Stuart McPherson

The Headrow

Turner’s pastels; blue cygnet grey
Coat the weathered buildings like clapped chalk
And the lions and gargoyles stir silently
Old generals carved too high in sandy stone
For leaden eyes to notice
Whilst below the streets wet and littered
Shine as leather scented with smoke so sweet
From desperate clasping cigarettes
Curling like sapphire towards the birds
Lone scavengers scattered
By the slap of feet on the city floor
A daily drum roll thudding
Like snares on the battlefield
The struggle; the survival
My dirty dressing’s garnet splashed
My empathy as a soldier; wounded
This scene of war in winter
As bloody as any other

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

My Ballade

An ugly storm gathered o’er precious young years
The cumulus it towered as swollen swirl dark
Its fuel sucked from damage and lingering fears
From selfish sole acts, the choices so stark
The storm whipped and spat with plentiful sparks
And guardians, gods, oh they did their bit
With no instinct maternal no love nor remark
They exposed their children like lambs to it

And in vilest storm the children their tears
Filled eyes that gazed at skies without larks
Whilst parents in view they tore and sheared
Their throats so raw and tearing like sharks
‘Till defeat became wearing like skin grazing bark
And the father he left, absolved from remit
Responsible ne’er more for their life cycles arc
Unknown to his flight the touch paper lit

Then replaced too quick a new husband appears
Mother doting on stranger like angels on harps
Yet acting was staged, his tastes something queer
His tastes for two children unclothed quickly sharp
To make awful pacts without e’er a mark
With such deepening roots the man so unfit
Yet the evil unfolding the mother a part
Clearly the horror she’d seen all the bits

And damaged young years saw ne’er healed heart
Their road cracked unfixed and riddled with pits
In drifting long years they were never apart
The storm, their lives were bound to it

Stuart McPherson is a Poet/Writer from the United Kingdom. His work draws heavily from personal experience resulting in raw words that are both cathartic and honest.
Currently in the early stages of the career, Stuart is proactively seeking opportunity for publication, regularly contributing to online writing communities, as well as his own website -poemsofhateandhope.com. When not writing, Stuart is involved in the Hardcore Punk rock scene, a place that for 20 years has nurtured his desire to create with passion and intensity.

Visit Stuart at Poems of Hate & Hope

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