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 Feb 2015 Bazookio
Marshal Gebbie
Gone is he with flourished brush
Gone to ether, turned to dust,
Left are but his remnant strokes
On canvass old, congealed with must.
Gone the Masters touch in oil
Annointed with his maddened aire,
Wilding eyes of palest blue
Strawberry his touseled hair.
Pointilism's Prince no more
Adorns high Artesanian throne,
Wretchedly we mortals weep
Where giants, once, would boldly roam.
M.
Reactionary pondering to Patrick Wolff's great poem...
"Van Gogh's Cafe Lights".
 Feb 2015 Bazookio
Marshal Gebbie
Emergent through emotion
In a sychophantic way,
Thrilling through my system
In recall of teaching’s fray.
Those years of inspiration
As an aspirant of they…
That concrete mass of youthfulness
Wherein I spent my day.

Each hour of nervous questing,
Each confrontation stored,
Each shred of indignation
When the master plan proved flawed.
Through gyroscopic reason,
Through footless halls of pain,
An exultation’s bright explosion
When that child said... “Please explain?’

And the myriad of starburst
When the sky came crashing down
When, as if, by touch of magic….
Realisation there…profound!
From within that mass of granite-ness
Poured enlightenment as gold
And hot jewels of satisfaction
Flowed within this soul… untold.

M.
The years spent teaching hard country kids in a rural backwater high school were the most satisfying, rewarding working time of my life.
M.
 Feb 2015 Bazookio
Marshal Gebbie
Gentle in these halls of time
Soft images to reminisce,
Soft memories so clandestine
Of ruby, red sweet lips to kiss.
Reminisce within your smile
That incandescent way you had,
The laughter in a bubbling stream
Of light and shadow playing sad.
Softness of your auburn hair
Sparkle in your flashing eyes
Green to turquoise, fathoms deep
Causing me, again, surprise.
Love so fresh, so new, so pure
To overburden such as I
With expectation's cold collapse
That one, so beautiful, did cry.

When you left the singing died
Pastel colour turned to grey,
Deep inside I turned to stone
As reminiscence slid away.

Ruby red, we turned to stone
As reminiscence bled the day.
M.
When incandescent, young love abruptly ends,,,the fallout lasts a lifetime.
M.
 Dec 2014 Bazookio
Marshal Gebbie
Tho thou walk through life aloof
And look askance at all who dwell,
All who wear the covernance
Of simple shroud in common Hell.
Tho thou speak to condescend
To those who bend convention's way,
Thy lofty tones are lost to they
Who undermine the things thee say.
Oh that thee, should taste the fruit
Bite the fig and sip the wine
Be aware of surrepticion's
Sleight of hand with concubine.
Tho thy sandaled feet be gold
Tho thy robes be lined with silk
Thee must best avoid the vice
That over compliments thy ilk.
Penance paid is rich deserved
By he who struts by fortune's way,
For should the winds blow well this night
Tomorrow's gale may make thee pay.*

M.
Pukehana Paradise
13 December 2014
 Dec 2014 Bazookio
Marshal Gebbie
Across the blistered gibber plain where flies die in the sand
Through swamps of prickly sago where rotting death is planned,
To stride in windblown tussock hills where wind vanes carved their say
To saunter groves of green tree fern where moa giants did play.
In clearings cut with alkali, tusked elephant would loom
With crevassed hides, Methuselah, once aged in terms of doom.
Whilst high above the rocky crags of ancient mountain high,
The keening screech of kestral soaring up to deep blue sky.

Heavy boots in crusted sand where tiny lizards flee
Amidst the rust red rubble of volcanic rock and scree,
To clamber up the ignimbrite, great Vulcan's steps of stone,
Encrusted with thick epiphyte in lichen's mossy home.
Up into the altitude where dark cloud clusters here
And the threat of rolling thunder indicates that rain is near,
Torrential in it's downpour with sudden squall of gale
Surmounted, all quite suddenly, with a blinding blast of hail.

Staggering to shelter in a tiny alpine hut
To find hot coffee on the woodstove and a curvy, hot young ****,
To find us frollicking together beneath a patterned patchwork quilt
Was quite beyond my imagination's comprehensions built?
And afterwards in slumber through the curtains of our room
I watched, in fascination, at a hanging, frozen moon
And wondered, in amazement, at the doings of the day
And speculated, sleepily, where tomorrow's prospects lay.

Blearily I stretch out from the covers, nicely warm
To nullify persistence of that alarm's intruding horn,
Yawning into morning I remove myself from bed
With panicked realisation....all dreams evacuate my head.
Vanished are the alpine hut, the dolly bird, the caves
The crash of rolling thunder and the plunge of mighty waves,
Gone are those phantoms which dwelt inside my mind
Devestatingly dismissed until re-dreamed another time.

M.
Pukehana Paradise
13 December 2014
 Jul 2014 Bazookio
Marshal Gebbie
There is a word that touched my lips
A word which kissed my soul,
A single word that means as much
To me as ...Angel's gold.
As gentle as the evening breeze
Which stirs the leaves to blow
In pirrouettes of dusty spires
Where Autumn fairies go.
A word which holds it's hand aloft
In friendship's warm embrace
A feeling that transmits itself
To crinkled smile on face.
A word of such simplicity
A bond twixt thee and me....
Have you determined in your heart
Just what that word can be?
M.
 Jul 2014 Bazookio
Marshal Gebbie
Conceit in lines around her face
Which mask an underlying pain
Of envy coined in terms of rage
Behind sweet smiling lips, ordained.
Within those eyes of brittle blue
The contradictions deep portrayed
In portraiture of crowning wealth
Beneath a writhing hate, contained.

Oh how the opulence displayed
The charm dispensed, the pomp, the fuss
Apparent ‘neath the thin veneer
Sincerity’s black *****, mistrust.
Hid beneath the thin veneer
The entrails churn in anger’s spleen
And woe betide the servant found
To whisper subterfuge, unseen.

On the surface calm prevails
Appearances must be preserved
Tea and sandwiches at noon
Shall on the terrace porch be served.
Deep beneath the knives are drawn
Blood must flow before this night
She shall sever dalliances….
Non shall witness sound nor sight.


Marshalg
28 June 2014
Sandringham.
Leave you hanging........?
That was part of the plan.
M.
 Sep 2013 Bazookio
Marshal Gebbie
A moment’s inspiration to grasp a building thought,
A panicked, surged excitement, now achieved, where once was naught.
In plucking crystal thought from the yonder crisp, blue air,
And coalescing mishmash into meaningful repair.
To seek a path of verbage realigning phrases bright
And feel the resurrection of creative works this night.
In pulling rich vocabulary from within the concrete hash
Concocting circumspection in this brilliant verse from trash.
Annunciating clarity and a purity of class
To haul yourself, abruptly, to get off your lazy ****…
To burst forth in immaculate and spontaneous wordage clear
And blithely blow away your critics on their loathsome, leering ear.

Marshalg
11 September 2013

— The End —