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Marc Barritt Poem
Bubbletown Blews
Whilst sitting and lying by a babbling brook
for once through the water I took a deeper look
then I saw into Bubbletown, bubbles popping with glee
for that is what they are meant to be
Down there, theres no time for heirs and graces
and no disrespect to creeds and races
no single bubble is better no matter how big or small
for history,religion and status there is no need at all
A bubbles life is simple you see to try not to pop for as long as can be
yet when it pops it sets others free
Then with a whip and a splash stuck to a sticklebacks fin
a bubble escapes from deep within
no record will be remembered of this noble fleet
and the bubble will join another bubbletown meet
no questions asked just join in the throng
for all bubble's are equal no matter how big and strong
and remember this as long as they thrive
the round little folk keep the whole stream alive
So take from this no matter how small and meek
the powers inside us to be strong and unique
just be like a bubble and raise to attest
then my son or daughter you can be like the rest
no better no worse and you can fly
your sky is your limit if you put no one down, and greet others from outside of town
with a smile and a welcome instead of a frown !!!
MB 2013
Copyright © Marc Barritt | Year Posted 2013
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Marc Barritt Poem
The player inside
As one stands on the first tee
a straightforward start with pumping heart
should be easy enough for me he he
with an arch of the back
a thundering crack
a look from my eye up through the sky
looking for my ball to see
an iron I take for my second
and again look after my ball so keen
then with a skip and a thud it ends up on the green
glove off putter in hand I line up with the hole
with a positive roll it rolls into my goal
1 under par a birdie so rare
Is today the day I wonder
then all hopes are dashed when my next drive hits a tree
after many a shout and searching about
my round of promise some hours ago has gone as all before
but I will be back with new balls to whack
to the game that I adore
MB 2013
Copyright © Marc Barritt | Year Posted 2013
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Marc Barritt Poem
Watt,s in a name
A surname a parent cannot attain
yet every thought should be given to the same
Poor old Andrew Pratt, or Thomas Watt come to that
pratty or watty, more likely pratt or twatt
For the bully is a simple child
don’t make its work easy to drive someone wild
The playground is the harshest of streets
To fit in you have to abide by the name that unto you greets
so wear them with pride
And undetected become who you are inside
The aim of the game is to be who you are despite of your name
rise above it and prove people wrong
To not be a pratt or a twatt will prove you are strong
So stand proud and prove your name lame
or just be a Twatt for life all the same
The choice is there to be , what to do
and the best you can be is still down to you
Be Mr Watt with your head held up high
and please choose to wave the Twatt handle Goodbye
with Love
MB 2013
Copyright © Marc Barritt | Year Posted 2013
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Marc Barritt Poem
Possession,s
Even in sanctity of brilliance past and forlorn
the dead scholars would grieve the notes they adorn
why lesser a note is given to me
for measured by wealth everyone has to be
you need it ! I want it ! give it to me ! give it to me!
A man stands in a barron field
no crop for him, no yield
he cries and morns for his children rely
on the little said man and field cannot supply
you need it ! I want it ! give it to me ! give it to me!
Another man sits and claims poverty
fag in hand, heated house yet no 50 inch TV
running water, and food a plenty, so what’s the moan
his children the latest clothes and phone do not own
you need it ! I want it ! give it to me ! give it to me!
Why does the banknote hold so much power
when beauty and food is found within a flower
why can one man crave sustenance for his need
yet another man crave sustenance for his greed
you need it ! I want it ! give it to me ! give it to me!
The wealth of this world is so unjust
yet in the wealthiest areas, the trap must put its trust
real benevolence exists in poverty
where humanity shares its limited property
you need it ! I want it ! give it to me ! give it to me!
MB 2013
Copyright © Marc Barritt | Year Posted 2013
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Marc Barritt Poem
Tick-tock winter's coming
Thrust from the sanctuary of the blessed womb
spring is sprung on a new destiny not without charm
from cradle to crawl, to walking and talking and nurtured by the soul that bore
education, kindred spirits to find and affection in gay abundance
tick-tock winters coming
The time for fun and to enjoy the harvest of spring
summer has come to rejoice and select life in all that has gone
maybe perhaps you will new destiny's create and nurture
or just be content to enjoy the halcyon days and clear horizons that present
tick-tock winters coming
The time to reflect with darkening sky's what has been, and yet to show
autumn full of the burden of misspent or just summer follies
a chance to look on with wonder at destiny's created or woe's for those destroyed
the abundance that spring gave summer all but gone to pastures new
tick-tock winters coming
The stormy turbulence and darkness that must come
winter is a callous foe that no quarter yields to its destiny
for no-one single destiny has any idea how long its spring, summer, autumn will endure
this wicked foe gives occasional hope with remittance to summers past
and then just as quick reminds you where to go by stripping dignity again
some winters are short yet others proceed within its wicked clasp
until your hopes, dreams, and fears are passed on to some other hopeful destiny to cling
tick-tock tick-tock tick
MB 2013
Copyright © Marc Barritt | Year Posted 2013
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Marc Barritt Poem
Grandad's sticks ,Albert and Me
Grandad walks slowly and uses two sticks !
He and Nanny came to see us today
thats me, mummy, daddy and baby scustin ok
grandad still lets me jump and play round him so quick and so rough
then goes off with nanny as slow as they came cos he's had enough !
Then at nursery I spy Albert oh no !
who sometimes me , he pushes and hits
to take my toys and give me no go !
although my clothes are aged four to five
only three years old is the body they hide !
Then there's Ethan thats me
with my curly golden locks, rosy cheeks and smile full of glee
my imagination spurred by a reverands train
my energy and strenght no one can contain
so if you dont mind I'll get back to my game
and just for now use my vigour just being a pain!
If you expect more, come back when i'm four ?
love Grandad
MB 2013
Copyright © Marc Barritt | Year Posted 2013
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Marc Barritt Poem
State of mind
Where do I start
where does me end
I can only ask you, for you are my friend
kindred spirits always meet in the end
what am I if not me
what if I cant be what I promised to be
what if I cannot be free
Stuck in a cell of skin sinew and bone
through the disease, no fault of my own
steadily losing my dignity to a greater degree
what can I be apart from the best me I can be
so pick yourself up and be strong
for yours is to prove the disease's wrong
face it with a conscience alive with desire
and push yourself onwards with gusto to aim higher
you wont beat the condition that ails you
if you let your minds positivity pull you through
and concentrate again on just being you
where does me end
another day I promise my friend
MB 2013
Copyright © Marc Barritt | Year Posted 2013
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