Words on Fire Mod Picks for February 12-18, 2017

This week’s edition of the WOF Mod Picks

Words on Fire ™


Congratulations, much love and respect to the Words on Fire Mod Picks for February 12-18, 2017!! Super job, poets!!!

http://bit.ly/2lS9EY6 New Beginnings +Fergus Martin
http://bit.ly/2mqmZof Pretend +Mel Mel
http://bit.ly/2lI2ZgX Once Again the Sun +Poet Desh
http://bit.ly/2lHY142 Dreaming Of Midnight +Fergus Martin
http://bit.ly/2lmcgdN Fading dreams +Elusive Me
http://bit.ly/2lWBFhD Spring in Berlin +Irene Riz

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Seems my writing has become like waiting for a bus, nothing for ages then 4 come at once.


Rolling hills fade to nothing on the horizon
Church spire stands tall over stonewashed cottages
Fields of yellow stretch away from the riverbank
Where a single vessel bobs on the surface
Fisherman quietly casting his line
Focussed intently on the task at hand
Oblivious to the beauty that surrounds him
Another relaxing day on the river

Whitewashed cottage on the river’s edge
Where the thatcher toils in the midday sun
Sheaves sit in piles by laden apple tress
Plump fruit waiting to be plucked
Small path leads to a splintered wooden jetty
Its pillars salted by the wash of the water
Spaniels frolic outside the lattice gate
Casting ghostly canine shadows on the ground

Her bonnet sits precariously, precociously,
A floral crown upon golden locks
Sunlight reflects in her sapphire eyes
Enhancing summers sheen on a crimson smile
Lush foliage creeps around her ankles
Unchained feet escaping from folds in her dress
Hands resting on bended knee
Gazing, as I, enjoying the view

As I watch from afar
Lost in this moment
I wonder
Was this the artist’s intent?

© Fergus Martin
Feb 2017

New Beginnings

Seems I’m having a little sprint with the pen to make up for the months of inactivity.

New Beginnings

Looking behind
or looking forward.
Standing still
or moving onward.
A question of losing
or a statement of living.
Becalmed in the past
or sail into the future.

What has been lost
can never be changed.
That yet undiscovered
can determine the future.
Lamenting lost love
obscures opportunities.
Open your heart.
Live once more.

Fergus Martin
© Feb 2017

Dreaming Of Midnight

Seems I’ve had a lot on my mind recently.

Dreaming Of Midnight

Time slips away,
crawling towards the dawn.
Seconds turn to minutes,
minutes to hours,
in a heartbeat are gone.
Momentary fragments of reality
bleed through the lens obscured,
twisted perceptions erupt

Rainbows converge become sun’s corona
Dissolving into black hole nothingness,
save for faerie dust dancing
on the endless canvas of night.
Van Gogh stars twinkle in perpetuity,
an endless spiral of illumination
lighting up an empty boulevard,
save for the wandering canine.
Stalking forests and fields for fodder,
lost sheep succumb to snarling jaws.
Predators devouring bleeding hearts,
innocent victims neatly corralled.
Prancing ponies shake their manes
revealing the unicorn’s spiral horn
while rhinos charge at dinosaurs
taking to the air with a dragon’s fire.
Flames spread like chimeran viruses
scorching the earth and boiling the seas.
Steam rises becoming cumulus nimbi,
pyro cumulus forms with a single breath.

One day I will wake and it will all be real.
Clock hands edge inexorably forward
But for now the bell does not chime.

© Fergus Martin
Feb 2017

Couch Bound Patriot

Hard to believe it was Nov 2016 that I last wrote anything. This was actually begun some time ago, but just didn’t seem to be working until tonight.

Couch Bound Patriot

Where were you when the oil fires raged,
when rains of black gold fell from the sky?
Quietly draining another beer from a tin,
comfortably perched in your lazy boy chair.

Where were you when the bodies came home,
draped in the symbol of the freedom you crave?
Screaming abuse at your colour tv,
forty two inches of plasmatic liberty.

Where were you when the forests died,
when the last tree was axed for a bankers note?
Switching the channel to reality shows,
the fodder they feed to supplant the truth.

Where were you when the oceans ran dry,
when the last whale was plundered for meat?
Happily skimming through sports magazines,
ignoring realities that don’t reach your door.

Where were you when the fear mongers ranted,
spouting obscenities at worlds they don’t know?
Screaming injustice at the world gone wrong,
safe in the comfort of your living room chair.

Where were you when the cities were sacked,
when the children burned in the name of a god?
Screaming abuse at your heroes at play,
preferring the torment and thrill of the game.

Where were you when the truth was revealed,
when the lies you digested vanished at last.
Quietly dreaming in your ivory tower,
brainwashed and silent in a spiralling world.

Fergus Martin
Feb 2017

The Eleventh Hour

Written a year ago today. Dedicated to a close friend and colleague who was killed in Iraq.

Wandering Words

With each passing year, the pain does not fade.

The Eleventh Hour

The pain is always there,
Idling away in a gently beating heart
Resting while the world carries on

But for one brief second
A moment in the passage of time
Pain’s voice rises to the surface
Crying out to be heard

And as the bell tolls
The dam bursts
Pain floods in waves
Unstoppable torrents
Finally released

Street sweepers clear the debris of today
Daily routine returns
Pain laid to rest once more
Forgotten for another year

As the voices subside within
Memories remain in the heart
The pain is always there.

© Fergus Martin
Nov 2015

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