Neil Graham Marsden

Neil Graham Marsden Poems

When our empty world spins silently
black rains will wash the sky
and the sun will shine ferociously
upon seas that have boiled dry.

Regretably the moment passed,
For one last kiss, the chance expired.
Invisibly your time amassed,
To go beyond all things desired.

I hope when your ego is scraping the ceiling
and your mirrors grow tired of that smile,
you will choke on the guilt trip denying you feeling
and drown in seductive style.

I went back to our avenue of autumn gold today
to see if you would always be there as you'd said.
Yet found that even there, our most treasured of places,
was quiet, still and empty of one other living soul.

If each star in the heavens went out in the night
Would that show how I suffer here out of your sight.
As the warmth of the morning unlocks the new day
Will you know I walk with you, each step of the way.

Such mixed emotions flood my head
this day that one last curtain fell,
at last the matriarch is dead
now gone to burn where demons dwell.

So altered from that sombre day when first I stood in stunted grief
surrounded by the crying, ever needy throng.
a huddle of blackened, shuffling living corpses
fighting to out-grieve the next, I had become invisible it seemed.

Dear Father

I thought I would much like to crown you
with words that just need to be said

What of this beast of shallow mind
that preys upon the meek and kind,
whose marble heart beats cold and still
whilst searching out the meek of will.

You say I must leave the past behind
abandon those dreams within my mind
forget all those things we'd left unsaid
circling like vultures in my head

It's bluest cold and darkest grey
And you will never pass this way..

Chased by the night on a cold winter morning,
braced into the driving sleet.
spurred by the light of the tired moon yawning
I raced upon aching feet.

Many heartbeats, many paces separate the duellers' eyes,
This circle drawn, retreat forsaken, spit of rain, impatient skies.
Face to face each tests intention, as the other burns sight back,
And there they root in statued silence, oblivious to the deepening black.


The president has stayed away
until Geiger counter says okay

So soon when the rising moon washes
this land with its blanket of white,
I will muster my memories together
to join you before the new light.

Fall out from the shadows come forth to the light
step up to the gallows and crawl that last flight.
Behind are your dreams slowly waving goodbye
That cold heart will soon be blown out to the sky.

Such sadness now that memories
are all I have to view, of days when hands
and rains felt warm upon their touch,
Our steaming hearts in shelter there beneath.


Alight across the crowded bar room
Through the suffocating air.
There she lazed whilst all around her
Revered temptation seated there.

Cradle me now allow my dying heart to weep

Inside your tender loving arms


Lower those eyes in my presence before you,
covert but never disguised,
forget second chance when this dark debt falls due,
I am the demon despised.

Neil Graham Marsden Biography

I began to write Poetry somewhere in the terrifying fog of childhood. An instinctive act of defiance against those who would have preferred to smuggle me and their disgusting secrets, into a convenient early grave. Decades later I continue to write for the very same reasons; as a vehicle for the underdog to speak the truth and as a gesture of respect and admiration for the many silenced children whose voices are never heard. I dream my words may somehow bond our hearts together for their endless journeys home and unite us in the desperate search for unconditional love.)

The Best Poem Of Neil Graham Marsden

A Certain Silence

When our empty world spins silently
black rains will wash the sky
and the sun will shine ferociously
upon seas that have boiled dry.

Those hopes and dreams of yesterday
float lost upon the breeze
and carved out names on summer days
will adorn the fallen trees.

When the Gods outnumber worshippers
whose battles have been done,
It will be too late to ponder then
just exactly what they'd won.

No poets then to scar the page
to tell of loves gone by,
or write those final epitaphs
from inkwells long run dry.

No more will ugly minds disgrace
when the power games have ended,
just Earth back to the Universe
as nature had intended.

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