Look to the past to find your demons
Ghosts appear as memories loom,
Transgressions weave uneasy feelings
The horrors glide across the room.
Tissue scarred for wrongs committed
Hot, wet tears run down your face,
Embarrassed feelings bleed discomfort
Bad reflections have no grace.
A writhing in your nether regions
Bleak remorsefulness inside,
Feelings based on actions rendered
Face your demons, run and hide.
Overwhelming sinful actions
Drive you to a freezing place,
Confess your crimes to Catholic faction
Bare your shredded soul’s disgrace.
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
9 May 2009
- From "Watching the Ripples Radiate"
There was a crack.
Not a mighty one. no, it wasn't even loud.
And if inside foundations moved?
without, appeared stout.
held up with the iron bars. too proud.
I see the roads before me,
which suddenly fill, my brocken will,
and rubble brushed lightly on pavement,
and hazey land, burnt still.
The sun is burning my hands, burning I say.
To the north there is fire,
sepulchures to the west, I kneel to pray,
East is dust. South has rusted red. I am on a wire,
painted gold. Crouched, I drink sand,
burning like fire, fire to taste nothing.
Too many dreams of wine and sugary honey,
I'm spent, choke on demure beauty.
My hands' flesh melt off in ripples,
dripping down my arms, and please,
with ease, I run into a coma, untruthfully,
bold and blue, choking on truth,
slipping down my lungs, cold bile fed
from a crocker, chipped resign,
take me home, I cry.
But I was never home. My home had died.
Trip. And swollen feet? Sprung loose,
the fidllers harp plays naught,
A truce, fate, please, allow me loose fate.
I pray escape, but I could never choose late.
With no hands I can not lament,
my feet rooted in soil unfit to grow,
and I am. not. I will go,
where rain falls constantly.
I will go to drown and burn in equil measure,
dreaming, with slitted eyes,
the earthquake shattering the sun inside,
shoulders square, jaw set, I hide,
while stepping forward,
I'm tied.
/my home has died.
Two lovers mime at each other
from opposite sides of an icy pool
as autumn paints lady Gaia's face with fire-color
The brisk air hangs waiting,
and you,
from the second story window of a cottage on a hill
feel close to that silent still
She with flowers in blonde locks, flowing like music beneath the surface
He with bronze on his brow, matching her, but never quite perfect
You grip the arms of the grainy wooden chair by the window,
Begin to nervously dig in with those fingernails.
You see ripples synthesize as they try to kiss
But their lips can never touch
The clouds churn and the wind's a guttural howl
Now that crystal pool grows turbulent, the pair like two crashing chandeliers
And all the while you're realizing
You can't tell which one is on your side...
Both?
And all was still again.
Run!
Fly!
A dollar deal
fun for all ages
cartoon wood owl
fights flight,
forsakes ascension,
lingers shallow sky
like a feral flag.
Black disc eyes
startle,
scorn,
rattle plastic sockets.
Faster!
Higher!
Painted plumage surges
fast ripples that
shiver synthetic feathers
and crinkle wind.
Orange streamers whip,
kink,
furl
and twist like crooked ribbons
Out of breath!
Out of shape!
Oiled families point
and laugh,
my stepdaughter blushes,
I gallop like a madman
barefoot,
splash over seashells
and crab holes,
dragging a stubborn symbol
of childhood,
I cannot wrangle
or tame.
The leash has snapped!
My body fails!
Broken nylon falls
like tangled web,
frail,
flimsy ,
my handful of slack
spills like silk
when i trip in sea weed
and accept this refusal
knowing we share
the same fates,
crashing into white sand
bruised, tired,
a folly for sunny strangers.
We exist within spheres
Bubbles of perception
Roughly circular ripples of both know knowns and known unkowns
And then there
Right at the edge of these spheres
Just outside the very last shred of our understanding of how the world works
Is how the world really works
I've seen it
Only briefly
And not because I'm smarter or more enlightened than anyone else
But rather because I do better drugs than most
And while my short term memory is fucked
I have managed to bring back an excerpt of my journal
And it reads:
"This world is a process of conflict
A construct begat by the clashing of two equal and opposite forces
One of the forces
Is called Fate
And the other
Is called Choice
And the sum of existence consists of everything that falls in between
And the really fucked up part
Is that we already know this
But life
Has affixed us with blinders that force us to see
Everything
So much so, in fact
That a sense of 'self'
Is considered hedonism in most circles
But the soul
Does not have a default setting
Pain
Is not an illusion
And despite what you may have been told
There is no compelling evidence to suggest that there isn't another world on the other side of my mirror
The are no empty spaces
Only effects that have yet to be caused
There are no reflections on lake shores
That is merely the image of God
Colonial mansion, in an ocean of grass,
windows aglow as I walk past.
funeral service now used of verandah,
but I hear music, not mournful stanza.
french doors open to a reminisce,
with boyhood heart, of vitreous.
Footfalls on parquet floors,
tux and gown past crown moulded doors.
captured ambiance of a setting sun,
shown from chandeliers highly hung,
day I was born, born day of the prom,
I smiled cordially, and my date fawned.
girls betrothed by corsage on wrist,
rare french curls--a lunar eclipse.
bedraggle boys now dapper and genteel,
vest and bowtie, a knightly feel.
chapperesses smiling at maidenly gait,
happy drowse in mansion estate.
cufflinks, silk gloves, nail polish of gloss,
beheld tonics and sweets, carefully aloft.
opening cord, an arrow from cupid's bow,
striking coquettes to their tippy toes.
they sprang to dance,I stepped back,
invisible in shadow with tux of black.
shoulders, lake ripples easing to shore,
hips, gentle waves, right before pour.
boys stiff, as if waists beheld sabres,
legs, sweeping brooms of on shore waiters.
"your too handsome to stay here unseen,"
said rivaling chaperess, semblance of queen.
"you should dance ,"said glittered lips of pink,
bent like sparrow wings, during teacup drink.
privy to why in shadow I hid my blush,
her class my crush, that crushed me so much.
she strained me, even the shadows she gave,
black silk, stretching,--convex and concave.
crude metal and wood classroom seat,
clasped her waist of slender physique.
she was guarded by a window in curtain mail,
and tended to by servants of light and gale.
light loved her skin of mediterranean sand,
and wind enraptured with brown strand.
light penetrated strands, blondly hot,
wind would blow, cooling pony tail off.
her shadow curtsied under my desk,
long legs danced in irritableness.
mourning class is abuzz with scent of prom,
flower not frost, rules the school's dawn.
I gave my consent,to an earlier invite,
then on, suitor blinded me with light.
and Great Gatsy, and looming prom night,
subjects of sparrow wings pressed tight.
" show of hands, who do not have a date?"
slender wrist arises, from an arm curvate.
alone, she shown that no one asked her,
this stone of Rome amongst boys of plaster.
hand fell with boy of teachers match,
wind shrouded her,from the window sash
rays gave discomfort,to gaze her way,
but I looked through burning ray.
to see a trace of a tear,in eyes ovate,
a godess unsought, with sadful face.
I, poor, fatherless, could not possible go,
to prom, with princess of arched portico?
I could not interweave my hands to dance,
or know, where I could place my glance.
wind blew a scrap from her desk, indiscreet,
it was pierced by light at my feet.
"will" and "with" were dotted with a heart,
"prom" and "me" before most painful part.
my name in her beautfiul free hand,
the colour red, from hearts inkstand.
class bell rings, I travel to mansion dream,
blue grass meet oriel in cul de sac seam.
eyes turn to cotton, in shadow as I ponder,
as pain was forgotten, I came upon her.
invisible hands, lifted my chin to a red shape,
our eyes met, her's smiling, mine agape.
only a glassmaker could imagine my sight,
seeing hot curves form in dance floor light.
only a wax-wing could have rivaled her eyes,
waves gently broke to gown down her thighs.
"will you dance with me,"she softly entreated,
" I don't know how,"a coward repeated.
a princess which tournaments were held,
for which every timber of mansion were felled.
not for Greece, mansion corinthian column,
for her, from quarry prom did befall them.
I could not tarnish this feminine form,
with my lineage in crown she adorned.
I turned from beauty, to dark acres tread,
under willow, I play the last thing she said.
my name, as I shunned from last chance,
back under willow, cane marks my stance.
I have preserved her forever, shying fate,
even if it was with my own heart-break.
*
I still see her--in the most beautiful prom poses,
still, I see her, as lights flicker out, and a coffin closes.
17th June 2013, 20:09
And now the sun seems as a sunflower of living flame
caught in a sky of limpid azure coolness;
flocks of white gulls sky-dance above shimmering horizons of forever
and the sea reflects it faithfully, in ripples of sparkling fire.
And now the sun sets like a pearl in a veil of moonbeams,
cloud-spun swathes of gossamer form her mantle;
Streaks of dove-grey cirrus glide slowly over skylines of umber
as sky fades to sea in a seamless turquoise haze.
.
I see my face
in most curious places,
passing windows with a glance
and mocked by children
who should take a chance
to live a little through tiny graces.
At midday in a forest's stream,
along the bank with a team
of crows to occupy the reflection,
and in a cup of black coffee
that changed in ripples to ready me
where I met the day head on,
I was going in the perfect direction.
I see it in a new friend,
who feels like an old loving one,
where my mind tries to fix
and I can't tell her this year
was my biggest fear
to fall a fool in my own depression.
The letters to form every word
beat the wings of this tired bird
who finds a face to recognize
when all others were lies or absurd.
Be that it may
that my face finds a light,
but in a light never judging,
where first honesty was felt
and a caring bond tries to form,
her voice is essential and must be heard.
I don't see my face
to rock upon the waves
where darkest twilight rents a fear.
I see the ocean to absolve conscience
and listen as it sends
me to other beaches to meet friends;
to enjoy them whilst my soul is still here.
Shall it be the lost cause
for another to see my flaws
if it were to strip down to my flesh
and expose my heart on a whim?
Why does my worthless soul
seek purpose on her tongue,
to share and spend her valuable time,
maybe knowing that this
…yes this is what protects him!
-Mark Lach
My home is my car
even though home was always
where my little girl is
Society exiled me
or did I exile me
My days are limited
but my thoughts are infinite
The stars are my only companions
I wish I could join them
if only I could be a part of
the little dipper that hovers
right above her house
a perfect view
If I can't forgive myself for leaving
maybe she can
The weeks without food consume me
until I forget my name and my past
If I can't come back as a twinkle in the night sky
let me come back as the wind
that she inhales into her body and
exhales out with a sigh
that ripples through her hair and
cools her neck on unbearable days
I hope to God she knows
and I hope to God there is a God
i personally believe in magic
but newtons 3 law...
i believe that also, more than anything
............
a little pond
picturesque in tiny detail
short cut grass surrounds it
the water reflects the flawless sky
the small cheeping of water birds
partly submerged water ferns
a duck
brightly colored
on the relatively small side
paddles free of worries
joyfully, around the pond
the ripples it creates
rebound, hitting the edge multiple times
lapping up the embankment
i'm the pond
you're the duck
your actions hit me
multiple times
a day
a week
a month
...
"for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction"
