The Irish Actor And The Court Of Law.

In a court of law, a drama unfolds
As the accused trembles, nervous and cold
His fate lies in the hands of the judge
And the arguments of his lawyer’s nudge

In walks the Irish actor, with gravitas and poise
A towering presence to dispel all the noise
With a commanding voice, he takes the stand
And like a brilliant star, he lights up the land

With every word, he delivers a blow
That shakes the prosecutors with each new throw
The jury hangs on his every breath
As he lays bare the innocence beneath

He speaks of truth and of human frailty
Of the vagaries of life and the workings of destiny
And with each word, his audience is moved
Drawn to the power of his eloquence, and the truths he proved

In that court of law, justice was served
Thanks to this actor, who had the courage to stand tall
For his soaring performance, we will always preserve
As a moment of triumph that touched us all.

Steve Halstead.

Some Rich Some Poor.

Dusty jackhammers deal their heat
Big trucks turning concrete,
To faceless numbered sidewalks
Where steam vents,
To the street condense
The rain falls silently
On desolation boulevard

The concrete stumps of skyscrapers
Give faith in a Presidents tower
Buildings growing taller
Advertising louder
Above the smog,
Where the air is cleaner
A laconic, jaggedly incisive ego
Gazers with sarcastic intent,
Its bright, creative future
Mapped out for its self
Losing sight of duty to its clients
Safe in the grubby embrace of the corporation.
A vampire wrapped around the face of humanity

Down below
The cigarette man coughs
Amongst the diesel fumes
Reading yesterday’s paper
Yesterday’s news
Selling littered alleys
Running with blood
Where a powerful cough medicine
Became a street name
Joggers rubbing shoulders
With beggars
As a wealthy man ran down wall street

High-speed subway trains clatter and whistle
The shunting of overhead railways
The hustle and bustle of worker’s feet
Hot dog stands and newspaper merchants
On the corner of every street
Then the clock struck nine
And at one minute past
The first deal of the day is done

Guarded revolving doors allow hustles into
battle
Faceless bankers stare at computer screens
Too big for jail, too big to fail
And judges say it’s the government’s call.

The faceless investor shouts into the phone
Just another nobody who lost his home
Tramp’s huddle around burnt-out brazers
And a thought crosses my mind
Will they freeze or wake to face it all again
For some
Winter makes the highways longer.

Steve Halstead.

I Believe Them Too.

I’m a man of convenience.
Not a banker and not a lawyer
I’m not a cop, judge or a doctor
Nor a priest or a lord
I’m not a lie, king or queen

I just wanted to believe.

I could have been a teacher.
A scientist too
Even an accountant if I’d listened to school
Politician nurse or engineer
Insurance finance a wine connoisseur
A military officer or pharmacist
Airline pilot, software developer, dentist

I just wanted to believe in myself.

If your no business executive or CEO
Interpreter or translator
Advertising professional or data analyst
Fireman, pharmacist, physical therapist
Hospital administrator or event planner
Or a senior construction manager

Believe in yourself

Become a podiatrist or dermatologist
Magistrate, psychiatrist even a radiologist
Physician, paediatrician
IT manager, logistician
Neurosurgeon, anesthesiologist
Training and development specialist
Financial manager, financial analyst.

Believe in ourselves.

Steve Halstead.

There’s an Old Photograph on the Wall

There’s an old photograph on the wall
Black and white of course and grainy
Taken many years ago.
Soldiers parading past the courthouse
Long before one- way systems and no entry signs
Few cars on the road and yellow lines
Not yet invented

A judge, clad in his bright red robe
(Though grey in the photo)
Forever bows as the officer salutes the worthy man.
People gathered along the footpath
Watching in awe as the spectacle unfolds
The buildings, many of which are now gone,
Seem always old
When people lived over banks and shops.
And look, forever caught on camera
A young girl stands at a window
Intently watching the procession.
Tubas, trumpets and drums calling all to see
She, frozen in time, will always be young
And period in her dress.

What thoughts running through her childish mind
What life to come.
Where is she now
A woman, old in time
A grandmother
Down all the years changing
And yet she will be forever young
Forever standing at the window staring
Forever looking at events long gone
Her memories stored on fading paper
For future generations to see.
What thoughts we cannot know
Nor should we
Just a two dimensional image

Caught in time.
So stare,
She won’t mind.

By Norman Turkington

Check Out Norman’s Books Nearly Man And Nearly Man 2 Almost There.

Sometimes deeply reflective, at others verging on the romantic but often

whimsical, this further volume of his poems reveals a few more,

but maybe not all, of the answers to the complexities of the Nearly Man.

Available From Amazon.

The Secret of the Rhubarb Tree

It’s hard sometimes to understand why people do the things they do

We should not judge.’ Some people say and yet we do, we often do…

So when a brother does not know the sister that he has not met

And he in turn could live and die not knowing of this secret yet,

 

There must be some good reason why. There must be ways to justify,

There must be things that make it right to hold from one the other’s sight.

Like Christmastime, like weddings missed, like birthdays and like getting pissed

But don’t tell one about the other, you know what she was like, ‘that mother…’

 

So you might say ‘I do not know about the boy, then he will grow

To never be aware of you, nor you of him, that’s what we’ll do’.

Then say ‘I did not know of him and he in turn didn’t know me’.

But one day everyone will learn the secret of the rhubarb tree.

 

Taken From The Book Go On Dad Knock

By Ron Clark