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Brian's Poetry

all written by 

Brian Morton

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Please note!  All work submitted on these pages is copyrighted.  By submitting work to be displayed on this site   individual authors retain their copyright.

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Holding

By The Sea

Sometimes

Sleep Well

In a Quiet Backwater

If

Sweet feelings

Tom Hunter

There's Trees There Now

The Shelter on Redcar Stray

Dreams

 

 

Holding

When I hold you,
I feel your warmth,
I measure the timing
of your heart beat,
telling me that now,
the world is a wonderful place to be.
I kiss you
feeling the tingle as you move
and I know
we are standing in the doorway
to a garden of delights.

 

By The Sea

We made love by the sea,
we didn't hear gulls calling,
waves crashing
or pebbles shifting,

we heard contented sighs
laughter
and the soft words
only lovers use.


Sometimes


Sometimes, the world seems to rattle
and feels difficult to hold on to.
The future seems hazy,
the past a blur
and the present set in treacle.
Time passes so slowly
clocks crawl
minutes meander
and are lost in the mist.
Then I see a light on the horizon
and the world becomes smooth again
when you come.


Sleep well

You shouldn't have sleepless nights alone
my nights are full of you in dreams
my days pleasantly interluded
by your presence.
I feel content,comforted
by your love,
warmed by my love for you
and excited with anticipation.
You shouldn't have sleepless nights,
alone.
I should be there to hold you.

In a Quiet Backwater

In a quiet backwater of life's flow,
an eddy held in time,
the lure of your love has come my way.
A tempting morsel, floating free
and I, greedy for all, rise,
like a hungry trout
to grab, not seeing barbs and line.
You have me hooked,
pull me in gently,
net me in your arms
and devour me with passion.

If

And, if I didn't love you as much as I do
the words wouldn't flow from my eager pen,
the birds wouldn't sing so sweetly for us
the stars wouldn't shine quite so brightly
like jewels for your hair
and the world wouldn't seem such a wonderful place.

Sweet feelings

And oh! The sweet feeling,
your hand on my thigh
and the warmth and the damp
and your contented sigh.
And the feeling that loving,
has made you feel good
and as happy and glad,
as I hoped that it would.
The feeling content
as we lie half awake
and knowing, tomorrow,
more pleasure we'll take.
Or maybe quite soon,
in a moment or two,
you'll want more of me
and I'll need more of you.

Tom Hunter

You're a hero Tom Hunter,  so all the boys say
You're a hero I know, in your own quiet way.

You've seen plenty of action, you've been through the mill,
you were there in the battle on Tumbledown Hill.
You were there when young Frankie stood up and got shot,
spun round by the bullet that opened his gut.
You were the one put the field dressing on
and held him and watched as he died in the sun.
You were there once before, in the fight at Goose Green
when you saw good men die and you heard young boys scream.
Now what do you say when they ask about wars
"Did you kill one or two? Do you have any scars?"
Do you mention the wounds in your head every night
and of waking with knuckles tight clenched screaming white.

You're a hero Tom Hunter, so all the boys say,
you're a hero I know, in your own quiet way.
You can tell them the truth, you can tell them it all,
or do as you do and say nothing at all.

You were there in The Gulf when the call came once more
fighting other men's children in other men's wars.
You were there in the sand with the sun on your back
when the sky filled with hate and the daylight went black.
You were there when the beaches were covered in oil
when the quiet gulf waters seemed almost to boil,
when the lights of the world seemed dismal and dull
when we all saw that truck and the black staring skull.

You're a hero Tom Hunter, so all the boys say,
you're a hero I know, in your own quiet way.
You can tell them the truth, you can tell them it all,
or do as you do and say nothing at all.


Now that you're home and the fighting's all past
its all put behind you and you're safe at last.
But each time you look at your own teenage son
you remember the boys that forever are gone.
The ones that you left, who fought and who died,
the ones who are dying tonight in your mind.

You're a hero Tom Hunter, so all the boys say
You're a hero I know, in your own quiet way.
You can tell them the truth, you can tell them it all,
or do as you do and say nothing at all.

There's Trees There Now

There's trees there now,
steel lattice and wheel, replaced by interlacing branches.
The gallows where men, caged, suspended
were lowered into the earth - gone.
Concrete crumbled to dust,
the ground scars have healed green.
Birds sing, where workers whistled,
sheep roam where a brave engine
butted tubs to load wagons,
its bigger cousins steamed off,
taking black into the grey.

The maw clenched shut,
only a rabbit warren penetrates
to show black undersoil.
The fox is foreman now
no warning for those who stray from vigilance
and ignoring the safety rules
suffer final termination.



The Shelter on Redcar Stray

I came to hide for a moment,
from  wind blown North Sea sand,
to rest my legs and read the words,
written in youthful hands.

BAZZA was here in ninety point bold,
in NINETEEN NINETY THREE,
and shyly, in small italics,
b.k. loves m.s.g.

Now BAZZA and BORO are BELTERS,
that's plain for all to see,
but you have to seek down in the corner,
For b.k. loves m.s.g.

I wonder if m.s.g. minded,
when b.k. chose to come here,
amid the graffiti and rubbish,
the smell of old pee and stale beer.

Did she gaze in his eyes and say "Thank you,
lets DO THINGS like BAZZA and SHIRL,"
or "Keep your hands to yourself b.k.
I'm not that kind of a girl!"

Did she fall for his words of endearment?
Did she melt in his eager arms?
Or did she resist, despite being kissed,
and the touch of his sweaty palms?

Did the earth really move, in an earthquake of love,
as he held her passionately?
Did a Heavenly choir, sing higher and higher,
for b.k. and m.s.g.?

If m.s.g. really loves him,
and wants to be Mrs b.k.
will she see stars flash, in the broken glass,
in the shelter, on Redcar Stray.

If I keep going back to the shelter,
I'll know that it happened that way,
when I see, down there in the corner,
m.s.g. loves b.k.

Dreams

I dreamed of a country lane, a bicycle
and a green hedge.
Faster and faster, through clear country air,
coasting down a country hill.
Out of control, closer and closer
to thick thorn hedge,
branches whipping at me,
no way to turn away, away,awake.

And you were stroking my hair,
twigs turned to fingers,
crash to caress.

I dreamed of a big pig,
grunting pig talk
in a steaming sty, seeming content.
I reached out, stroked the big head,
tickled the big ears, grunting a greeting.

A grab at my sleeve,  I tugged to be free,
a toothy mouth caught my arm and bit.
Pain, panic, I pulled,
fought back, lined up to kick,
to get away, away, awake.

And you had your arms round me,
holding me,
wanting to make love,
panic to passion,
dream to delight.


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Please note!  All work submitted on this site is copyrighted.  By submitting work to be displayed on this site   individual authors retain their copyright.

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