"larked" poems
Peter built a paper boat
Which he could float about the sea
To hidden spots of lonely coast
Where not a ghost or man would be
He painted words along her bough
That soon would plough and skip and trot
Between the waves that rose and falled
The boat was called 'Forget Me Not'
He bid his wife a fond goodbye
The tide was high when he embarked
He drifted from his tiny cove
While weather drove and seagulls larked
He set his course horizon bound
For solid ground of ****** shore
As darkness came he made a bed
To keep his head above the floor
The voyage took him straight and true
Across the blue, toward the sun
But soon a tongue of lightening spat
And thunder rattled like a gun
The waves encircled hungrily
And angrily about their prey
The tempest heaved with no regret
It blew Forget Me Not away
He found himself all caked in sand
And on a strand of desert beach
Forget Me Not had run aground
But safe and sound from tidal reach
He folded down his paper yacht
And found a spot to build a home
But saved the sail and rudder strings
To forge some wings and daily roam
He glided high and long and wide
Past mountainside and shore to shore
And through the night he forged a blade
And with it made a lumber saw
He felled the trunk and snared the beast
And cooked a feast to celebrate
The rain it sought to disagree
But quick was he to remonstrate
The moonlight waxed and waned apart
And on his heart a longing formed
For home and his beloved bride
For fireside and there be warmed
And so he took the house he'd made
From humid shade of seldom oak
He set the island to his aft
And cried and laughed the words he spoke
They matched the words he'd lately hewn
Beneath the moon in shady spot
He carved into that seldom tree
'Remember me, forget me not'
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
More milk hearted; a timid stunt
of drifts and thieves distorted,
the silks of a grave surpassed -
a lay unchartered, where fray
and wound next glory became
a khaki hill without a name.
The tame of each dread root
thwarted – the tip of each snapped finger
larked and dipped its fever
into parts of men long since lost -
a thousand yards of misspent youth
martyred in the frost.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 5:55 AM UTC
I think I thought I could save you
From yourself, from your troubles, from life.
And that maybe that would make you mine,
Help you to throw away the knife.
Forever.
I think I thought I would help you
Along self belief street.
But the daring darkness from your unconfidence
Is part of you, the one I loved to meet.
At first.
I think I realised I loved you
When I didn't care about your flaws.
I met all of you and cared for you,
As we ran through double doors.
Together.
I think I realised I clicked with you,
When you loved the same things as I.
You showed me new, and I looked at you,
And my whole heart leapt high.
In the air.
I think I knew I could trust you
When I came out to you and you didn't spread it.
We larked about for days on end,
In my arms, so well you fit.
So close.
I think I knew your importance
When you whirled around in my head.
You were all I could think of throughout the day,
And all night as I lay in bed.
Daydreaming.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
The ground appeared level, but no
minor bumps eroded the sanctity of evenness
at odd pockets where the soil sustained repeated injury
there lurked creatures of all sorts.
Few were long nosed, impervious blood suckers,
others like two horned underground creepers that snitched
and larked on fellow mates found solace in company.
Further down racists blended with the beautiful
and both white and dark temperaments moulded
together, as if, sustained by a creed and greed.
Further afield there were hangers-on who ruefully
were iron-fisted and aplenty, lurking amongst the poor
and wretched, ******* solar power from the weak,
fiddling with the filth and holding back on sustenance.
These were the parasites of the field.
Turning to the left of centre, the holy melted in the crowd
of doomsayers, prophets and penitents, preaching
a word distorted to draw attention to themselves
under the guise of royal purple robes and stolen sceptres
pompous idiots who claimed to own the field, but
wore egoistic hot air and lead balloons of pride
and prejudice.
On just the one small section of the field you could play
delightful soccer, kick the ball or backsides and feel proud
you played a fair game, in spite of the pale bellied creatures
that roamed the tunnels and turrets of the level playing field
ready to draw you in for dissection. Of course, they smiled
benignly, when you passed by them, watching you slyly,
but all the time with hands at the back of them
clutching razor sharp daggers to shed your dignity
and lay waste to your humanity.
All of us are listed on this game. Some play, some referee, some refuse,
mostly spectators, watching and cheering, unaware
of how the level playing is set out in layers of deception.
Have you purchased your tickets for the next game?
Author Notes
A huge metaphor for injustice and greed. Play the game as you are expected to unless you want to be part of the underground network of deceivers. Pick a part in this game, which involves everybody. The colour of your skin dictates the price of the ticket to the game. Please take part. If you are a spectator
in this stadium with bright lights and pom-pom dancing girls, you will know what I'm talking about.
The game begins everyday at sunrise!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
Death
It happens
No avoiding it
Who's gonna miss you?
Well lets stay and find out
Fake it and hide at the funeral
And see who really cared for you fool
Who sheds a tear or who's just for a beer
Your jokes were risky but with good humour
Some walked away but no one would really tell ya
You larked around and sometimes pushed the limits
Well that's just life and that's just the way it sometimes is
Never to grow up and still acting like one of the daft kids
Living life without a care oh yes ignorance really is bliss
even my neighbour turned up over my Uncle and Aunt
Surprising as he hated my music well my Robert Plant
Well even the Gooner turned up as football is respect
He wouldn't even bite even if it was on a daft text
So this is the showing that I have amount too
Me stuck in a bush watching this rabble cry
I'm actually flattered that they even tried
Should I reveal myself to spoil the gig
Just to show me to be a selfish pig
I'm honoured I really truly am
Shame about the sandwiches
Pickled onions with Spam
Think I'll stay alive
As the foods bad
No party now
So overrated
Is death
R.I.P.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
Do you ever walking somewhere in the dark
With no fear no doubt
You just walking through it
With no sense of hope ;
because you thought all lights abandoned you.
I sing
'To be abandoned is the worse when you'll remorse none of the feelings
To be abandoned is the numb when you've dumped your feelings Like the sorrow you followed
Feel the dark you larked
Abandon, it is like.
'Do you ever crying yourself in rain
With your heart your soul
You just crying with your shoulder
are shaking
With the lack probability to be heard ; because you thought you are unseen.
I sing
'To be unseen
By chance or by fate
To be along with hate
To be honest it is a gate
To your own heart to be fade
Your cries now too late when I am too pale
To deal with the tale 'we love you' sale.'
Please, just sing with me.
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
First day on the job, an apprentice with no clue
Put with some old boy, Norman Collins his name
been plumbing everywhere, from Watford to Timbuktu
Picked me up in his Vauxhall Belmont, a fading sun caught red
telling me tales of his dinner, roadkill on the hob
His wife cooked him these meals, I think he must be mad
Driving out in the sticks, a job for a pal, over near the village of Sarrett
A blob in the road, dead pigeon or badger, well he's not eating that
would have been different if it were something else he said, as he actually fancied a bit of rabbit
I didn't realise what a good bloke he was until a few days with this old codger
My main boss was a grumpy sod, never paid me till he had some
Looking back now, I miss that man, who told me tales of old times and tomfoolery
I used to be a wrestler young John, back in the days of the local funfair
Took on any Herbert who thought he was keen, and showed them the tent exit
From **** McManus to Jackie Pallo, bring them on son, I didn't really care
He locked me in a toilet one day, inside somebody’s house
Let me out I cried, for a good 4 hours, he ignored my every shout
For he couldn’t care less and that’s what I miss, a soul who just larked about
For they seem dead in this day and age where everything is done by the book
Don’t upset the man over there, do you know who he is, he’s the King and you’re just a Rook
As they don’t seem to exist anymore, these men who walk on Gods seven sins
Have a laugh, have joke, as life’s too short
I miss old Norman Collins
JJB
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
Where's the Heart at
And tell me where we've been,
******** in equal parts
Yet we never seem to win.
Tell me where the Heart at
Where'd you park that,
Yeah we ******* larked that
Fat and juicy on a bench we sparked that.
Skunk was on literal
We were nasty hoes
Caught in His chaos
-Fuckin'-
Written in his prose.
Never thought death could rise,
but I'm luckin' now an' i rose.
Living my life now
Found my own soul
And my life now,
Won't look back
Can't look down!
Won't think of how
Only living loving now,
Body Spirit Soul and all the things
That make me whole.
Where I want to be
Just the sight in front
Of me.
How you want to say
What you want yourself to see.
Don't haunt yourself just
Look up and see,
Otherwise you're never you
Or ever free.
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 4:57 AM UTC