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

Politicians Of War

Politicians create a bloody war
the enemy is knocking at our door
sending soldiers to fight and spill their blood
those that love peace and life and all that’s good.

Their blood and much more will ebb away
and stain the carpet of white sand today
the leaders make the rules to stand and fight
but they are safely home in bed at night.

The soldiers maimed, the body bags are sent
they are used up; their bodies are all rent
we need to fight from different sides they say
so, let us send more troops over today.

The politicians sit and make their choice
let’s kill the enemy, this evil force
across the lines they drew into the sand
let’s take the fight into another land.

The glory will be ours we hear them say
but what of all the wake of yesterday
of all the suffering and pain and sin
and all the time we didn’t learn a thing.

© D Marsden 2018

No Parking

I got bit today by a predictor
made mistake, thought she was nice
talked to me every time I parked
but her heart was as cold as ice.

Slapped a ticket to my windscreen
a big yellow square bold as brass
what’s the meaning of this, I asked
“not displayed your blue badge,” said the lass.

But she knows me, we converse all the time
exchange pleasantries as I hobble past
I was fooled, a wolf in sheep’s clothing
now she thinks; got you at last.

She sees my badge all the time, on the dash
I park there every morn and afternoon
she knows I have the right to yellow lines
but hoped I’d forget one day soon.

I took her for a vegetarian
A meek and mild to the core
I didn’t know she’d pounce so hard
I didn’t know she was a carnivore.

© D Marsden 2019

Nature’s Walk

Nature’s walk

Wondering through the countryside
on a beautiful summer day
a gentle breeze to cool my face
while I daydream the time away.
The songbird sings to me its verse
the ducks they quack their laughing rhyme
the frogs they croak repeatedly
nature's chorus always on time.
A sunbeam shimmers on the lake
tranquillity and peace so nice
stretched out as far as eye can see
like a silvery sheet of ice.
A soothing trickle down the weir
as water flows below the bridge
along its path it gathers pace
soon it approaches near the ridge.
Cascading down the bank in haste
a rush of foam a wall of drink
tranquillity broke by rushing form
can't hear or speak or even think.
Rambling along a grassy bank
just hear the noise now far away
the swallows coming out to dine
the slender reeds curtsey and sway.
Once more the water calms and sleeps
supporting ducks and geese and all
gliding along majestically in white
the swan, most beautiful of all.

© D Marsden 2019

Autumn

A carpet of brown multi-coloured form
from leaves cascading in the heavy breeze
the trees are bare and show their crooked arms
like old men with sticks bowing without ease.

Summer berries have made their last show
abundant fruit so sweet is in decay
time for the trees to scatter nuts around
and the squirrels to cary them away.

The season’s days are getting shorter now
the silent darkness takes away the light
the fading sun is drained of loving warmth
the shorter day now quickly turns to night.

The chirpy birds no longer sing their songs
the busy courting time has long since past
some gather and then flock to warmer climes
some decide to stay for winter’s fast.

The garden hedgehogs make their winter home
before the cruel icy snow and frost
the little insects lay their tiny eggs
to make them safe before the time is lost.

Nature so sound has laid its tired head
to go to rest and sleep before the spring
when once again in joy it will awake
and once again the birds will dance and sing.

© D Marsden 2016

A Vision Through The Lens

Look through the lens and expect to see

beyond the shore

Nothing out there

It’s but a blank, the dark

Eyes are getting accustomed

The earth of smoke

The polluted waves

A blackened sky

A mushroom cloud up to the heavens

A scorched earth

Bodies charred to the bone

I pulled away

The sun is shining as before

I leave the lens

I care not to see anymore

I only want to feel the sun.

© D Marsden 2019

Wood Chisels Of Old

The chisel are old, before my time
made of Sheffield steel, the best
I bought them second-hand many years ago
as it turned out a good invest.

I didn’t know the craftsman then
I never knew his height of skill
and the wood he carved and chipped away
certain I know I never will.

But when I cut and par and chop
and turn out something quite unique
a mermaid, Griffin or snake’s head
the chisel have a life, so to speak.

Chippings on the floor around my feet
I can’t remember cutting them
the craftsman working through my soul
though long dead… he carves away again.

© D Marsden 2019

The View From Here

Looking down along the garden path
a smell of fresh cut grass lingers,
tagetes line up like toy soldiers
watching you brush your hair with tiny fingers.

White doves land with fluttering wings
frequenting the lofty cote in blazing heat
I see you walk along the crazy path,
I hear the patter of your graceful feet.

To our love seat you softly glide
under the fully clothed weeping willow tree
how I long to touch your hair, kiss your lips again
like those endless times you shared with me.

I look again and you’re not there
Just a leafless tree, a frosty grass
the silent doves, an empty seat
I think about the times gone past.

One day we’ll meet again I know
in another world I’m told
where nature blooms forever more
for you and I death will have no hold.

© D Marsden 2019