In the stillness of her room
She sat with crepe of every hue;
And pictured each an unknown bloom
For which she’d bring to light.

Tearing, cutting, twist and fold
Fragile paper—color bold--and
Each would have a center—gold
Defying mask of night.

Recalling forms within her mind,
She forms the petals—every kind
In patient detail, every line—
Impostors she creates.

Stems, leaves and even thorns
At her hands, so real were born, and
Even Earth was soon to mourn—the
Charlatans of fate.

Hours passed, this lonesome day
While paper gardens on display
Breathing life of ease, defrayed--
Of artist’s willful spite.

Complete deception now her feat
Sprays a fragrance natural sweet,
That bees and birds will try to eat
In longing, hunger flight

Then by and by at midnight’s hour,
She brings outside each handmade flower,
And celebrates her godly power--
In glorious disdain.

Yet sadness lives as well in dreams;
As truth is always what it seems;
And lonely always finds its means,
To melt them in the rain.

Hail unrequitted love,
ancient poetic rite of passage.

The bullet-burn of countless ant bites
knawing, devouring at young and tender flesh
empties soup-bowl eyes of suppose'd might,
a ringing scream sprawls out of each biological mesh.

You have never felt anything this full-of-feeling.


Never have you been so overcome
with nausea that you have no out
but to *****.


You have no choice but to cry:
Yet your sacred spillings prompt
your pen to fly.

At first light I made a gift of coffee
it’s aroma stirred just one long leg
I lifted her naked into the wet warmth
to bathe awake and wash long hair
carrying her towelled wrapped form
bowed lips now sip then fight me
as I dress her in jeans, socks and top
beauty made calm and simple

Drunk sad at her leaving party
keeping her warm I had let Lust sleep
now still lolling in grief for dark peace
my selfish need drags her ****** up
into light trapped by the green valley
walking on along its grass path
the canoed river spits past a-whirl
rediscovering the torn through pocket
her hand delves questioning
to withdraw unhurried, stroked
by a flicking fishing rod

Recovered now leading me
over the bridge above the Boat
then on up the steep valley side
we arrive at the Ostrich for beer
then to dine on fish in the open
feeding and sharing her lips
we consider audaciously
the little garden’s potential
she hums prayer murmurings
pleased by the moment

On into the nearby woods
high above the Kings trail
to slowly descend hedged paths
we return to the river valley
slipping between shop doors
lifting a book we idle along
a new couple enjoying life
taking tea under waterfalls
back  besides the Boat where
her beauty is now Queen

She leads me smiling by the hand
along both banks in the setting sun
till we near the Abbey's stone ribs
skipping around it's green shadows
a bank helps us to vault within

Fenced alone
ignoring distant figures
jeans and top colour
the darkening lawns
beckoning me closer
Lust now sits astride  
the grass and stone
an open ****** grin

A week only, no more
I am left alone in her bed
on this smaller island
she ashore in another
busy - separated by a day
we talk lovers spells
and write away our hopes

Three months and two days
a call ‘******* we were....
pregnant” her sacrifice ours
on a stainless alter of
that new god Career**


.

Gunboats ahoy there’s pirates about
Speeding from Somali’s shore,
A fast flimsy boat and some black skinny men
With grenade launchers, cannon and more.
They’re coming to capture the tankers
They’re coming to capture the crew
They’re coming to take you hostage
Because fat cats will pay cash for you.

It’s happening more every day now
Ships are held to ransom for gold,
This contagion is out of hand now
The Somalian pirates are becoming so bold.
Hard men in the west prepare crackdowns
Gunboats sail for the Gulf as we speak,
With instructions to shoot to **** now
And make eradication of pirates complete!

But you ask, why is this happening?
Why does a man, a pirate become?
What instigates this crazy morphosis
From fisherman to pirate with gun?
Somalia has no Government to speak of,
It collapsed and went long ago.
No law or army in place here,
Life is dangerous, chaotic and low.

Some fat cats made use of the vacuum
They ditched toxic waste in the sea
They irradiated the coastline region
Making this a poisoned place to be.
The coast folk were dying in thousands
Sick mothers lost babies and kids
Black illness spread madly in villages
Then blind panic and pain hit the skids.

Some fat cats made use of the vacuum
They trawled the coastline clean
Somalia’s fishermen were destitute
The catch went from vast to lean.
The villagers were starving and hopeless
And what was pain became death.
The leaders appealed for salvation
But those with the means, had turned deaf.

Who would take this problem on now?
Who would make these ******* pay?
Most turned around and shunned them,
The world had turned and looked away.
So hit transgressors where they’re vulnerable.
Strike in sea lanes where it’s free.
Hit them near the Horn of Africa.
Attack with blades of piracy.

Hooray for the small man’s justice.
Hooray for his skinny, black shanks,
Please God help their quest for deliverance
For the West has arrived with their tanks.

Now I ask you, in all fairness
To stand back and view the scene,
Where the richest and most powerful
are doing something that's obscene
For not only are they poisoning
The most vulnerable race on earth
But compounding it with genocide,
And I add, for what it's worth,

The West, in righteous arrogance,
are crushing poorest fellow man
In his struggle for survival
Against their mammoth, global hand.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
25 April 2009

No one will help you burn the sorrow from your eyes.
No one helped me polish up this bottle of wine.
The days are trivial,
but I feel fine.

Dad said a man doesn't love a woman who whines.

I never wanted a man to love me anyway.
God forbid if he is trivial,
I have enough in my day.
I guess I just don't care about anything you say.
I will always stay with my old ways.

They ask me to change,
But I will always be the same.
And we all play a greater game.
Crawling to the top for that royal blue cape.

Everyone wants to be the best.
I just want a perfect dress.
Someone else can clean this mess.
Someone else will give me the answers to this test.

Mom said not to cry because it is the end of a pretty girl.

So I keep my tears caged along with bad memories and  awful moments of my time spent in this word.
The sorrow burns into my eyes,
And my days are still trivial.