Poetry Blog by Martin Elder

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Martin Elder on Making tracks (Fri, 5 Apr 2019 06:57 pm)

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LEON STOLGARD on Making tracks (Mon, 1 Apr 2019 09:44 pm)

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Martin Elder on city of birth (Fri, 8 Mar 2019 06:23 pm)

Peter Taylor on city of birth (Thu, 7 Mar 2019 11:23 pm)

Martin Elder on city of birth (Thu, 7 Mar 2019 10:58 pm)

Jason Bayliss on city of birth (Wed, 6 Mar 2019 09:59 am)

Frances Macaulay Forde on city of birth (Wed, 6 Mar 2019 09:13 am)

Martin Elder on city of birth (Tue, 5 Mar 2019 11:02 pm)

Making tracks

The dog track is closed now

The rabbits packed his bags

And gone to find himself

The dogs hang around in street corner packs

Tripping up old grannies

And stealing little kids’ sweets

On Sundays chasing balls on the sand by the coast

The older ones retired and live in a home

Some others died early on

Not able to take the strain


The dog tracks cinders have been kic...

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city of birth

My mother had recently remarked

That despite her desires

I had ended up being a townie

I reflected on this

As I left the town of my birth

With the slightest hint of regret

The train jangling along

The sun shining on all it looked upon

a mighty searchlight

Highlighting every last detail

Across the backs of high terraced houses

That seem to shiver

Steeped on three...

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Winters past

There were winters past

When we walked across

Paths and tracks with mac’s

And coats that floated in harsh torn winters gale

Upon fields of white stalked green

Steady crisp crunching footsteps

Marked our trail

On crushed even grass


Trying to avoid the rutted tractor tyre puddles

Of snarking bracken waters splash

Laughing over bootfulls of over eager tread

Of h...

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Another hot night

It’s another hotshot night in the Steaming town

Of screaming wailing sirens

Crowned with singing and dancing

Pumping thumping music coloured lights

Among the daily dilly dally splashing of flower laden heights

bathing in the fountain

washed in freezing frothy folly filled pints

And shots with shouts

Of she’s just another

Among the glut of burning talent

Who strut the ...

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