visited with ghost on time
no flowers in the church or on the ground.

Seen upon the towers in frantic mood
peering over walls to cobbled stones
with worried gaze as in a fearful stare
but no-one there to see, but him alone.

Who is this ghost, a monk from Norman times?
searching his house not knowing who or why
will someday lay his head and soul to rest
be blessed and then say to the world goodbye.

© D Marsden 2017