Submissions by martinos74
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
19th Sep 2014 12:29pm
19th Sep 2014 12:29pm
The Old Bell
A man walks in with a see-through carrier bag and a pint of Australian lager, sold in bulk to keep the masses happy with its refreshingly low price,
He's got a pint of milk, 4 oranges and a two litre bottle of cheap cider to hide away his misery when he returns to the solitude of his poorly furnished flat.
He turns the pages of today's news, trying to find interest in things he doesn't understand, he doesn't want to understand.
His life is slowly fading away with every page he turns, this makes him happy, he's tired, he's not afraid, he wants to see what's on the back page....
He's got a pint of milk, 4 oranges and a two litre bottle of cheap cider to hide away his misery when he returns to the solitude of his poorly furnished flat.
He turns the pages of today's news, trying to find interest in things he doesn't understand, he doesn't want to understand.
His life is slowly fading away with every page he turns, this makes him happy, he's tired, he's not afraid, he wants to see what's on the back page....
654 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
19th Sep 2014 12:11pm
19th Sep 2014 12:11pm
Guilt
Today I saw a man with a hole in his mouth,
What had he done to deserve such a fate?
I felt instant pity, and guilt that I had escaped such a fate.
I walked on by, went back to work and forgot about it.
Until now.
The pit of my stomach hurts again. -
What had he done to deserve such a fate?
I felt instant pity, and guilt that I had escaped such a fate.
I walked on by, went back to work and forgot about it.
Until now.
The pit of my stomach hurts again. -
532 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
2nd Nov 2013 3:57pm
2nd Nov 2013 3:57pm
Praise to the People
Praise to the people!
Praise to the Doctor saving lives as barrels of terror are thrown down from above,
Indiscriminately, relentlessly, without remorse,
He's a Doctor, an engineer, a politician, a pastor, a leader,
It's 3am before he gets his first sip of coffee.
Praise to the man fighting poverty with paper, as he removes another child from the jaws of a predator,
Tonight they will sleep,
Tonight they will sleep on a mattress,
Tonight they will be taught how to sleep beneath the sheets.
Praise to the sportsman, who can't flee his country...
Praise to the Doctor saving lives as barrels of terror are thrown down from above,
Indiscriminately, relentlessly, without remorse,
He's a Doctor, an engineer, a politician, a pastor, a leader,
It's 3am before he gets his first sip of coffee.
Praise to the man fighting poverty with paper, as he removes another child from the jaws of a predator,
Tonight they will sleep,
Tonight they will sleep on a mattress,
Tonight they will be taught how to sleep beneath the sheets.
Praise to the sportsman, who can't flee his country...
593 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
19th Oct 2013 5:11pm
19th Oct 2013 5:11pm
Havana Street Blues
Woke up this morning,
Went for a walk,
Didn't know if I'd get home safe,
Didn't know if I could talk,
But I kept on walking,
Walking down that street.
It's the kind of street you follow,
Don't know where it's gonna lead,
The kind that takes you places,
You don't often see,
So I kept on walking,
Walking down that street.
A black cloud on the horizon,
But the sun on my back,
The cries of men, dogs and children,
Trying to get me to react,
But I kept on walking,
Walking down that street.
Old lady hangs the...
Went for a walk,
Didn't know if I'd get home safe,
Didn't know if I could talk,
But I kept on walking,
Walking down that street.
It's the kind of street you follow,
Don't know where it's gonna lead,
The kind that takes you places,
You don't often see,
So I kept on walking,
Walking down that street.
A black cloud on the horizon,
But the sun on my back,
The cries of men, dogs and children,
Trying to get me to react,
But I kept on walking,
Walking down that street.
Old lady hangs the...
550 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
24th Aug 2013 2:37pm
24th Aug 2013 2:37pm
A Bullet Runs Faster
Have you read the news today?
A man buries his Brother under an Egyptian sun,
Dressed in blue cloth, he is laid to the floor,
Shot by a sniper in the back of his head,
As he went about his daily business,
In the midst of the chaos.
Have you read the news today? It hurts.
A Brotherhood, an army,
A day of anger rises from a shallow grave,
A blue scarf covers the feet of a lifeless man,
Dusty wooden boxes litter the street,
Surrounded like ants, and raised aloft by
strangers, neighbours, lovers, brothers, poets, priests and politicians....
A man buries his Brother under an Egyptian sun,
Dressed in blue cloth, he is laid to the floor,
Shot by a sniper in the back of his head,
As he went about his daily business,
In the midst of the chaos.
Have you read the news today? It hurts.
A Brotherhood, an army,
A day of anger rises from a shallow grave,
A blue scarf covers the feet of a lifeless man,
Dusty wooden boxes litter the street,
Surrounded like ants, and raised aloft by
strangers, neighbours, lovers, brothers, poets, priests and politicians....
565 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
5th Aug 2013 10:48pm
5th Aug 2013 10:48pm
Tube Stories #2 - Death on the Tube
I was sitting on the train half asleep,
When I notice a ghostly figure standing next to me, peering at me,
I thought it was death and his sickle who had finally caught up with me,
It wasn't though,
It was just an old man reading the tube map above my head.
------
London, England : July 2013
https://soundcloud.com/martinos74
When I notice a ghostly figure standing next to me, peering at me,
I thought it was death and his sickle who had finally caught up with me,
It wasn't though,
It was just an old man reading the tube map above my head.
------
London, England : July 2013
https://soundcloud.com/martinos74
488 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
14th Jul 2013 10:39am
14th Jul 2013 10:39am
Anyone for Cricket?
It was a day in early July,
The sun was shining,
We were winning at sport and the nation was busy finishing strawberries and cream to the taste of a Scottish tennis success,
We wanted to claim it is our own but knew we couldn't, but we tried our best.
I was in the park trying to fry and extreme hangover out of my body,
Going cold turkey in the hot sun like some kind of junkie.
My Guatemalan blanket does wonders for attracting attention,
Not what I wanted in this state of affairs.
A man brushes by dressed in grubby tracksuit, with top and bottom not...
The sun was shining,
We were winning at sport and the nation was busy finishing strawberries and cream to the taste of a Scottish tennis success,
We wanted to claim it is our own but knew we couldn't, but we tried our best.
I was in the park trying to fry and extreme hangover out of my body,
Going cold turkey in the hot sun like some kind of junkie.
My Guatemalan blanket does wonders for attracting attention,
Not what I wanted in this state of affairs.
A man brushes by dressed in grubby tracksuit, with top and bottom not...
575 reads
0 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
13th Jul 2013 8:32pm
13th Jul 2013 8:32pm
Kilburn Phone Booth
Friday, 6 pm,
I'd just finished work so hastily found my way to my favourite drinking den.
It was a sunny day and they'd run out of beer so were selling cheap wine and cocktails out of warm plastic cups at discount prices to sooth the baying crowd.
My best friend was leaving today so it was my duty to join him in a mission into oblivion.
I did't want to be there waiting, like a punk, at the bottom of block of filthy flats looking for a hit,
I didn't want to be there in the room waiting for my friend to make it with the Brazilian from the street.
I didn't...
I'd just finished work so hastily found my way to my favourite drinking den.
It was a sunny day and they'd run out of beer so were selling cheap wine and cocktails out of warm plastic cups at discount prices to sooth the baying crowd.
My best friend was leaving today so it was my duty to join him in a mission into oblivion.
I did't want to be there waiting, like a punk, at the bottom of block of filthy flats looking for a hit,
I didn't want to be there in the room waiting for my friend to make it with the Brazilian from the street.
I didn't...
659 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
23rd Jun 2013 5:45pm
23rd Jun 2013 5:45pm
Tube Stories #1 - Silent Train
I'd just come back from a gig in a chapel down the road,
I wasn't looking for redemption,
Just wanted a song to sing.
There had been a draft, slowly chilling my right hand side,
Maybe the departed tugging at my sleeve,
Telling me to be grateful, not picking holes in something I'd looked forward to.
So the gig finishes and I'm on the Bakerloo home,
A little bit twisted and a little bit stoned,
Just over the carriage from me, I hear a couple of voices,
One particularly louder than the other, which I ignore for a while,
My intrigue tells me...
I wasn't looking for redemption,
Just wanted a song to sing.
There had been a draft, slowly chilling my right hand side,
Maybe the departed tugging at my sleeve,
Telling me to be grateful, not picking holes in something I'd looked forward to.
So the gig finishes and I'm on the Bakerloo home,
A little bit twisted and a little bit stoned,
Just over the carriage from me, I hear a couple of voices,
One particularly louder than the other, which I ignore for a while,
My intrigue tells me...
536 reads
0 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
23rd Jun 2013 5:42pm
23rd Jun 2013 5:42pm
Send me Some Magic!
Take a walk in the mist,
Through the cloud and the lost thoughts,
Send me some magic,
on a street corner.
The fire burns,
slowly with 2 coals smoking,
A carved horse,
A fresh loaf of bread, crushed roughly in the middle with no sense of regret.
It's Friday evening in town,
The haze throws shadows out one by one,
There's a smell of cheap alcohol and desperation in the air,
Mud and boots fill the doorways,
With shouts and cries and blue overalls.
Send me some magic they cry.
The fire still burns,
We speak to Peter,...
Through the cloud and the lost thoughts,
Send me some magic,
on a street corner.
The fire burns,
slowly with 2 coals smoking,
A carved horse,
A fresh loaf of bread, crushed roughly in the middle with no sense of regret.
It's Friday evening in town,
The haze throws shadows out one by one,
There's a smell of cheap alcohol and desperation in the air,
Mud and boots fill the doorways,
With shouts and cries and blue overalls.
Send me some magic they cry.
The fire still burns,
We speak to Peter,...
563 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Jun 2013 8:53pm
21st Jun 2013 8:53pm
One hour till Sunrise
Recording: https://soundcloud.com/martinos74/one-hour-till-sunrise
------------
One hour till sunrise,
And I'm walking around the dirty streets,
Looking for another place to fill my cup,
I've been drinking, again,
I've been drinking, but it's not enough,
I've been drinking again and there's no sight of the weekend,
There's one hour till sunrise.
There's a smell on the street,
The stench of stale meat, being carved roughly from the side of a van.
For five pounds a pop.
There is little choice.
I surrender to my...
------------
One hour till sunrise,
And I'm walking around the dirty streets,
Looking for another place to fill my cup,
I've been drinking, again,
I've been drinking, but it's not enough,
I've been drinking again and there's no sight of the weekend,
There's one hour till sunrise.
There's a smell on the street,
The stench of stale meat, being carved roughly from the side of a van.
For five pounds a pop.
There is little choice.
I surrender to my...
573 reads
2 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
18th Jun 2013 10:40pm
18th Jun 2013 10:40pm
Hillbrow Nightriders
Dark streets, shadows, broken lights,
Broken characters hiding in the downlight,
A smell of cheap liquor and an air of menace,
Bodies rolling along the street looking for their next victim,
That's what it feels like in Hillbrow.
Lost, but don't want to show it,
Riding around with a bright light on my white face,
Revealing my fears and insecurities.
Another corner, another fight,
Another drunken argument, in this murky downlight,
Is it poverty, opportunities, or another bottle of gin?
There's something deep here...
Broken characters hiding in the downlight,
A smell of cheap liquor and an air of menace,
Bodies rolling along the street looking for their next victim,
That's what it feels like in Hillbrow.
Lost, but don't want to show it,
Riding around with a bright light on my white face,
Revealing my fears and insecurities.
Another corner, another fight,
Another drunken argument, in this murky downlight,
Is it poverty, opportunities, or another bottle of gin?
There's something deep here...
755 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by martinos74
