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Nick Strong Nov 2015
Dulled senses, aching
Haunted by last night’s fumes
Dark eyes darker, despite
Shades reflecting daylight
Red eyes in the morning
Drunkards warning to a
Dawn tinged with regret
Been there once too often
Nick Strong Sep 2015
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 …
Final version of the poem. I hope you have seen how it develops and changes over time.    The question is what does the visitor say or do?
Nick Strong Sep 2015
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
Second draft of poem, to show how it develops. At this point I want to build the atmosphere through the weather at the beginning, and am also thinking about an ending, with , or without a twist.
Nick Strong Sep 2015
Amber flames flickering In the hearth,
Shadows dance across the wall,
Candle sputtering on the table,
Casting an eerie glow on the page
The book being read, strange tales
Outside the wind surges, spattering
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
The book drops …
I thought Id show you how a poem develops in my head, and the drafting process I undertake... the picture and atmosphere I'm trying to create is that of someone reading a ghost story and being terrified by the noises outside, will see what happens
Nick Strong Aug 2015
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
Written after viewing a ships carcass beneath the waves
  Jul 2015 Nick Strong
Sarah Spang
Blackberries, fat with summer rays,
Burst sure and true, like ocean waves
Against my tongue they carry too
The scent, the touch, the taste of you.

Each bramble stripped with greedy hands
Felt no qualm from scarlet brands
Those such marks would wash away but
Stains of you will still remain.

The scratches heal, I’ll brush away
Those nettle prongs that stick and stay
I’ll brush the bracken, soothe the sting
But thoughts of you will always cling.

Those onyx beads, their shiny spheres
Imbued with Sunshine, wet with tears;
The taste is fading from my mouth
Their waves of sweetness drawing out.
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Nick Strong Jul 2015
They said
We were to tip toe through the tulips
Waltz, glide across the dance floor of life
I haven’t a chance
My size twelve feet and three inch toes
Clatter, batter and splatter
Through life’s brambled, grotty hedgerows
Toes are a magnet, for that rusty nail,
Or any broken pipe left on my trail
Oh what use are my toes,
Now I’m no longer hanging upside
Down from branches
They’ve been broken, twisted,
Stomped on hard
Nails that have cracked,
And bleed some more,
Before being shed.
Now I’ve looked at other’s toes,
And seen what toes could be,
All brightly coloured
Polished to a sheen,
Tended to like beautiful topiary
Maybe that’s what I should have done,
Instead of kicking a ball
Clomping cross those tulips
Spent sometime buffing, making them look clean.
But then I’d look
And miss my battle worn scarred tootsies
They may be old, crooked,
And not quite glamour ****
But then they have walked a million,
And will do for a million more.
A bit of foot humour
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