Poetry by Mike Marshall

Mike lives and works in Blackheath, South London.  He originally trained as a biologist and it was while taking a four month sabbatical in New Hampshire in the US in 2000 that he attempted a long lived ambition of  writing some poetry. In addition to other things Mike is also a keen musician and Sports player and fan.

If you enjoy the poetry, why not send a note to the author by email to hello@scribblingrivalry.com, who will forward your comments.

An older lady’s lament

(A narrative poem that speaks for itself, this was inspired by the recall of my late mother’s sadness whenever we left her following our visits, which to her mind, I imagine, were never frequent enough.)

They said they'd "come for two"
And now it's five to three
I hope they'll stop and have a bite
Not just a cup of tea.

I made an early start
(The flat looked such a sight)
I know they wouldn't mind a bit
But it's nice to have it right.

They should be here by now
(They're always running late)
They have important, busy lives
I often have to wait.

Well, here's the car at last
I knew they'd not forget
But why does only she get out?
"No dear, of course, and yet…

…And yet it seems a shame
You can't come in at all…
No, no of course I understand…
...Yes, do give me a call.

Give me a call next week
We'll book another date."
(It's not as if it's new to me
I've always had to wait.)

                               © Mike Marshall 2000

And so we met

And so we met at half past two
Estranged and gauche both me and you
As if we hadn't spent those years
"In love," "as one", (alone, in tears.)

It seemed so strange, a formal meet
A smart café a busy street
So much that could be said, and yet…
We had agreed to part, forget.

And yet you rang me, "just to say"
"You still weren't sure" "if..if the way
We'd said goodbye was quite complete,
Untidy ends…you know, not neat."

Oh yes you like things neat and trim
(Forgive me love that sounds like him!)
But wounds have ragged edges, raw
And so our rending ended sore.

Believe me if I say the pain
Was not confined to one small stain
Or blot of misdemeanour, struck
Upon a faultless copybook.

I'm sorry the betray'l ran deep
Yes mine and yours, until a leap
For sanity and safety's sake
Was something we both had to make.

And though you rang and though I came
It was to "frieze" our final frame
And so we met at nearly three
The closest now we'd ever be.

                   © Mike Marshall 2003

Order your copy now!