Marshal Gebbie

Aug 13

Terry O'Leary

The sinking sun is now undone,
                       the sky is fading red
and shadows prowl neath cloak and cowl
                       for midnight lies ahead.

Beyond the heap, the honchos sleep
                       with bloated bellies fed;
for, yes indeed, no one's in need,
                       at least, that's what they've said.

Amongst the ones that hunger shuns,
                       in day's retreating tread,
are spiders black ensnaring snacks
                       while spinning silken thread.

But as it stands, in conquered lands
                       a famine reigns instead -
and kids at noon, collapse and swoon
                       on stones they call a bed.

With aching eyes they fantasize
                       and dream of gingerbread,
and after while, they wake and smile,
                       now dining with the dead.

I wrote this poem 13 years ago. It seems to be even more relevant now than then, so I'm posting it again.

Aug 12

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

THE BEGINNING OF GOOD-BYE

We sense it because it comes inexorably,
this is the beginning of good-bye.
Her eyes avert his, a touch with no
feeling, a caress more cautious than
caring, a kiss when lips do not meet,
this the beginning of good-bye.
A perfunctory placement of the hand,
a conversation moribund, sipping
scotch and sodas in silence, a call that
never comes, memories that have grown opaque,
this is the beginning of good-bye.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Aug 12

guy scutellaro

threads in a worn sweater

I've walked your floor

sat beside you in candlelight
looking at photos
scattered across the floor.

you remembering names
and people and prayers
I had long forgotten.

you are the dancer
who glides this loner
through sorrows and the stars,
across the mist of moments
most treasured

where in the stillness between kisses
promises are kept
and the warmth of your hand on my cheek
felt in places to real to touch.

your love asks for nothing
and when you smile your quiet gift to me

tender one, every breath I take is loving you.

Marshal Gebbie Aug 12

The Allotment of Being

The Gods hath writ what none hath ken,
A script beyond the reach of men.
To strive, to seek, to pierce the veil,
Is every soul’s eternal grail.

For he who lifts that sacred tome
May carve his name in star and stone.
Yet time, that thief of memory’s breath,
Shall draw all words to mist and death.

Though some endure through rot and rust,
Their echoes fade to ash and dust.
For vanity, that porous thread,
Unravels all the wise have said.

And in their vast, supreme decree,
The Gods, with cold lucidity,
Have weighed man’s worth and found it seen,
No more, no less, than what hath been.

So let it be, the fate assigned:
A fleeting spark, a bounded mind.
For expectations sought beyond....
It's fading mist and wilted frond.
.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Redrafting my comments after digesting Nat Lipstadt's:
"Oh Poet, Be Ever Gentle with thy Words".

Aug 11

Agnes de Lods

The Mathematics of Feelings

My thoughts strike from within.
Anger, helplessness, then tenderness
crash against an invisible wall.
The helmsman has set a course
for unsteadiness—
in an hour, maybe two,
another wave of doubt will come.

The sum of scenarios
weighs more than yesterday,
tattooing my soul from within.
I’m waiting,
freezing my tired mind.
Forget?
I can't anymore –
The anchor sank deep.
His voice rests in my depths.

I don't want to sail alone,
even though words of assurance
sound like a childish game.

I divide my loneliness into two,
adding up the “what ifs” –
I forgot the order of operations,
still remembering that my heart
beats slower, then faster.

I take a calm breath.
An invisible pin
pierces the back of my head.
It hurts—physically hurts—
But I won't back down.

I don't want to sleep.
I'm waiting for dawn,
for the solution to the equation
of my life,
with two unknowns.

I'm waiting
for those hands,
for that gaze,
for that smile,
for that warmth.

#mathematics #feelings

Marshal Gebbie Aug 10

Nuances in a Pretty Portraiture

Nuances of antiquity
In the roughness of the stone,
Mirrors of the past
In the faded paint, alone,
A touch old humanity
In the feeding of the birds....
But long abandoned nuances,
So sad, adorn the words?

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

For vb on reading her short,sad, sweet verse.."Pretty"