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

W h y   d o   t h i s  ?  
C h a n g e   m y   p o i n t   o f   v i e w ,
T a k e   m y   w o r l d  
A n d   t u r n,
T w i s t   i t   u p s i d e   d o w n .

S h o u l d n' t   h a v e   t a k e n   i t
S h o u l d   h a v e   l e f t   i t  
i n   t h e   b o x
L o c k e d   u p,  
k e y   t h r o w n   a w a y ,
B u t   n o,  

Y o u ‘v e   t a k e n   m y   w o r l d
A n d   t h r o w n   i t   u p s i d e   d o w n
S h a k e n   a n d   s t i r r e d
A l l   t h a t' s   i n   t h i s   s o u l

S h o u l d n' t   h a v e   t a k e n   i t
S h o u l d   h a v e   l e f t   i t   i n   t h e   b o x
T h r o w n   t h e   k e y   a w a y
B u t   n o   y o u   d i d n' t ,

D i d   Y o u?

    ©  Nick Strong 2014

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

© Nick Strong 2014

Minty green and mean,
Mushy pea clean.
Add to the plate,
Of your best mate.
Mushy peas and chips,
Raised to the lips.
Believe me when I say,
A sensation so intense,
Will leave you, in suspense.
Mushy peas
Minty green, yet supreme.

    ©  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

There, amongst the northern skies,
Tears driven by ghostly squalls to
Fall on the blackened, bleak rooftops
Of this northern town, forgotten.
Left to a grey Victorian rot
Decaying factory ceilings collapsing on,
Litter strewn floors, newspapers decompose
With triumphs from yester year
Industrial dust stained brickwork
Grimy reminder, of the grim past
Haunted dim gaslight probing the fog
Days, nights only separated by murky light
A ghostly silence, hangs like a grimy fog
Cloaking lost sounds of dull beating on metal,
Boots tramping over cobbled stones,
The sounds of clocking on, clocking off, no more

A large penny for the mysterious sweet shop and
A wooden tray of treasures, for my paper twist,
Fingers sticky with sugar, giggling at the silliness
Of a younger sister with a boys haircut

Silver milk bottle tops on a frosty winters morn
Pierced by hungry, pecking ****,  
Finger nails scrapping frost from window panes
Revealing the dim day dawning before simpler eyes

Listening to the breakfast radio show for latest releases
Above a chattering bustling kitchen
Shouting, a little sister curling her hair, that we’d be late
Pelting towards school bus, with Camus stuffed in a torn pocket

Talk to me, talk to me of Old St. Nick
Talk to me of Sinterclaus
Of Mikulas, Pere Noel, or Babbo Natale

Talk to me of candles, christingle and a silent night
Talk to me of crackers, carols and calamities
Talk to me of snow, sleighs, and stars
Talk to me of Christmas cards, wrapping paper
Talk to me of gold, old spice and mice
Talk to me of icing, icicles
igloos, ivy
Holly
Oh sweet Hollie
Tots of Drambuie
Marmalade and toast

Talk to me of Philip Scholfield
Carols From Kings
Mary Poppins
Scrooge
Festive films
Radio Times
And things that are too pretty
Lights, nights
Hark, Dark
barking dogs
tinsel
Tinsel Town
Wolves at the door
Salvation Army playing once more

Talk to me
Talk to me
Cream Crackers, cheese
Frosty mornings, old knees

Talk to me of snow covered alpine forests
Gateaux
Cherries
walnuts and berries
Festive fun,
A seasonal run
Of All Gold telly
With a full belly
Farts, sprouts
Turkey that tastes just like chicken
Oh talk to me of
Terry Wogan
Rosh Jogan
Grogan Josh
Last minute deals
Black Friday
White Friday
And all the Cyber Mondays

Talk to me of
Happy Mondays
Dancing Bez
In a Festive Fez

Talk to me
Talk to me
Of Festive time
Late nights
Early mornings
Beer
Cheer
All in entertainment

Oh talk, TALK to me
Of hangovers,
sleep overs
gloves
mittens
and cute kittens

Oh talk to me of
fake Chanel
Faux Fur and underwear
Celvin Klein

Talk to me , Talk to me of
Jonah Lewie
Bony M
The Pogues
and all those rogues
Fairy tale of New York
Stop the Cavalry
Mary's Boy Child
And the
Spaceman who came riding by

Oh talk, Talk , Talk to me
of places, and spaces We all know
Christmas markets
Tesco, Aldi and John Lewis Adverts showing
Christmas is coming
Christmas is coming
Christmas is coming
Chris
Oh talk to me
Oh talk to me of old St. Nick

Talk to me
Talk to me
Eggnog
Talk to me
Talk to me
Bah humbug
Talk to me
Talk to me
Happy Christmas

One star for each person,
Long gone, but not forgotten.
A gentle reminder that,
Each stars a soul,
Woven and sewn
With silvery threads
Stretching for the moon,
Blinking, flashing, calling,
Cascaded memories
From each star
A Soul

    ©  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

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

Perseus,
Super,
Greek hero,
Trips,
Stubs big toe,
Cries,
**Mummy!

When I peer into those eyes, so full of life
I ask did you have a name, or is it long since lost.
Did your mother hold you and call you pet, or
Were you the forgotten one, left to fend?
Where you presented wooden soldiers, for
One remembered birthday long, long ago.
Do I see a soldier boy, fighting in a field?
That’s long, long forgotten in a distant land
When I look into those eyes, please remember
That I have forgotten you.

A picture of you smiling,
Fading in black and white,
Torn and gone.
I smile back,
Tears.
Oh, where did those,
Years go?
You were so,
Vibrant and bright.
Shining like a beacon,
Against the darkness.
Now all that remains.
Is this picture of you.

(for my mother)

    ©  Nick Strong 2014

There’s poetry of motion
In this world that we call ours,
From the ticking of the time piece
To the beating heart caged within our bones

There’s poetry of motion
In this world that we call ours,
From the orbit of the moon,
Too the pulling of the tides

There’s poetry of motion
In this world we call ours.
From the sun beat….ing out the day
To the turning of the seasons.

There’s poetry of motion
Upon this earth we think we own
From the cycle of birth, life, death,
With sowing of a seed, the harvesting of the grain

There’s this thing we think of as poetry of motion
I do not seek to understand it
Just to roll in time to my own destiny
Along this thing we call poetry of motion

Yet sometimes I do wonder if we understand
This poetry of motion, that we think we own
When we stare beyond this the universe
And see another type of motion
A wholly different point of time
With the creation, life and death
Of a billion other stars.

(Sun)

Sleep, torn eyes wait for the darkness
Searching for signs of dreams coming
Waiting, wondering when they don't
Tired, hungry eyes looking for sheep
To jump gates that never open










Moonbeams peak between slats
Wakening, the woken
Thoughts creep towards the dawn
Side stepping any opportunity
Of resting, in the cool of dark.
Tonight,
I wished I walked amongst the stars
When sleep stays at bay
I'd glide across the wide expanse
Of heavenly jewel studded ocean
Converse with the Great Bear
Query Aquarius about moon pathways
Until then I’ll lie in wait
For first chinks of the day.

This robin,
Sitting On,
That branch.
Singing songs,
For you.
Tis true.

    ©  Nick Strong 2014

Sat at the station,
With nowhere to go

Trains
Arrive to depart
And
Bustling commuters
Phones attached
Rush on by
Sat at the station
Nowhere to go
Fear etched in the lines
Of a
Face lost in time
Eyes seeing,
Their spark gone
Empty costa cup
Gripped by a hand
Nails black, skin blistered
Newspaper, a forgotten date
Lies next to
Cracked leather boots
Soaked then scorched
Too many times

Sat at the station
With nowhere to go

Scrambling upon slimy rocks

Pocketful of glistening pebbles

Wellies damp from taking just one too many steps

Tiny soft mottled green shelled crab

Held delicately between forefinger and thumb

Smell of salt air on your jumper

Knees scuffed red raw from exploring

Daring adventures of a boy

Down upon St. Mary's Isle

Teasing little sisters with monsters from

Recently refilled rock pools,

Sea anemones, all shiny slippery jelly

A dead lobster with only one claw

Amazing treasure from a world, he knew well

Early morning, cold breeze cutting through

A green jumper, mother shouting at the gate

Something about being warm, he didn't really hear

Skipping over seaweed covered rocks,

Net and rod grasped firmly in hand

Off to catch a monster, fish from beyond

The edge of an island, where magical things occur

Like weathered, washed up wood, from

An imagined wreck, or
Bright blue netting, and seaweed cage

A sharks purse contained within

The salty, sweet taste of the sea air,

And the splash of frothing white spray

As the seventh wave hits the rock

A boy or a man in paradise

A simple boy in paradise, skipping over rocks

Discovering seaside treasure, by the rocky shore

Motionless trees sinister
In their silence
Images swirl of twisting pirates
Shapes and shadows stoop
Contorted, turn and beckon
A voice whispers softly
Of things that only darkness knows
Shivering, eyes deceived

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

Rising from the sand at low tide,
The shipwreck’s spars, brown wet, decaying
Reaching like skeletal fingers, grasping
For one last piece of the breaking daylight
Tentacles of seaweed, woven
Wrapped around decaying planks
Anchoring it firmly
To Davy Jones’ Locker
Barnacle encrusted planks
Lie twisted, turned, unnatural
Frozen in a final plea of mercy
Before white tipped monsters
Crashed across the bow,
Splitting,  tearing masts
Sending it to the murky depths

Sun lit green trees highlighted
By a background of black
Clouds tearing apart
Drops crash earth bound
Explode on leaves
Turning dust to mud
Trickles into streams
Rivers into torrents
Pealing the skies
With cracked bells
Gutters overflow
Appearing puddles
Become ponds
Ponds burst banks
Forlorn plants droop

Thank you,
Just, Thank
You,
For all the moments,
spent  together.
Thank You for
letting your path
wander alongside mine
Just thank
You x

    ©  Nick Strong 2014

Timothy looks away
Slightly disgusted
By those around
Flashing images
streak by
Gardens, yards
Car park
His breathing
Frosts the window
Sarah carefully
Places one ear pod
Into her ear
To listen to Handel’s 5th
Cameron looks
Shiftily down the aisle
For signs of
The trolley cart
That’s never on its way
Signs of passing stations
Shuttle by
Side streets
High streets
Cobbled streets
Timothy sighs
Opens a book
Pretends to be
Invisible
To fellow passengers
The train manager
Formally known as The Conductor
Announces
A delay due to points
Failure
Victoria
Wishes she hadn’t
Left Geoffrey
Last Tuesday
By the gas works wall
Lamp posts,
Telegraph poles
Fence posts
Flash by
A trainee
Train hygiene
Operative
Rustles a bin bag
And asks for *******
Thomas smiles
At the lady across the aisle
Who quickly looks
To the floor
Hedgerows
Sheep
Green grass
A tractor lazily ploughing a furrow
Sandra,
A mother looks embarrassed
Shushes, tries to smother the cries
Of her screaming child
Trampolines
Swings
Slides
Paddling pools
Rush on by
An old lady *****
Vigorously on a mint humbug
Whilst knitting in rhythm
With the motion
Of the train
Factories
Smoking chimneys
Industrial waste
Barren landscapes
Fly by
Terry
Anxious,
Gets up and shakily
Makes his way to check
That his case is
Still in the luggage storage
For the fourth time
Since The last station
Garages with rickety wooden doors
allotment sheds
Lock ups
Pigeon lofts
Pass by
The tannoy crackles
The announcement
That the train will soon
Reach the next station
And  
That
All passengers
Alighting Here
Be careful to take all belongings
And mind the gap
Over grown weeds
Wild rampant Budleahs
Self seeded trees
Glide past
The 3:58 from

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 crab looks forward,
But scuttles sideways.
Should I?

    ©  Nick Strong 2014

Outside, cold icy fingered wind, bites
Whistles down stone chimneys, inside
Amber flames flickering in the hearth,
Shadows dance across the wall,
Candle sputtering in the draught
Casting an eerie glow cross the page
The book being read, strange tales
Outside the wind surges, lashing
Rain against the leaden panes
Warm and cosseted against the storm
The page is turned, the story continued
A single scratch at the window,
And a rattling of the latch
Heavy door squeaks open,
On old heavy hinges
The book drops …
Fingers slowly slide round
Gripping the doors edge
Skin grey, taught against bones
The Reader’s eyes riveted
On this unfolding chapter

Howling wolves,
Calling unearthly creatures
Night bound to deathly horrors
Cold icy fingered wind, bites
Whistles down stone chimneys,
Inside amber flames flickering in the hearth,
Shadows dance across the wall,
Candle sputtering in the draught
Casting an eerie glow cross the page
The book being read, strange tales
Outside the wind surges, lashing
Rain against the leaden panes
A splinter of lightening flashes eerily
Warm and cosseted against the storm
The page is turned, the story continued
A single scratch at the window,
And a rattling of the latch
Heavy door squeaks open,
On old heavy hinges
Fingers slowly slide round
Gripping the doors edge
Skin grey, taught against bones
Hooded face slowly revealing
It’s secret from beyond
The Reader’s eyes riveted
On this unfolding chapter
Spine chilling flicker of recognition
Of his own face beneath the cowl
The book drops …

Cold stone statues of all shapes and sizes
Chilled to the moss covered bone
Standing *****, markers of time
Weather worn words, passages of years

A place of disasters, heartbreak and crime
All gathered there, forgotten by time
As the trees bend to the seasons
And the passing of years

A lone figure dressed in black
Stands above an unnamed gravestone
Reflecting on past memories
Of someone he had known.

Brown wet clinging clay lies
Heaped by the side of a black hollow
Waiting for another invited guest
As the bell tolls, mournfully

Pots, coiled ropes, orange, blue
Laid, at the harbor side, waiting
Waiting, for the tide,
An old fishing net, laid on the concrete,
A weathered sunburnt fisherman,
Sitting quietly repairing holes within holes
Birds perching patiently on the harbor wall,
Waiting
In the distance the sun dips towards the horizon
Casting a light over a returning trawler
The birds lift lethargically from
Harbour perch, beat their wings , wheel
Towards an incoming meal ticket

His silhouette, as he stood by the stone,
Resembled a thoughtful Alfred Hitchcock
With fine cane in hand, slightly stooped
Fingers from his free hand, touching lightly
The carefully carved grey marbled stone
Lost in thought and dying sunshine
A single tear falls, as he smiles
Then cane in hand, turns, walks away
Carrying the name on the stone with him.

At the bottom of the world,
There's an anchor tethering,
Us in place.
Ensuring that the moon,
Is always the right way up,
In that star studded sky,
For you to watch,
And me to smile at,
Knowing that you watch,
Is ALL.

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

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