From 20,000 feet, the lines are straight.
the world is in neat patterns
with the white headlights heading in one direction
and the red tail lights, obediently traveling the other

dozens of creeks converge and streams merge
into the river whose meandering still makes sense
and the interstate crosses via white bridges in parallel lines
at a point most efficient to their final destination

From here, cities make sense too
I can spot a school by the football stadium
and the streets laid out in a grid
with an occasional flourish of gated suburbs

the earth is a patchwork
a quilt of work and technology
where dirt road meets gravel
meets asphalt meets concrete
all at ninety degree angles

mathmeticians must have had this vantage point
geometry was made for this
relationships weren't
relationships are messy and this is orderly

I think I like to fly
to make the world feel orderly and organized
for just a while
till I come down and navigate the airport
heading for home
and living with people

it's hard to crack a
coconut while
sitting under the
water;
in order to understand
the fundamentals of a
broken heart
you've got to know the
secrets of the soul

wait.

99% of human beings
are enchanted
and to lick the moon
you don't always have to
travel to mars.

Now wait.

I can see with my heart a mouse tortured by the seedy youth of my disengaged elders.  my hands curl into the great relief of knowing they’ve lived in the stomach.  any walking exiles the feet from their genius.  I see for myself the man with a flower who enters the professional building to announce he’s witnessed the hospital nursery by word of mouth.  those first twins two black eyes god gave an angel.

of a street person
playing a prosthetic leg
like a guitar

has been lost
by hell

the crying in me continues.

I was born called
by your first
hearings.

     the moon is a software I don’t understand.

I created god
before you
created god.

the help, the competition, the help,

the competition.

Cool winds circling round, deep emerald ocean pond,
in dancing waves you play salty summer songs
of weathered boats and rustic harbor homes.
Seagulls perched about the lawns, some on rooftops peering down
flower baskets overfilled, spilling mad their colors on the ground.
A vacant nest amid the vines so twisty, Springtime birds have all flown
leaving remnant feathers of shell and bone.
Seaweed floats, it clings, wrapped to posts and rings
ocean otters sleeping sound at bay
in a sky of blue, changing hues
soon drifts away the day.

I hear the shadow of a song
Lilting faintly in half light,
Just beyond my reach it lays
Tauntingly, as lust's delight.
It tiptoes, teasing, through my ear
Tantilizing recollection sought,
Bringing images to mind
Of indelible delight unbought.

I hear the shadow of a song
Which sweeps me to dimension new,
Sweeps me to a nicer place
To memories of long, lost you.*

Marshalg
24 August 2013

Wipe that teardrop from your cheek
Smooth the worries from your brow,
Go buy yourself that pretty frock
'Cos the Court Injunction's come through now.
All the hassle, all the fight
Evaporates and that's a fact.....
He gets to toss and turn tonight
For you're the cream that got the cat!

You turned it all around my pretty lady,
You saved the savage beating for the end.
You played a little ploy that emulated joy
But in fact it was a trap to make him bend.
And bend he did, my pretty, Oh how he did bend,
When the object of the exercise was clear,
He exposed his top ace card with unfortunate disregard
To resultant amputation's near and dear.
Now I'm not saying you are cruel little lady
I'm not saying you are anything but fair,
But the savageness of swipe does seem just a little trite
For he no longer brags about, what isn't there.

Moral of the story is simple, sweet and true
It's as plain as the nose upon your face,
If you're going to play about keep your trouser firmly out
Of the razor swiping range of lady space.


*As a poem this reads terribly...but it was an absolute giggle to create!
M.

memory
has all the time in the world.

     just when it’s getting good
the book of Genesis
begins.

I stay for my father’s voice.

three babies are carried from church
for crying, or one baby
for crying
thrice.

     slanted paths
of ash
pass in front
of a screen door
like tiny crows
absolved
of warning.

in house, an old man
places himself as a witness
to the controlled burning
of a wooden
porch swing     and misremembers
his best friend
as his best friend god.