A young man with his pants hanging half off his backside, two gold front teeth,
and a half inch thick gold chain around his neck; walked into the local
welfare office to pick up his check.

He marched up to the counter and said, "Hi. You know, I just HATE drawing
welfare. I'd really rather have a job.. I don't like taking advantage of
the system, getting something for nothing."

The social worker behind the counter said "Your timing is excellent. We
Just got a job opening from a very wealthy old man who wants a chauffeur
and bodyguard for his beautiful daughter. You'll have to drive around in
his 2012 Mercedes-Benz CL, and he will supply all of your clothes."

"Because of the long hours, meals will be provided. You'll also be expected
to escort the daughter on her overseas holiday trips. This is rather
awkward to say but you will also have, as part of your job, the assignment
to satisfy her ****** urges as the daughter is in her mid-20's and has a
rather strong *** drive."

The guy, just plain wide-eyed, said, "You're bullshittin' me!"

The social worker said, "Yeah, well... You started it." .

And then........
RETIREMENT BONUS

If this doesn't make you laugh, you are truly humour impaired!

The Navy found they had too many officers and decided to offer an early retirement bonus. They promised any officer who volunteered for Retirement a bonus of $1,000 for every inch measured in a straight line between any Two points in his body.. The officer got to choose what those two points would be.

The first officer who accepted asked that he be measured from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He was measured at six feet and walked out with a bonus of $72,000.

The second officer who accepted was a little smarter and asked to be measured from the tip of his outstretched hands to his toes. He walked Out with $96,000.

The third one was a non-commissioned officer, a grizzly old Chief who, when asked where he would like to be measured replied,
'From the tip of my ****** to my testicles.'

It was suggested by the pension man that he might want to reconsider, explaining about the nice big checks the previous two Officers had received.
But the old Chief insisted and they decided to go along with him providing the measurement was taken by a Medical Officer.

The Medical Officer arrived and instructed the Chief to 'drop 'em,' which he did. The medical officer placed the tape measure on the tip of the Chief's ****** and began to work back. "Dear Lord!", he suddenly exclaimed,
''Where are your testicles?''
The old Chief calmly replied, '' Vietnam ''.

Happy days everybody.
M.

I Love This Country!
It's The Government That
Scares The Hell Outta Me!

Cheers all M.

It's quite odd how the average man will not commit to run
With any issues challenging his personal smoking gun.
With issues that confound in discomfort’s naked face
Or adopt a stance of reticence when confronted here apace.
Won’t lend a ready helping hand for fear of being held
Accountable for consequence imagined or dispelled,
Distrustful of the outcome in involvement’s disrepair
Would much prefer retreat to accountability there.
A quotient disappointment to the greater human race
Are the spineless who refuse to look directly to my face.

Marshalg
9 October 2013

Death drives fast in stolen car
Pursued en mass by cops afar
Down motorway of he and she
Who drive in innocence, legally.
Colliding in cascading mess
Of debris, dust and huge distress.
Face down upon the tarmac now
Handcuffed with glock at bleeding brow.

Whilst winding through a country glade
An opulence of deep, green shade,
A confluence of peace and quiet
Where nature’s art, in beauty, riot,
Where squirrels dart and rabbits munch
In turquoise grasses, lush, for lunch,
And sunspots sparkle in the shade
This place where poetry is made.

Juxtaposed, the concrete hash
Where ranting politician’s clash,
Where each, determined to be right
Adopts inflexibility's fight,
To hold to ransom common sense
Whilst seated stoically on the fence,
Committing all to farce and pain
Whilst pointing to another’s blame.

White waves wash the pristine sand
Where in Bermuda shorts, I stand,
Soaking up the tropic sun
In holiday, now just begun,
Far out I see a distant sail
Which tells a fascinating tale
Of opalescent crystal seas
Caressed by mystic scented breeze.

Juxtaposed, is terrors threat
Caste worldwide through Islam’s net,
Despite the protestations made
By Clerics, genuine, dismayed,
Permeated far and wide
Through violent death’s perverted pride.
Causing misery obscene
Whilst rinsing hands in blood till clean.*

Hark, a lark on yonder hill
It’s song, so clear, enduring till
It ends in silence… so pristine,
That tears stream down my face, so lean
And gaunt, so filled with joy am I
With gift of lark song sung to sky,
A gift, so sweet and clean and pure
If juxtaposed, it will endure.

Marshalg
Portraiture of my yin & yan in this day.
4 October 2013

Project yourself ahead kind friend
Into a future world
Where attitude’s in-exactitudes
Will leave a realm unfurled,
Where you shall not walk freely,
Where laughter will not ring,
Where authority shall regulate
The very song you sing.
Where every living moment
Shall cloak itself in hell
And monitored controls
Will smother all of it, so well.
Where freedoms be forgotten
For a predetermined choice
And oration be forbidden
By a Leaders leaden voice.
Where people live and walk and die
With eyes downcast to ground
And God forgive the errant soul
Who deems to utter sound.
A greyness permeates it all,
A drabness in the day
And the forecast for the morrow
Determines more to come this way.
Where no highs or lows abound
No life’s ambition met
Where Initiate’s dull suppression
Means all boundaries are set.
The mantra now accepted
The trade-off reconciled,
Your dead tomorrows guaranteed
For Regulation’s Child.

Marshalg
21 September 2013

Ghosting in the window pane
This stranger gazes back at me
Identical in all regard
Except for his transparency.
With judgmental hollow eyes
alluding dissaproval's glint
And sulphur lips so thin and pale,
No brother's touch across the vale.

This spectre in the window pane
Familiarity's warmth has flown
To shadow in the darkest night,
A vapour in the way of right.

Marshalg
20 September 2013

Only those who have used an outhouse would appreciate this.
The Outhouse Poem by unknown author

The service station trade was slow
The owner sat around,
With sharpened knife and cedar stick
Piled shavings on the ground.

No modern facilities had they,
The log across the rill
Led to a shack, marked His and Hers
That sat against the hill.

"Where is the ladies restroom, Sir ?"
The owner leaning back,
Said not a word but whittled on,
And nodded toward the shack.



With quickened step she entered there
But only stayed a minute,
Until she screamed, just like a snake
Or spider might be in it.

With startled look and beet red face
She bounded through the door,
And headed quickly for the car
Just like three gals before.

She missed the foot log - jumped the stream
The owner gave a shout,
As her silk stockings, down at her knees
Caught on a sassafras sprout.

She tripped and fell - got up, and then
In obvious disgust,
Ran to the car, stepped on the gas,
And faded in the dust.

Of course we all desired to know
What made the gals all do
The things they did, and then we found
The whittling owner knew.

A speaking system he'd devised
To make the thing complete,
He tied a speaker on the wall
Beneath the toilet seat.

He'd wait until the gals got set
And then the devilish tike,
Would stop his whittling long enough,
To speak into the mike.

And as she sat, a voice below
Struck terror, fright and fear,
"Will you please use the other hole,
We're painting under here !"

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

In the blue light of dawn
The melodic chorus of birdlife
Played, in corridors of green trees,
Is an exquisite symphony for my waiting ear.
No other sound, in the long course of the day,
Approaches the delicate beauty and echoing perfection
Of the crisp cadence of this brief, truely wondrous morning sequence.

Marshalg
Pukehane
7 September 2013

My lifetime as a little boy
Was filled with mystery and toy,
With fantasy I filled my head
So when I climbed the stairs to bed,
Imagined I that phantoms dwelt
In every shadow dark and svelt,
In every nook and cranny there
Beyond the landing up the stair.

Clutching hard my teddy bear
I conjoured courage, stared a glare
And crept with stealth from step to step
With hearth in mouth and holding breath,
Big eyes round and tippy toes,
'Cos mother said one never knows.....

Something sudden, quick and black
I jumped with fright and staggered back
Furry skin and almond eyes
I gasped, alarmed, in wild surprise
A gorilla on the landing sat ????
...Oh! weak relief....it's just the cat.

M.

Response to a poem by Terry O'Leary....
of lost promise,
of the damning futility of war.*

Of War you speak, in tongues of pain
You caste the colours darkly red,
You paint the atmosphere as rain
Of crimson tide to drown the dead.

Of twisted souls, you etch and faced
The passions felt, in tears of shame,
You sculpt the lines of guilt misplaced
Accumulated shards of blame.

Where hath the innocence flown of late ?
Where is the concience worn?
Why hides the love in tiers of hate
Where hope's catharsis borne?

What chance tomorrows tender tear?
What chance of helping hand?
Were man's intentions once made clear
In Boa's war locked land?

M.

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.

Curling upward like the smoke from a cigarette with lipstick
Emblazoned on the filter like a ruby on a ring.
Spiraling like vapour on a freezing frosty morning
Where the air is still and foggy, where the early blackbirds sing.

A maddening moment spinning in my flower's ****** youth
When I kissed those lips of tangerine to feel that heat ingrained.
And from the depths of ocean green that Kingfish rose to greet me,
Her beauty smeared by spear impaled in a deed that leaves me shamed.

Tendrils of thought arise entwining in the cortex
And the pleasure of sensation is my measure of delight,
Like the rising mist of lakeside in the golden shades of evening,
Of anticipating starlight in the jewelled descending night.

The rendevouzed excitement of ascention with the heartbeat
As a beauty glides unadorned through a moment in my life,
But the spiraled exultation of a lifetime's realisation
was the coil of breathless wonder sharing childbirth with my wife.

And the years, they pass asunder in a steady haze of flickering
Passing in succession, in a honey scented way.
Contented are my days in the muted shades of harmony
In the shady lanes of country in a sunlit green array.

Marshalg
Pukehana Paradise
10 August 2013

"Buried in the Sand" by Terry O’Leary

A beggar clump adorns a dump, his pencil box in hand -
With sightless eyes upon the skies he’s lying there unmanned.

He’s fallen down in Shantytown, his knees too weak to stand,
With no relief and bitter grief too dark to understand.

The Bowery blight is hid from sight, it’s covered up and bland,
And Robin Hood and Brother Hood lie buried in the sand.

"A Rebuttal" by Marshalg**

So Hood lied low, despite the show ensueing without help,
One would have thought a British sort would spring forth with a yelp!

Would spring ***** to help deflect contusions which occurred
When beggar Clump adorned the dump confusing all deferred.

Whilst sister Ant, attired in scant, ran forth on spindly legs
And brother Frog with shaggy dog said "****" and drank the dregs.

It all became too much, as such, a meelee did ensue,
So all called HALT and as one did BOLT...to the local for a brew!

Phew...that was FUN & hard work!
M.

Happiness...A state of mind
Placed opposite to sad,
Degrees of joy and sorrow
That are neither good nor bad.
Your barometric reader
Determined by the day,
The way you play our cards
Or the whim of yae or nay.
Whichever way the meter flows
There is one guarantee,
If you've lived life to it's fullest
Your dying day will set you free!
So fear not for the dark days
They will come and go like rain
Tomorrow's dawn brings sunshine
To evaporate the pain.

Luv to you Nat.
M.

Here I sit amidst the ruin of a white winters' day
Convulsive rain and harsh wind outside, contribute tumult.
And in here, in this small shelter, there is a tension in the air.

We two sit apart, uncommunicative, remote and quite detached.
Not for any reason other than the fact that we are strangers,
We have never met, nor are we ever likely to.
She has an elegance and a stylish angularity whilst I am bald, bearded, unfashionable and somewhat overweight.
She is singularly indifferent to my presence, whilst I am uncomfortable with the circumstance that placed us in this small proximity.
We would, in truth, rather both be elsewhere.

I break the ice in throwing her a small smile and complain about the weather,
Her eyes flick across my face and immediately resume their distant focus on the rain,
She adjusts her seating to face,ever so slightly, askance.
Her choice of course, to assume an air of indifference or superiority...or adopt a measure of defence..or perhaps a combination of a bit all three.  
Regardless... I wipe my backside in exactly the same manner as does she, I  am definitely no less a person for my dumpy demeanour and friendly overture
And I really feel that I don't have to share my space with coldness and impertinance,
Better, I think, to be wet and content with my own company
..So, donning my cap and jacket, I stride out into the deluge to leave the remote and uncommunicative young woman alone and dry with her thoughts.

And then....
Howling rain and shards of wind
Pelt me as I walk
Along the foreshore wild and white
As hovered seagulls squark.
When all at once she's by my side
Walking pace for pace,
Her linen suit a sodden mess
Hair plastered to her face.

"Thought I ought to make it right"
She told me with a smile
I threw my coat upon her back
And walked another mile.
We called into a coffee shop
And sat down by the fire
And sipped a steaming latte
As she told her story dire,

"The cancer's all but killed me
My husband's left the home,
The baby's gone to mother
And I'm facing death alone."
We quietly spoke for ages
I held her hand in mine
Then suddenly she stood to leave
And thanked me for my time.

I sat there in a stupor
Recalling how it played
And felt the guilt impact on me
For judgements I had made.
Those callow, shallow judgements
Made in ignorance, my friend,
Will haunt me as she girds herself
To boldly meet her end.

Marshalg
On a bleak and blustery cold winters day.
Titirangi
5th September 2010

Back to my land of verdant green
To feel the bite of winter chill
To know that while all this is so
That far off land enthralls me still.

That far off land of granite peaks
Of crystalline white massif high,
Of conifer which scale the *****
Of rocky outcrop to the sky.
The baking heat of desert mesa
Spread as far as eye can see
Sage bush in its fragrant aura
Tumble **** soon rolling free.
Squirrel dart on shale cascade
Of green grey slate on alpine flank
Bright blue birds in curious hover
...For this, my reeling senses thank.

Fishing boats in bright array
Adorn the West coast sheltered lee,
Crab and mackerel brim the bin
Of bearded fishermen with glee.
Pounding surf of North Pacific
Carves the rock of bastioned coast
Embryonic currents cold
Do modify the climate most.
Redwoods huge clad coastal ranges,
Bright geraniums do sing
From earthen pots outside the cafe
Hot coffee fragrant from within.

Hilarity as laughing people gather
Watch as yelling Serbs do sling
Huge silver fish across the stall
Amid Seattle's Pike's Place din.
Colour paints this market place
Flowers stacked in every hue
Noisy vendors bawl their product
Creamy ice cream cone for you.

Streaming dust in streaming hair
Scree slopes avalanche past for thrill
Mountain crevasse yawns aloof
As ATV's roar up the hill.
Wild terrain of wilderness
On mountaintop of forest fir,
Cougar, grizzly bear and wolf
In pack are found herein astir.
Atop the very precipice
We view the everlasting peaks
Magnificent in summer sun
Embalmed in snow when Winter speaks.

Freeways snake from coast to mountain
Clover leaf in junctions pile,
Forty ton trucks pull big trailers
Endless day for endless mile.
Barrel straight these concrete tarmacs
Stretching far as eye can see,
Headlong surge huge pickup trucks
But cautious eye for Sheriff be.
Roadside diners loud and raucous
Selling burgers, selling beer
Neon flashing through the night
Old ***** waitress' toothless cheer.

The years have clad our friendships well
Familiarity's warming hand
Allows resumption of our words
Despite the 40 year gap spanned.
Houseboat floats in crowded wharfage
Swimming through a clear cool lake,
Californian wine with friends
Hot chilli food and fresh bread bake.
Eye fillets grill on barbecue
See the distant mountain peaks
Summer snow endures aloft
Glows indigo as sunset speaks.

Endless skies of cobalt blue
Cloudless in the summer sun
Gracious denizens do offer
Generosity unsung.
Graciousness across the land
Across these people so diverse,
The wondrous gift of ready smile
Friendly hand and open purse.

History tells these people spoke
Electing leaders for their time
When sanity's quiet need arose
It was promulgated on the line.
With Washington and Lincoln
Through FDR to JFK,
The Presidents who bed-rocked
This Foundation for the nation's day.
Astounding, that exceptional men
Have carved this face from stone,
Have caste the global presence
That Americans call home.

I understand the feeling now,
Of pride and patriotic stance.
I understand the inner strength
Of America's great, true romance.

This poem bequeathed to our good friends who inhabit this land... Big Rich, Suzie and Mike, Our mate Stevo and Ian, Heidi, Wyatt and Cooper, Dear old Greg and his elegant lady, Holly.
But most of all, with gratitude and love, to our marvelous son Boaz and his lovely lady, Angela.

Marshalg & Janet
At "Foxglove", Taranaki... In the Southern hemisphere's mid winter.
2 August 2013

There writ in ancient sanscrit text
The answer plain to what lays next,
The answer writ in common tongue
So aged could understand with young,
A secret held within the grasp
Of Kings and Prince of Priests of past,
A secret hidden to confound
All humankind from fact profound
To keep it locked, withheld secure
By gloating greed with goal impure.

Bound in parchment yellow gold
And tied with thong of leather old,
Letters writ in feeble blend
So frail that few could comprehend,
A revelation wrought so hard
That weak might well slice wrist with shard.
I charge thee all take hold within
To gird thyself for message grim........

"Beyond the end there lies a void
A pitch black nothingness employed
In silence, nay beyond all sound
With deathly stillness all around.
Nothing felt and nothing seen
No sense of good or rank obscene.
Not up nor down, no smile nor frown.
There's no tomorrow in the air
No brilliant light or horn fanfare
The men in pulpits sold a lie
For at the end we merely...DIE!"

Marshalg
At the Crypt of the Ancestors
10 July 2013

Banal though you seem to be
I charge you to envisage free
A scarlet thought, a venal throb
To garnish with a stifled sob,
A crystal tear to reinforce  
The reticence I suspect, of course,
The reticence which binds you to
A crass and **** dogma's view.

Why, you say, why take this tack?
Well??? Someone needs to bring you back.....
Back to face your beauty's soul
To extricate this black Popes' goal
Of binding you to penitence
Obliterating freedom's sense!

Marshalg
8 July 2013

The wood room door was opened wide
I closed it firm last night.
I woke at four and felt it's breath
It gave me quite a fright.
I felt it's chilly, gentle breath
Exhaling on my brow
And upright in my skinny bed
Roared "Get thee gone ghost,
******* now!"


With naked shanks I padded forth
To set and light the fire
Whilst outside in the wilderness
I could hear the specter's ire,
It moved about deliberately,
It stalked outside my room.
I warmed my *** by fires heat
And cursed to dispel doom.


That icy feeling permeates
It reaches to the bone,
It is far to early for a call
Yet there's the ringing phone,
I listen to the vacant hiss,
There's no one there of course
So I bellow forth obscenities
And hang up with a curse.


Old Basil told me of the time
He watched with open mouth
Whilst a faceless man in hounds tooth coat
Glided past him from the south.
The housemaids tell with fear filled eyes
Of depressions on the bed
Where something sat and rested there
Laid down it's weary head.
Except the house was empty then,
Unoccupied by guests.
No cat nor dog nor friendly hog,
Nobody playing jests.


Some nights I walk the corridors
To see what I can see
And I fancy Thomas Dawson's ghost
Is quietly watching me,
For he only shows his bearded face
At the darkest witching hour
And it's usually in the dead of night
To the echo's of the old clock tower
When the mountain looms above the lodge
Enshrouded in the mist,
And the morepork calls its haunting sound
And the snow is moonlight kissed.



Marshalg
Dawson Falls Lodge
TARANAKI,New Zealand.
18th August 2008
- From Watching the Ripples Radiate

Do your dreams lead  you up to Nirvana?
Do you travel on tendrils of foam?
Do you wake in the night, does your heart pound with fright?
Are you scared when they leave you alone?

Are you happy to be a good person?
Do you feel you deserve a good name?
Do you anxiously flout all your money about
And try hard to accumulate fame?

Do you help when a baby is crying?
Do you lend when your best friend is poor?
Have you fought for your rights in political fights
Or just stood by and noted the score?

Does your life feel speciously empty?
Do you cry in despair in your bed?
Is the pointlessness true is it happening to you?
Do you dream you’d be better off dead?

Does it all seem a little like hard work?
Are you ******* before you begin?
Should you shampoo both hands and discard all those plans
And ignore the egg on your chin?

Are you angry and filled with frustration?
Have you ground your teeth with rage?
Have you mounted a fight before this day is night
And determined to turn a new page?

Are you coming together at long last?
Has the breeding come to the fore?
Is your spine now straight, has your heart lost it’s hate?
Are you showing your ****..the door?

Is euphoria blowing a fresh wind?
Are clear eyes  searching the shore?
Has a day not begun without blue sky and sun?
Have you dreamt love might happen once more?

The freshness and sparkle of raindrops,
The smell of new mown hay
Makes the being intense it discards all pretense
And announces hope for this day.

Do your dreams lead you up to Nirvana?
Do you wake with a song in your heart?
Are you ready to fly in this peppermint sky?
Or does something here… blow you apart?


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
18th December 2007

- From Watching the Ripples Radiate

I see a massive, distant land
Of rolling plains of sage and grass,
Of forest covered coastal range
Huge waterfalls and lakes of glass.
I see the distant mountains blue
Through haze I feel this strong allure,
Where unknown shores are lapped by waves,
Where bubbled mountain brooks flow pure.
I see patchwork farming sprawl
Across this landscape, mile by mile
Where evidenced horizon's curve
Brings to my mind amazement's smile.
I feel the massive hand of man
In latticed freeways everywhere
Where citadels of towered glass
Bring patriotic pride to bear.
I feel the spirit of this land
From distant place I feel the draw
Of magnetism's warming hand
Which leads me to it's wondrous shore.
Anticipation's fluttered heart
Now beats within excitement's breast
So soon to tread that distant soil
So soon to realize lifelong quest.
America shall be my friend
Shall be the bearer of my days
Shall lead my adolescent hand
To show me where the wonder lays.

I see this massive, distant land,
I sense those distant mountains blue,
I feel the magic of allure
For soon I shall be there with you.

Marshalg
Auckland NZ.
5 July 2013

Yea verily
The Movers and Shakers are society’s paveway makers.
They recognise a need, feel a cause and initiate action.
These people make things happen, they are the driving force in our society.
By virtue of their very nature, they are rarely perfect,
they have backgrounds and have, invariably, at some some stage of their life,
trodden on the daisies.
Our society could not do without these people.
They are a rare minority and because of their positivity and momentum
They make enemies.

The enemy of the Movers and the Shakers are the Naysayers and the Finger Pointers.
The Naysayers and Finger Pointers are the reactive side of society.
They rarely initiate and rarely expose themselves to the spotlight.
They fester in the shadows in their masses and froth into braying criticism
Which may, or may not, develop into righteous finger pointing and condemnation.
(Depending, of course, on the issue at hand and the degree of hysteria generated.)

The Naysayers and Finger Pointers are society’s negatives.
(They would say that they are society’s necessary checks and controls…
Which perhaps, to some degree they are.)

The realm of the Tall Poppy Syndrome is the perfect territory for Naysayer/Finger Pointer operation.
It provides the right mix of avarice, envy and vengeance to blend clandestinely beneath a covering cloak of righteous indignation.
And it provides the symbiotic platform for mass reaction from the great unwashed.

I note that Mayor Bob Parker and benefactor Sir Owen Glenn are the latest recipients of negative onslaught.
The Mayor has just announced that, after many years of public service, he has had a guts full of the braying abuse and is throwing in the towel.
I sincerely hope that he retires with wealth and lovely wife and that he bathes in the satisfaction of his many, many achievements…well away from the accusing crowd.
And if I was Sir Owen Glenn, I would abruptly cancel the offered, generous, $2 million finance for the Anti Domestic Violence Campaign
and with fierce eye tell the Naysayers and Finger Pointers of New Zealand society to go stuff themselves… then turn and walk away, never to return.

Marshalg
Pukehana Paradise
AUCKLAND
5 July 2013

Would thee judge me to the end
Should I make ***** my friend?
Wouldst thou rule that all was bad
Should I make laughter read as sad?
Would that thou tax me in thy way
Were I to shun the games thee play?
Wouldst thou beat my aching head
Were I to ******* in bed?
Hast thou ****** me with thy thoughts
Prior to judgement in thy courts?
And wouldst thou slaughter me this morn
Should I refute thy statute born?

Find thee no mercy in thy heart
To gift one gracious thought a start?

Marshalg
Justice Perplexus
3 July 2013

Splendour surrounds with exquisit-ness found
In the coo of a dove and the worm in the ground,
With the look in your eye when you smile at my face
The lift of the brow as penny drops into place.
Exquisit-ness found in the phrases you write
And the softness of shadows when day turns to night,
The touch of your fingertips touching my brow
The wonder engaged when you show me how.
The love of the feeling of being alive
And the buzz of the bee at it's honey filled hive,
The taste of tomato, acidic with bite
And the roar of the laughter when joke telling's right.
The scent of the lavender, colours of rose
And the joy of the tones in a violin's prose,
Pink cheeks in the frostiness, dancing blue eyes
And the look on your face when I spring a surprise.
Hot bacon for breakfast with two poached eggs
And I've swallowed my coffee right down to the dregs.
Such splendour surrounds on this beautiful day
I'm at the top of the world in a wonderful way.

Marshalg
Taranaki bound in an hour or two
27/6/13

(Quote by Spike Milligan)

One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****.

There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.

Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!


Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.

Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.

****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****.

I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****!

Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011

Waking in darkness to brainstorming moments
Warm under covers on this freezing morn,
Recalling the instants of yesterday’s sequences,
How they developed and how they were born……

“Moving with grace in a form fitting garment,
Curves in the shadow light tauntingly near,
Beautiful lines in a moment of weakness
Titillate senses erotically clear.”

“Watching the mouth of the bigoted warbler,
Watching him spout his idolatry spiels,
Rhetoric of mind bending, **** licking garbage
Image of self is the place that he kneels.”

“Urgency now with insurances deadline
Making provision for payments now due,
Juggle the baksheesh for paying the piper
Or the cruelty of bankers will cauterise you!”

“Laughter arouses the happiest moments
Merriment opens the faces so well,
Emotively gracious the giving of laughter
Contagiously, wonderfully ringing the bell.”

"Uncomfortably caught in the midst of an untruth
Unconscionably really, can’t call it a lie,
Got caught in momentum of tale in the telling
Upsetting me now to the point where I cry.”

"Can’t recall why, but I know there’s a matter,
Ripping my britches to try to recall….
Something importantly, now to be dealt with
Frustratingly lost in the fog of it all.”

"Harmonies rise like a mist in the temple
Delicate cadences rise and they fall,
I wonder why God allows this unbeliever
To sing with the Angels in his Holy hall?”

“Running my fingertips over her curvature
Feeling the ***** line plummet to fall
Knowing the thrill of elicit collusion
Anticipate promise of wanting it all.”

Sudden alarm in the midst of a waking
Urgency calls at the dawn of the day,
Heaving my soul into frost waiting fingers
Leaving my dreams in the warmth where they lay.

Marshalg
“Pukehana Paradise”
Auckland NZ.
22 June 2013

Standing there she wrings her hands
The light falls on her thinning hair,
Shadow hides the worried eyes
Which fixate in a distant stare.

Years ago the husband left,
Left despite the child inside,
Despite the growing pile of debt,
He left it all to run and hide.

The boy is born one winter morn
Born with golden curls of mane,
He grows despite the hardship felt,
He grows to suit his noble name.

Boaz is his given name
The Hebrew word for strength and strong,
His mother’s strength of character
Is echoed in his blue eyed song.

Lean and long and strong in frame
A ready smile upon his face,
Beneath his long blond curling locks
Expressing his good humoured grace.

Thinly proud she meets each day,
She bears the hardship, every storm,
Thinly proud she loves the boy
Who runs in rows of growing corn.

Standing there she wrings her hands
A worried mother’s reddened face,
For battle’s flag has called her boy
Who volunteers with pride and grace.

With brimming eyes she thinks of him
Holding close his teddy bear,
Thinking of the laughing moments
Happy times they used to share.

Short letters from the front arrive
A message filled with love and joy
To reassure a mother’s fears,
In promise for her darling boy.

A silence from the distant front
The drums and guns have sung their song,
Chilling tales of valour but,
Combatants now do homeward throng.

Standing there she wrings her hands
With streaming tears as hopes depart,
A deathly silent distant field
Where lies the promise in her heart.

Marshalg
For all the mothers who wait.
20 June 2013

Look to the past to find your demons
Ghosts appear as memories loom,
Transgressions weave uneasy feelings
The horrors glide across the room.

Tissue scarred for wrongs committed
Hot, wet tears run down your face,
Embarrassed feelings bleed discomfort
Bad reflections have no grace.

A writhing in your nether regions
Bleak remorsefulness inside,
Feelings based on actions rendered
Face your demons, run and hide.

Overwhelming sinful actions
Drive you to a freezing place,
Confess your crimes to Catholic faction
Bare your shredded soul’s disgrace.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
9 May 2009

- From "Watching the Ripples Radiate"

Wandering through tracks of life
Remind me of a play
Where the hero played his present scene
Then cancelled out each day
Where the memories of yesteryear
Just fade into the mist,
Where the joys and tears and ecstasy
Dispel, and nothing’s missed.
Where time consumes the very thought
That occupies each part
And leaves you with a vagueness
And a sadness in your heart.

When you walk and crush the daisies
When you strive and build the day
When you lead a child to laughter
With a funny face display.
When you deal with things of consequence
And guide the ship of state,
When you choose your favorite ice cream
And avoid the food you hate.
When the building blocks just vanish
And the structure disappears
When the moments flee like moving silk
And evaporate the years.

The day is still and foggy
There’s a tremor in the air,
I can hear a blackbird singing
And the sound is sweet and fair
As I sit in my seclusion
And quietly pass the time
I attempt to recall peoples names
And I can’t remember mine.
There’s a mistiness in being
And a sameness everywhere,
There’s a lack of expectation
And a drollness in despair.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
8th March 2008

I laid my hand on soft white skin,
Curled my toes around your shin
And smiled a smile in secret dark...
Incredible how my fortunes park,
In such a place, at such a time
When all is so sublime....sublime.

So tender as you softly snore
Into my ear, so near, no more
The tensions of an earthly day.
With you so near, it's all OK.

In the big soft bed @ Pukehana Paradise.
(on a sleep in Sunday morning)
9 June 2013

Jetting away to your far away home
I'm left with your fragrance and image alone,
To sit on the chair with a scotch in my hand
Miserably aware that I can't understand,
Why you left, why you cried,why you sped for the door
Leaving pungency there in the sheets on the floor.

The aching emptiness, hollow inside
The confusion and rawness of pain, I confide,
That I'm lost. Tomorrow is pointlessly there
When I wake up to find that your gone, in despair.
Just yesterday, we lay spent on the bed
Entwined and sated, unseemingly spread,
And now the ghost of passion's done
When then, we were so wetly one.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
26 October 2009

- From "Watching the Ripples Radiate."

Vaulting canyons soar on high
Shadows vast in orange sun,
Expedition treads the stones
Of exploration Mars begun.
Shifting sands in freezing breeze
Desolation’s red extreme,
Lifeless in the breathless air
As yet, no living thing be seen.

But soon…
Found beneath the rust red plain
Of ancient planet Mars afar,
The relics of an ancient tribe
Of humanoids who fled the star.
Humanoids so far advanced,
Far beyond our knowledge bounds,
Far beyond our comprehension’s
Grasp of that which now, confounds.

Far advanced but still despaired,
Despite the organisational skill,
Destroyed the lakes and seas of Mars
With need and greed and get and ****.
Destroyed the soft green slopes of grass,
Destroyed the gentle surge of surf,
Destroyed tomorrow’s promised day
With need and greed, for what they’re worth.

Buried deep within the sands
Soaring spires of cities great,
Skeletons of millions caught
By greed’s black devastation’s hate.
Greed’s black hand which gambled all
On fate’s capitulated stand,
To smite the delicacy of
This planets eco-balanced land.

Mars collapsed with quick accord
The atmosphere constricted, cold.
Vegetation died en masse
Population withered old.
A frantic few survived to flee
With silver ark to ****** Earth,
(Where dinosaur now roam the shores),
To resurrect a new rebirth.

A new rebirth in promised land
Where old mistakes should not be made,
Where simple rules shall stay the hand
Of they who walk in light and shade.
A new rebirth on planet Earth
Will guarantee a life of gold
To future generation’s child
Who shall, (we promise), grow, safe, old.

Alas- a promise poorly met
A stipulation we decree,
We who stand at ruin's gate
And planetary destruction see.
We, the children's children's child
Who stand in rust red, windblown sand,
Who look towards our distant Earth
Now do declare your promise ****** .


Marshalg
On the eve of man’s great push to planet Mars.
25 May 2013
Pukehana Paradise.

Murmurings of memories
Whispering in my ear,
Nuances of notions felt
From long ago, so dear,
Nuances of feelings held
From deep within my breast
Like the quiet stroll by lakeside
When love became our quest.

The way our fingers intertwined
That shyness in your eyes,
And the lovely way you giggled
And the way you softly cried,
The gentle touch of fingertips
That time I kissed your palm,
And the glory of the setting sun
Whilst strolling arm in arm.
Running up the golden sand
As white surf swept our feet,
And laughing at the joy of it
The  magic so, so sweet.

And now ….
Those distant murmuring’s
just trickle down the years,
Those nuances of yesteryear
Sweet whispers in my ears.

Marshalg
11 May 2013
Pukehana

Deformity of rationale’s depletion of reserve
Cast derelict to the wind,
A vacant stare’s indifference states
A reluctance to rescind.

For terms spat forth in anger’s heat
Have cut the issues thrice,
So reconciliation’s overtures
Just cannot cut the ice.

To bake the cake of spleen so vile
Has soured the very meal,
And words of curt contrition
Now, seem trite and quite unreal.

Retraction treads a hopeless path
Offended ears refuse
And apology’s bland excess
Just infuriates to abuse.

The battle ground awaits you
As the bright red poppies sway,
Do you gird yourself for bloodshed
Or turn and walk away?

Remember, there’s tomorrow
Where a day just could well rise,
To promise reappraisal’s hopes
…Forgiveness and surprise?

To hell with it Methuselah
Let Trumpets scream their din,
I long to sate revenge’s thirst
Make Anger’s War begin!


Marshalg
Approaching the ragged end of anger.
9 May 2013

© 2013 Marshal Gebbie

Autumn in New Zealand is a masterpiece on canvas
Patternings of goldens and bright rose hips in their beds,
Copses of coniferous in deep and darkly avenues
To the brilliance of a country lane awash with leafy reds.
Chimney fires are smoking in the rural country cottages
The warming glow of lanterns in the windows as I pass,
A tantalising whiff of hot buttered scones is wafting
And somewhere in the distance I can hear a red deer bark.
Strolling by the lakeside in the early morning stillness
My breathing fogs before me in the chillness of the air,
Rowan trees glow scarlet and the naked ***** willow
Has shed her golden carpet on the emerald hillock there.
Rushes rattle softly in the mistyness of lowlands
Treeeferns in their glory of silver filagree,
Sparrows ruffle feathers to insulate the coolness
As wheeling flocks of starling mass to migrate to be free.
Gossamer as fairy dust the thistledown is floating
A harbinger of autumn leaves and freezing frost to come,
Those Coriollis forces are determining the changeling
Where the snowy days approaching means the Autumn tones are done.


Marshalg
27 April 2013
In rural Pukekohe.
New Zealand

In the sizzle of the sauna I sat near a fellow
A giant and as black, my friends, as black as pitch could be,
Gentle eyes and gentle voice, melodious in cadence
It reminded me of the music of the singing whales at sea.
From Georgia in the deep south, friends, a basket ball pro player
And as pleasant a man, my friends, as you could wish to meet,
Coaches the kiddies be they black, white or yellow, friends,
Coaches the kiddies throwing hoops in the street.
You just don't meet a Prince in the sizzle of the sauna
But I'll tell you, my friends, I'll tell you this for free,
That a better Ambassador for mankind and Maker
Has just not been apparent, friends, apparent to me.
He held out his hand, and smiled, and asked in passing,
Asked me my name as I rose to take my leave,
I felt the strength of the grip of that firm hand in clasping
And found me a friend, my friends, a good friend I believe.

Marshalg
Making a friend in the heat of the sauna
26 April 2013

Over the last 200 years the Australians and New Zealanders have joined forces in conflict.
We have fought, back to back, against a common foe.
Fighting and dying in battle beside each other...resolute and definate.
We fought as Brothers.
Each year, on the sporting field, we have been bitter adversaries, giving no quarter
But in battle we are ANZACs
....and forever it shall be.

Today is ANZAC Day.
Today we remember those who gave their service and sacrificed their lives ...for us.

As the sun goes down and in the morning....
**WE SHALL REMEMBER THEM.

Standing on the hillside is a rustic yellow cottage,
Rusty yellow staining from the steel dust of the trains.
Passing, rushing carriages that crisscross by the hour,
The ten o clock from Frankston meets the City train detained.

Golden light of sunrise in the calm of early morning
Golden light reflected on the rusty cottage roof,
Puffing at his briar and sitting at the doorstep
Old Grandpa drinks the peacefulness whilst stroking cat aloof.

Bacon smells a-beckoning from coal range fires a-glowering
Delicious tang of coffee from my Granma’s breakfast fare,
The clattering of silver wheels as silver rails reverberate
Sings the music of the morning with not a trace of care.

Memories from yesteryear I treasure on reflection,
Memories, a little boy, recalled from times secure.
Memories of cuddles in the ***** of my Grandma
And the scent of plum tobacco giving Grandpa’s pipe allure.

Perhaps a trick of memory, perhaps my passing fancy
But I clearly recall a sign above the kitchen door,
A simple sign of welcome with a sense of real belonging
In the gentle name of “Sunrise” to warm the heart galore.


Marshalg
In memory of my dear Nan and Pop Cummings @ Mordialloc by the bay.
23 April 2013

Preamble at the showdown the fighters eye to eye
Droning pulse of discourse from the referee is dry,
Bouncing back to my corner the butterflies take charge
For the other guy’s a monster, like a Doberman at large.

Bell resounds alarmingly, I shuffle forth to meet
A combination thrown with steel…it whacks me off my feet.
Seeing stars I resurrect to lurch about the ring
To try to keep some distance from the monster’s punching sting.

Roaring crowd are baying now they call to take me out
The Doberman is grinning for he reckons it’s a route,
The flashing light confusing, the noise a steady din
As the monster comes in quickly to achieve expected win.

Throwing jabs to keep him back, retreating to the rope
I cover up with everything to give myself some hope
He pounds with his salvos they hammer hard and fast
His breathing rasping in my ears I pray to God I last.

Saved by the bell and cold water, such disgrace
The crowd are loudly booing, I’ve not put leather on his face,
A wash of resolution hotly surges from within
So I **** the mouth guard back and rush on out to tackle him.

Defensive expectations had him open up his chin
So I feinted with a left and launched a mighty right with spin,
Boring in with fury and a combination score
I hit him with an uppercut which traversed from the floor.

Miraculously the eyeballs rolled and disappeared from sight
I threw another flurry…but had no one to fight
Flat out on the deck he lay, the Doberman was out
As I bounced around like Rocky to the punters frenzied shout.

Camera flashes blinded as the raving crowd went wild.
It defied all expectations, I was the sacrificial child.
Bets were laid that I would fall within a round or two
The screaming din reflected that all bets were in the poo.

The countdown took forever and I swear I watched each stroke
And kept one eye on the fallen, should he rise he’d go for broke,
My amazement with two wobbly knees and heaving lungs of fire
When my leaden glove was held aloft to victory entire.

Winners come and winners go but this I’ll not forget
When fortune favoured sweetly…and I collected on the bet!


Marshalg
My thanks to Shane Cameron…a real fighter.
14 April 2013 (Pukehana Paradise)

© 2013 Marshal Gebbie

Dripping ***, she stood there, completely unaware
That every man about her had turned around to stare.
For in her nubile innocence and when her red lips smiled
She was causing utter mayhem as distracted drivers piled.
The Postmen stopped delivering, Policemen stood agape,
Conductors missed their trolleybus and Superman his cape!
…And as she sashayed down the street leaving bedlam in her wake
And all the while her red high heels were causing earth to shake,
Perambulating gracefully, impossibly demure,
She sauntered down the causeway, with a loveliness so pure.
Whilst just behind and following, a ravenous hot mob
Of nature’s gift to manhood, all slavering at the gob.
Quite suddenly with a swish of skirt she swirled about and laughed
At the frozen apparition there immobile and aghast.
Acutely frozen with embarrassment at having looked so ****** absurd
They all dispersed their different ways without a single word.
“Bye boys” she chortled, with a devilment in play
With flick of skirt and toss of hair she turned and walked away.
Ha!

Marshalg
Laughing to myself at the silly old mating game we play.
Pukehana Paradise
14 April 2013

Aberration’s child is born as foetus in a man
Thoughts of where and why and when corrupted in the plan,
These aberrations manifest behaviourally where
Normality’s parameters are stretched beyond the tear.
Stretched beyond acceptable, stretched beyond belief
Like when the golden Altar boy becomes a rabid thief!
Like how that fool in North Korea with militarists in synch
With postulated threats has brought us all to nuclear brink.
Like when that freak in Batman gear let loose with deadly aim
To shoot the kids at movie time then claimed he was insane.
Like when the Barons grow the coke to corrupt all our youth
And bribe and cheat and **** and bash, yet call our laws uncouth.
What makes my brothers lie and steal, what makes them want to hurt?
What aberration wields the knife to shred the nubile’s skirt?
Why are financiers predatory, what gearing in their mind
Enables them, with conscience clear, to plot to fleece us blind?
When does this change occur in growth, at what stage does it switch?
How do angelic six year olds at fifteen turn to *****?
Amazing that the blue eyed boy who smiled with curly locks
With age became infatuated with a lust for *****?
Indecent that good working men who slave to build a stake
Can lose it all to those who use legality to take.
And what of those who plan to ****, what trigger in the brain
Determines that they chose this path?
IT’S ALL NOW QUITE INSANE!*

Marshalg
Viewed from my (relatively) safe hidey-hole, Down Under.
Pukehana. NZ
6 April 2013

By amber light we sit here in this scintillating evening
By amber light we wonder at the treasures of the night,
Enraptured by the shimmer of the highlights in the wavelets
Across the bay the music plays to thrill us with delight.

Moving to the rhythm of a tango in the moonlight,
Feeling the sinuating warming run inside
Start the steps in synchro to the pulsing of our swaying
Roll the eyes in fun as we let our bare feet glide.

Shimmer on the wavelets in the balmy air of evening
Kaleidoscope reflection of refractions of the night,
Titilating trumpets to the pulsing of the conga drums
We meld our hips together in our tango's rich delight.

By amber light  luxuriate as long as night’s forever
We’ve felt the brush of loving in a tangled, close perspire,
We’ve danced the dance of romance in these luscious shades of evening
To be happy and  exhausted in a bubble of desire.*


Marshalg
In the magic of the peaceful night and the waters’ beautiful, shimmering shades.
Manou’s Harbourside Restaurant
Port Taranaki, NZ.
9pm 1 April 2013

Hail to Caesar now, Zeig Heil
Noble Eagle Standard flies,
Schutzstaffel in midnight legion
Disciplined long stabbing knives.
Heil to goose stepped march precision
Noble Eagle Standard soars,
Centurian’s in closed division
Screaming stukas strafe azores.
Fist to leather armour snapping
Stiff arms high in thronged salute,
Hail to Caesar sing the Legions
Zeig Heil Waffen SS brute.
Discipline of Shield defences
Stabbing lances follow swords
Clouds of arrows fill the heaven
Dachau’s ovens roast the hoards.
Winged Aquila flies the column
Wielded high as Roman’s would,
Black and white with red blood running
Swastikas where Jews once stood.
Europe caste in corpses rotting
Women screaming in the land,
Deutsch and Roman locked forever
Destroyers both, in history’s hand.*


Marshalg
In response to Anselm’s “Two Translations”
25 March 2013
On a cool and dry Autumn afternoon.

Those eyes of green
An old man's rheumy eyes
Awash with memories and salty tears.
And sharp eyes of green
That scan the distant skies
To capture shades from down the distant years.
Hardened eyes of green
Which cut with crystal sharp
The foolish prattle of that errant boy.
Weeping eyes of green
That witnessed cadenced harp
Consort with tone and brilliant colour's joy
Aging eyes of green
Now wilt with evening light
To not regret the fade of dying time.
Eyes of green recall
Her beauty's luscious sight
To life's commital of her hand in thine.
Proud eyes of green
Recall his baby's cry
The swaddled infant holding up her hand.
Tired eyes of green
Now closed his lids to die
To wander to his chosen plot of land.

Marshalg
For Grandpa
24 March 2013

Poets issue from the heart
There's nothing to be said
For those who write in words of spite
To leave their truths for dead.
So really....Poetry is simply
A camera for the mind
Where one expresses sentiment
The heart won't leave behind.
And...Release is felt
By he who writes
Of ardour of the soul,
As though the act of penning words
Disgorges passion's goal.
But...The beauty felt
In handing forth
The gemstones of your mind
Attains it's goal when only read
By they who seek to find.
And in fact...The beauty felt
In sitting down
To read old tomes of mine
Delivers pleasure in revisiting
My best snapshots of time.

So friends, Poets
Please feel at ease
For what you seek to do
Is simply make this world a better place
And for that... I THANK YOU.

Marshalg
@the Pukehana Paradise, NZ.
Sunday 10:21am, 24 march 2013

That beautiful Wind as it howls from the pass
Blowing tussock in waves across hillocks of grass,
Causing red leaves to billow in curtains of fall
To gather in windrows beneath the stone wall,
Where the zephyrs play mischief in colour and swirl
And cascades of leafage fly skyward and whirl.

And the hawthorns sway in that beautiful way
And the reeds all bend in the lake
Where the concentric rings caused by raindrops and things
Cause the surface to shimmer and shake.

That beautiful Wind as it streams through the trees
Brings a tear to my eyes, makes me weak at the knees,
For the patterns of movement, the rhythmical sway
And the roar of the torrent in leafage at play.
And the impact of raindrops, so fresh on my face,
Make me laugh at the wonder of this special place.

And the starlings all heel with immaculate feel
As in thousands, they flock to the trees,
Where with cochophanous joy in full voice they employ
A concierto of birdsong to please

That beautiful Wind when it plays with the clouds
Where the mares tails extend in such glorious shrouds,
Then in furious plight, usually just before night,
Nimbo cumulous flashes electrify bright,
Where the lightening bolt snakes, from on high, where it makes
A most thunderous roar through the sky as it breaks.

With the wind in my hair and without single care
I celebrate Wind with delight
With the sound of the breeze blowing cottonwood trees
And my day turning beautifully night.

Marshalg
Inspired by "The Last Winds" a poem by K, Daniel Little Paw McCreight
@ the Pukehana Paradise
Epsom
23 March 2013