If you are interested in the least, I may or may not appear in this video by Return To The Sun, a young Scottish band that really should have had more recognition that they did. Thank you the “Got Talent” musical industry Return To The Sun
This week’s edition of the WOF Mod Picks
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
http://bit.ly/2lI2ZgX Once Again the Sun
http://bit.ly/2lHY142 Dreaming Of Midnight
http://bit.ly/2lmcgdN Fading dreams
http://bit.ly/2lWBFhD Spring in Berlin
Seems my writing has become like waiting for a bus, nothing for ages then 4 come at once.
“GIRL BY THE RIVER”
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
Was this the artist’s intent?
© Fergus Martin
Seems I’m having a little sprint with the pen to make up for the months of inactivity.
or looking forward.
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
Open your heart.
Live once more.
© Feb 2017
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
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.
Written a year ago today. Dedicated to a close friend and colleague who was killed in Iraq.
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
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