White tipped, towering waves,  
Crashing down upon the bow,
Tossing, twisting, turning,
Wood creaks, groans, straining
Against unnatural movements.
Yellow coated men, cling for life;
Whilst the captain, etched by fear,
Fights to keep the stricken vessel afloat,
Beneath  howling angered, skies.

Meanwhile the kraken roars,
From the deep abyss.

© Nick Strong 2014

Breathing fire, from below,
Spitting a molten soul skywards,
Flinging pumice, ash, and fear,
The angry Vulcan casts,  
His ever darkening shadow cross,
As the timely reminder , of
The fragility of this existence.

© Nick Strong 2014

Leather ball pointlessly kicked around,
But oh what tremendous fun!

Today it starts,
A game of two halves.
Shame no one told us.

They will play,
We will watch
With one eye half shut

They will talk,
Another good game.
But fail like 1970,
To claim a prize,
We think of our own.

I was two the only time,
We raised a trophy,
That my father saw,
Being held aloft in ’66.

We claim our three lions roar,
Only they whimper out of tournaments,
With nothing, but a story of penalties,
And another cross bar denying.

So I say what will be different,
This four year cycle?
I know that the pain will be the same,
Angry words chanted, and dreams shattered

But then there is always
A spark of hope…

Or the next time.

©Nick Strong

Crooning, he sang lullabys,
She reached for the ear plugs.

Ice chilled glass of lemonade,
Refreshes from inside, the soul.

Simple heart beats, tap out
The rhythm of one’s time.

No unecessary word,
Is needed,
Except,
Those that really
Count.


© Nick Strong 2014

The mirror told no lies,
To the face it replicated.

© Nick Strong 2014

They carved a monument out of stone
Made it stand so proud,
Down by the coast,
Fishermen drowned.

They erected a monolith,
In the heart of town.
For local fallen lads,
In bitter conflicts.

They laid a stone flat,
At pit entrance where,
Miners had gone one morn.
Never to return.

A brother worked that boat.
An uncle fell in that war.
A father left down the pit.
A family’s history drawn
By sorrow and tragedy.

© Nick Strong 2014

This blank page was given to me,
To do with whatever I please.
All I do is sit and stare.
Ponder and mull is all I do,
What to write?
What to draw?
Where will my imagination go?

This blank page was given to me.
I am driven to fill it, to make it mine.
Fill it with the world around me,
Show it as it’s meant to be.
Maybe I’ll just doodle,
Or scribe a piece of prose.
Then again,
Maybe I should leave it.
Nothing but perfection,
Pristine, like snow.
Fresh frosty clean and ready …

© Nick Strong 2014

Take the packet firmly in the hand,
Peer at instructions, move closer
White on red, red on white,
A blur….. (Oh Parklife!)
Eyes peer harder….. Memory grasps
A distant image of mother making jelly
Move packet further away, twist in the light,
Little clues appear from the smudge
One hundred millimetres or millilitres, cubes, cut, stir
Or was it cubes, cut, stare….
**** these eyes,
Yesterday they worked fine,
When did I wake up so old?

© Nick Strong 2014

I am a worshiper of the moon.
A seeker of the darkness of night.
A creature that side steps light.
A keeper of the shadows .
Watcher of silver moon streaked meadows.
A subservient to the crepuscular goddess.


© Nick Strong 2014

I stand in a room full of people,
And want to shout your name,
But can't.
My throat frozen in a,
Two thousand year scream.

Sightless eyes, surveying,
Trying to catch that knowing
Wink, uncertain smile,
With no way of telling,
Whether it’s been seen.

Memories of times gone by,
Caught between whispers,
And a silent scream,
From a silent tongue,

Frozen in alabaster.

© Nick Strong 2014

People stare into the portraits hanging there,
Portraits just glare back, watching, gathering.
They see, hear all, and utter nothing;
Tears shed, plans made, broken
Secrets kept bound on canvas.
Absorbing laughter, thoughts,
Imprinted within brush strokes.
Oils containing dreams, brought here.
Artist’s folly, a person’s musing,

Thoughts trapped in a flick of stroke.

© Nick Strong 2014

The Card Sharp and the Sharp Shooter.

The Card Sharp
When all the cards fall,
You’re left with an ace up your sleeve,
Nowhere to go, with everything to explain
And now you look towards the future
Down the barrel of some gun
My life one sharp trick
Ends here with a sharp shooter
Thought I’d die in bed someday
Well now I’m going with my boots on,
All for the love of a card or two.

The Sharp Shooter
A quiet shot or two, passing time,
Cards on the table, chips strewn there.
A moment of silence, disbelief,
As a card falls from a sleeve,
Snap of the wrist, pistol drawn,
Chair kicked back, shot fired
A hand drops, cards slip to the floor,
Lifeless eyes, body slumped,
A dead night, for a Card Sharp.

©  Nick Strong 2014

The president ordered! All the men said Yes!
Come defend our walls, ‘gainst the onslaught,
To keep the peace, safeguard our freedom,
Maintain the rights of Men of the West.
The President said Yes! All the men ordered in line!
Defend our walls, ‘gainst undeniable credible threats,
Who questions our integrity, and the honour of the free?
Protect our walls, build them brick by brick higher.
The President ordered! All the men strengthened those walls.
Keep them from coming, taking from our own.
Fight with fierce force, engage without fear,
Stop them at the borders, make them feel unwelcome.
The President ordered! All the men saluted!
Then marched off, for an undeniable confrontation.
A war that would change men’s hearts, crumble their souls.

©  Nick Strong 2014

For, a four legged companion,
A solitary
Gravel smoked voice clips instructions,
Harsh sharp whistles echo cross the valley floor,
Emitted by crag worn features.
Piercing eyes, sun bleached.
Skin hewn by dry stone walls.
Hands created by granite.
Coarse tousled hair guards against howling winds.
The hardworking man at peace with his surrounds.

©  Nick Strong 2014

This is my November Rain,
When tears splatter the paper.
Laid my heart on the floor,
Then walked out the door.

Don’t think it will ever recover,
From the mess within.
This my November Rain,
Sealed by love with pain.

Said without thought or consequence,
Through November Rain.
No time to take stock,
Hearts now on the chopping block.

This is my November Rain.

©  Nick Strong 2014

The cherry blossom falls,
From the trees.
And I drop to my knees,
Winter is done.

©  Nick Strong 2014

Tell me who do I see?
When I look in the mirror.
Cos I don’t know,
Feels like the boy I was,
Is looking at the man,
I swore I’d never be.

©  Nick Strong 2014

Looking behind,
The wet footprints,
Drying as you gaze…
The path recedes before your eyes.
No sign of where you might have been.
Looking ahead, no footprints to follow,
A pathway to create.
Invisibly,
Stretching before you….

©  Nick Strong 2014

I am a worshipper of the moon.
A seeker of the darkness of night.
A creature that side steps light,
A keeper of the shadows.
Watcher of silver moon streaked meadows,
A subservient to the crepuscular goddess.

©  Nick Strong 2014

Why I love you?
Is a thought,
I have in my mind,
From the time sun rises
To the appearance of the moon.
And I don't know why,
But then you ask about
Ponchos.
And I smile, then giggle
And, I know why
It is just meant to be.

©  Nick Strong 2014

I found my past,
Behind an old cardboard box,
Covered with webs,
And centuries of dust.
A rusty key for a door,
That’s long since forgotten.
A fading photograph of a,
Distant relative lost after a war.
A yellowing newspaper,
Revealing a family torn in two.
A crumpled love letter,
Stained by tears and coffee,
It spoke to me of things.
That root me to floor.

©  Nick Strong 2014

I ought to say,
That this day,
I opened my heart.
Cracked it in two,
For you.

©  Nick Strong 2014

Don't........

Don't break the hold,
Or I may fold,
And fall into an
endless vault of
Vaulted faults
Down tunnels of time
So don't
Break the hold,
Or I may fold......

©  Nick Strong 2014

When the smoke and the mirror clears,
The reflection left,
Is not what's expected.
I haven't come here at all,
There's no shadow staring back at me.

©  Nick Strong 2014

Rumbled, crumbled and torn,
Shuffling 'cross life's shelf.
Tottering on the edge.
Mind full of jumble,
Buzzing like a bumble bee....

    ©  Nick Strong 2014

Sticky, plastered paint peels,
From sun dusted walls,
As shadows creep backwards,
Towards the point of the day,
Where,
Heat blasts its volcanic breath,
To bake those
Who dare.

    ©  Nick Strong 2014

Two Words

For all the laughter
For all the images
For all the music
For all the days
For all the nights
There are two words

For the sunshine
For the flowers
For the rainbow
For the smiles
For the frowns
There are two words

For the inspiration
To carry on
For the support
To tackle everything
For you
There are two words

Thank you!

    ©  Nick Strong 2014

One Word

I have been searching all my life,
For one beautiful word;
Just one, through the corners of my mind,
Through the paperback acres,
To hardback libraries and now
That I’ve found it…
I realise it was there all along,
Simple and unassuming,
You.

    ©  Nick Strong 2014

Tis my town
Am not proud of it;
But it is my home
Made it my own

Have found
Many memories,
Of things gone by
In this town
I call my own.

Born of iron and steel
Upon the river goes
This town of mine
I have made own

Stumbled upon things
I never owned
Down in
This town
I call my own

    ©  Nick Strong 2014

The crab looks forward,
But scuttles sideways.
Should I?

    ©  Nick Strong 2014