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Best Poems Written by Martin Challender

Below are the all-time best Martin Challender poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Walls and Fences

They're all talking walls and fences,
words meant to force us apart,
the world has lost all it's senses,
where did this craziness start?

I'm walking up here on the ridge,
already making a start,
building a shiny new bridge,
this flyover straight to your heart.

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Sounds like Nashville - on my radio

It’s Thursday evening, almost nine,
foot-tap, fiddle, and banjo time,
with juke-box tales of love’s romance,
the county jail, a second chance,
for bourbon belles or backroad trucks,
mail-box motels, living on luck,
from one horse towns to city bars,
acoustic sounds that drive guitars,
harmonicas with prairie dust,
Americana, steel mill rust,
cornbread kitchen, joy, and sorrow,
songs that long for bright tomorrows,
it’s Nashville on my radio,
Bob Harris and his Country Show!

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The Legend of Johnny Cash

I dreamed of Johnny Cash last night,
his music spoke to me,
I said I thought that you were dead,
but music lives said he,
but music lives said he.

From Folsom, to Fort Bend,
for every soul behind bars,
he asked if we could say a prayer,
then picked up his guitar,
then picked up his guitar.

He sung to me of Ira Hayes,
words that rung in my ears,
the world of reservations,
with all those rivers of tears,
with all those rivers of tears.

We talked and talked of music,
country, hip hop and blues,
how Bo Diddley and Beyoncé,
can move our blue suede shoes,
can move our blue suede shoes.

I dreamed of Johnny Cash last night
surprised to see him back,
I said I thought that you were dead,
but he was still dressed in black,
but he was still dressed in black.

Details | Martin Challender Poem

Two Returns For Manchester

Trinity Street, Bolton,
it was Jack and Jaya’s first date,
Jack had got there early,
worried he’d be late,
the ticket woman said,
to head for platform two,
“you’ll have to get a move on though,
your train is almost due”,
from Moses Gate to Manchester,
the world went flashing by,
factories and football fields,
beneath a clouded sky,
soon the train screeched to a halt,
with much anticipation,
our young couple disembarked,
and left Victoria Station,
Jack and Jaya walked and talked,
round Manchester for hours,
Jack laughed and said that “their town hall,
is not nice as ours!”,
in Piccadilly Gardens,
Jaya groaned at more of his jokes,
whilst they ate cheese pasties,
and shared a can of Coke,
travelling back Jack wondered,
about a kiss on the cheek,
but Jaya simply smiled and said,
“let’s try Wigan next week…”.

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A call for peace now

This is the news, a dream of peace,
an echo from the Middle East,
where children cannot understand,
the broken bones of broken lands, 
their only hope, for war to cease.

Every imam, rabbi and priest,
can hear the loss for those deceased,
while leaders watch or wash stained hands,
this is the news.

Hope is a hostage for release,
a call for all the bombs to cease,
while children cannot understand,
the razor wire of war-torn lands,
and parents only dream of peace,
this is the news.

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Here come the graveyard groupies

Look out you might see them,
scuttling down your street,
patting the neighbour’s dog, 
nodding to people they meet.

They lurk on hospital corridors,
wearing their black shiny shoes,
then scour obituary columns,
for all their latest news.

They follow people on stretchers,
to sickbeds, funerals, and wakes,
asking for extra cups of tea,
turning their nose up at cake.

They might just take an interest,
if you should start to feel ill,
checking on your temperature, 
your welfare and your will.

So, keep your curtains closed tonight,
lock all your windows and doors,
the graveyard groupies are coming,
it’s you they’re looking for…

Details | Martin Challender Poem

Breaking Up Is Tough

They say that breaking up is tough,
now I know that it’s true,
one day we’ll go separate ways,
and all the blame’s on you.

Maybe we shared some good times,
up and down all those years,
but baby far too often now,
you’ve reduced me to tears.

Some nights you’ve kept me awake,
until the early hours,
but never brought me breakfast,
or even bought nice flowers.

Now I want you gone from my bed,
and banished from my head,
take a mirror to yourself,
reflect on what’s been said.

You don’t deserve a boyfriend,
girlfriend, husband, or wife,
you’ll be shocked when I change the locks,
on you my working life.

Details | Martin Challender Poem

Welcome to Social Work

Marcia makes an early start,
to try and find a space to park,
she leaves behind her playlist tunes,
for manic Monday’s duty room,
where ceremony doesn’t stand,
and days don’t turn out quite as planned,
no point wishing she’d stopped in bed,
too late to swap careers instead,
when worried neighbours phone to share,
concerns for those who might need care,
while courts demand reports to file,
the world and it’s dog are on speed dial,
as the clock clicks, nine-twenty-five,
news, tick-tock, “your student’s arrived!”,
with a burnished yearning to succeed,
ready to unpick those learning needs,
queries, theories, fresh ideas,
critical analysis holds no fears,
building on from success and mistakes,
in social work that’s what it takes,
two clean mugs, dug out somehow,
a few deep breaths are needed now,
it’s time to open glass doors wide,
and place those anxious thoughts aside…

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Thank You For Listening - Bolton FM

It’s your station, Bolton FM,
the place to find out what’s on when,
with all the local juice and jive,
24/7, broadcasting live,
thanks for listening, tune in again.

Find your station, Bolton FM,
ask Alexa or phone a friend,
we’re here on ninety-six point five,
it’s your station.

Community station, Bolton FM,
for news, views, music, travel gen,
to get you through the nine to five,
and don’t forget the Wanderers live,
thanks for listening, tune in again,
it’s your station.

Details | Martin Challender Poem

There Goes Another Eighties Music Revival

The sudden eighties music craze,
had gone beyond the norm,
the local supermarket,
was swept along by the storm,
as more and more of the shoppers,
joined in with the revival,
filling up on nostalgia,
from t-shirts to CDs and vinyl.

Reaping the customer whirlwind,
for Boy George and Eurythmics tracks,
some smart Alec from head office,
said “This is no time to Relax!”,
the mullet headed store manager,
he looked a manic Midge Ure,
a sarcastic lad on the tannoy,
said “Sorry, but we’ve got no Cure”.

Over at customer services,
I said a mistake’s being made,
“The seventies had John Lennon,
Bob Marley, T. Rex, Slade!”,
the guy claimed to be sympathetic,
towards my point of view,
then asked me to go on a website,
and give him a Five Star review.

A wise woman sat at the checkout,
smiled to me as she said,
“When this fad blows over,
they’ll still want milk and bread”,
so the moral to this story,
is one of wisdom not sadness,
that everyone’s entitled to,
their little bit of Madness.