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  Aug 2024 Marshal Gebbie
Nat Lipstadt
My First Anniversary…
(August 3, 2024)

This title, this poem, a wholly unexpected,
never thinking this path,  
this particular tango existential
would/was needed,
to be added to
my dance card

an early exit, a poem unplanned,
second chance was not a poem in my long
list of titles awaiting a turn to be written

a year ago,
they sent me to the surgeon,
who had prepared, with no hesitancy declared,
informed that we needed to start
all over again,
my poor heart
was waxing and waning,
and I was currently stuck on
the dark side of the moon,
with no jitney making stops theron

by the way,
the accumulation of damage had attained
a level where heart was
nearly exhausted,
( I believe he mentioned 98%)
that attention must be made,
how about
tomorrow we asked,
he laughed no can do,
but the day after would be ok,
and was I an earlier riser,
a coveted 600am slot available,
my name could be penciled in…

One tear ago, 
 wheeled me in, cracking jokes,
thinking what’s the big deal,
laughing hardest
was me,
for my motto was always leave them
(oops, poor choice of words) laughing…
fear was not in my lexicon, nor in my heart,
nor was
a ferry cross the
Rubicon

so many changes, so many poems 365 days later,
the life marked by many a Cain scar,
the big one, a pencil thin ****  hesty reminder,
plus assorted scars scattershot all over, where the “borrowed” veins and arteries, like pieces of twine, mighty fine,
(no, I never slashed a wrist, though it looks like it)
moved to different places,
repurposed, for I was now a used car
but with an extended warranty…

do not think on it much, but as markers come and go,
you think:

oh! I’ll never forget this trip, event, celebration,
and a week later your mind has nearly deleted it from the
critical events memory synapses, just another
day in the blah blah blasphemy
of a insignificant man’s unremarkable life…

but when I shower, the scars rise to the surface,
all over my body’s map, they come out shouting,
“look what I did for you,” from places weird,
they tingle, insuring my never ending surprise,
at that Olympic trial,
they raced, earning a piece & place
on my gold, overall medley team medaling,
or meddling
(when I tease them…)

so, let us bring this to a close, one man’s life,
ain’t making much a difference to most everybody else,
but the question that needyfor asking,
have you changed, how have you changed?

Less than you think, still write you poems with head and heart,
with humor and wit, sweet revelations, reverent with feeling, somehow a
bit original, leaving you laughing,
or maybe even better, smiling…

my mistakes all shared, and my burdens, some shared,
some too dark to be ever revealed, and I’m guessing I’m pretty
((much😉))
the same as I was before, older, not much wiser,

but these days, I surprise myself, for I sit outside
overlooking the wide waters surrounding,
embrace the sun at its earliest morn appearance,
love me the whipping snap of the
sound of great continuous wind gusts,
all the while surveying the world,
while winds are flowing all over me
like vibrant caresses, excavating my creases,
the ancient and recent
lineage
upon my face,
and sit in utter peace
thinking about everything,
and never tire,
staying for longer than a man has a right to do nothing
but to
reassess,
evaluate,
judge,
convey…
and
always
refresh
and confront
today’s

tally…
music
“Blue” by Joni Mitchell
“Older” sung by Ben Platt
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2024
Once I had a secret love
So deep within the heart of me.
Time and light were spun of gold
I smiled as magic dreams enfold.

Wonder filled me from the highest hill
Brighter than the golden daffodil,
Darling, please endure now, I implore
For my secret love's no secret, anymore.

From an old romantic melody lost in the mists of time.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2024
Because of the pre ponderance of handguns and their ease of
availability in America....and because of the theatrics embedded in
the imagination of the population by 60 years of 1st Blood,  *****
Harry and High Noon....and lastly, because of the newly expressed
rhetoric of ultimate violence against any opposition by people in high places....

The mantra of political assassination hangs like a shroud over the nation.

There is always going to be the loose cannon who lusts for notoriety, who lusts for revenge, who hates to the degree that he or she will court a violent end to achieve their ****** ambition.

Politicians are the prime target, loud and vocatious, exposed to the
masses frequently, always violently expressing the primal things which trigger the thin line of discord to rupture with the shot from a gun, with the momentary gleam of manic satisfaction, with the spasm of agony as the ****** of justice fires the round which ends the assailants life.

It is a grand performance which has been replayed through history. A performance, these days, played repeatedly over the media, every portrayal in every available angle, every agonised expression of the players recorded, every spray of blood. The more graphic and grandiose, the better....and it is devoured, slavishly, rapaciously, by much of the nation's spectator population.

Disgustingly, Trump has made huge capital from the near miss of last week. He has enlisted the roar of approval of the MAGA crowd in his expression of ****** defiance whilst being rushed away by the Secret Service. He has maneuvered the mass sympathy of the adoring thousands at the crass pantomime which was the Republican National Convention. He has even invoked the assistance of Divine intervention and the suggestion that God has, indeed, decreed that he shall be the next President of the United States of America.

From afar, it all looks like a huge and ghastly fabrication. A
manipulation of tragedy to achieve a political aim. A blatant betrayal of values of human decency  and a crass desiccation of the  values embodied in the magnificence of your nation's history and the grace symbolized in the proud Stars and Stripes flowing forth, yonder in the breeze, from the white flagstaff.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2024
Children in the fields of green
Play by morning light,
A depiction of pure innocence
Cannot, more, be right.

ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
Arachnidal in it's way
It preaches it's mantra
To the massed disciples
Gathered adoringly,
In the bright, bright
Political bunting.
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ

When old men sip their whiskey
In dark corners by the fire
Red memories float softly by
On wings of old desire.

ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
Menace in it's rhetoric
Invoke a tarantula's reaction....
For this is what
The adoring came to hear.
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ

By swinging lamp a rising gale
Cause tortured leaves to swirl
In courtyards paved and soulless
To a distant bagpipe's skirl.

ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
Sleek in it's element
Of gathered confidence,
Stillness in it's menaced allure,
Eight hairy black legs,
Eight black beaded eyes,
Enbalm the enraptured masses
In it's web of words....
In it's tale of twisted torment.
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ

Sleeping hounds in alcoves
Rouse amidst bad dreams
For the Gods of causal legacy
Diverge from what now seems.

ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
The Assassin strikes
The tarantula rears back
In massive defence....
Fangs bared,
Talons raised in fury.
Angry invective of outrage,
Screeching arachnidal fury.
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
The crowd applaudes,
Despite the fear,
The crowd applauds
Cheering on
The fighting outrage
Of it's idol
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ

A panic in the battlements
Humanity in flight,
Chaos as the shots are fired
Red blood now in sight.

ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
Wounded it retreats
To the sanctury
Of a tangle
Of Secret Service arms and legs
And the refuge
Of an armoured limosine.
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ

Harsh questions quash reality
Considerations die,
Those discords to disharmony
Now shred a burning sky.

ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
Writhing in tarantular outrage
But safe
And wearing the bloodied cheek
Like a flag.....
In front of live television
Broadcaste,
Immediately worldwide ???
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
AND BY GOD......
WHAT AN ELECTORAL COUPE
TODAY HAS BEEN....
IN PENNSYLVANIA!!!
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ

Tomorrows order, lost to ruin
As cursed as the plague,
Discarded ****** vanquishment
Intangible and vague.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
An irregular dissertation of my jaded observation of yesterdays pantomime.
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