A plane passed through a severe storm. The turbulence was awful, and things went from bad to worse when one wing was struck by lightning.

One woman lost it completely.

She stood up in the front of the plane and screamed, 'I'm too young to die,' she cried.  Then she yelled, 'If I'm going to die, I want my last minutes on earth to be memorable! Is there anyone on this plane who can make me feel like a WOMAN?'

For a moment, there was silence. Everyone stared at the desperate woman in the front of the plane. Then the man from Texas stood up in the rear of the plane.

He was handsome, tall, well built, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Slowly, he started to walk up the aisle, unbuttoning his shirt as he went, one button at a time. No one moved. He removed his shirt. Muscles rippled across his chest.

She gasped...

Then, he spoke...

'Iron this -- and then get me a beer.'

(Author Anonymous.)

Jesus runs in Everglades, Mohammed climbs the roof
The Angels stamp in anger as the Devil stands aloof,
A wandering Pope in la-la land while Jewish hands do writhe
Those apoplectic Muslims glare while Catholics pay the tithe.

Religion, girls, has hit the skids…the game is up on God
With rosaries rotating hard, theologians do nod,
While Mormons rant moronically with frankincense and myrrh
The irreligious bark and howl in Rastafarian fur.

Sectarian’s recant Sanctum’s Shrine the rite of soul is lost
As neophytes are dancing… the High Priest counts the cost,
Theocracy unbalances as Voodoo’s stamp the floor
And the Prophets throw their hands up, fast retreating for the door.

It’s transcendental disbelief that’s nailed it to the Cross
With the Priesthood chasing little boys all credence here is lost.
With sanctity’s monastic plunge the pagans roar and shout
As Shamans scream their incantations…God declares a route!

There is silence in the Temple now, stillness in the pews
As dust lies thick on altars, a nervous clergy holds reviews,
What, once, was good and vibrant here, is now as dead as dust
As the Blood Red Wine evaporates and Holy Bread…to crust.

Marshalg
Feeding the pigeons by the dusty, open door of the very, empty Chapel.
30 November 2013

A Monorhyme for the Shower
by **** Davis

Lifting her arms to soap her hair
Her pretty ******* respond—and there
The movement of that buoyant pair
Is like a spell to make me swear
Twenty-odd years have turned to air;
Now she's the girl I didn't dare
Approach, ask out, much less declare
My love to, mired in young despair.

Childbearing, rows, domestic care—
All the prosaic wear and tear
That constitute the life we share—
Slip from her beautiful and bare
Bright body as, made half aware
Of my quick surreptitious stare,
She wrings the water from her hair
And turning smiles to see me there.

Stone of massive solidness, shards of gemlike flint
Crystalline refractions flash in noon day's sunshine glint,
Obelisk in grasses green, immense in grey repose
Has lain in place for centuries here, how long, nobody knows.
Created in the hellfire deep and ****** up from below
Molten in its’ infant form to flow with orange glow.
To work its’ way down mountain flank to plunge to cascade’s grasp
And tumble, grinding river stone, worn smooth in torrent’s clasp.
Rolling swift in flooded flow to beach by river’s edge
With grasses green against it’s’ girth in shade of leafy hedge.
Seasons come… cold rain and snow with baking heat in summer past
Millennia doth flow on by to leave untouched this boulder, vast.

Until this day I happened by, perchance beneath a clear blue sky
To rest my bones upon this rock, remove my boot and empty sock.
Admiring, in the midday sun, the snow clad peak and river run,
In wilderness of debris strewn from high volcano past it’s noon.
To notice with discerning gaze the rock, on which I sit, is glazed
With crystals of refracting fire to capture, now, my eye entire.
What secrets lie within this stone that lies so massively, alone?
What history has passed it by beneath its centuries of sky?
What stories could this boulder tell should I remove its silent spell?

Bemused, I tie my boot and yield,this obelisk to chosen field…..


Marshalg
On the timeless bank of Taranaki’s wild, wild Stoney River.
25 November 2013

Forthright in my chosen stance
Deliberate in the steps I dance,
I seek to make my time fulfil
Attainment, while I wish no ill,
To others who would tread my path,
(though this may cause some friends to laugh),
“Uniquely” is the phrase I use
To walk the walk of life I choose.
So different from the milling herd
To make some other choice….absurd!
Forthright is my chosen stance
Therein, I dance the dance…. I dance.

Marshalg
“Foxglove” Taranaki NZ.
16 November 2013

For many years you proffered friendship, albeit now, in disguise
For all that time, I held in trust, the warm expression in your eyes,
You claimed you worked hard, by my side, to help me build a dream, a cause,
And in return I gave for you sir, this understanding without pause.
The legions of referrals then, I steered, deflecting to your say
And trust, invested mightily, gave you the right to have your way,
Dependence there, a factor, over many years support
Now the barefaced lie revealed, the friendship, friend, was but a rort!
Revealed, you milked it all for gain.  Revealed, You snickered at my pain,
Laughed aloud, you played the fool and laughed outrageously, so cruel.
It robbed me of all self regard, a comrade’s mantle caste in lard,
I cried and wept for what was lost, then sat and quietly counted cost.
Betrayal, cold, lies on the shelf, to know thy foe… reflects thyself.

Marshalg
Pukehana
14 November 2013

Hark the stalwarts bray a song to heavens far, to heavens seen,
Gone the miserys who dwell in sordid tales of wrong.
Now the thing interred is wrapped in joyous thoughts to preen,
Of *****, substantial thigh pronounced and dancing eyes in song.

She who challenges the very ground you traipes upon each day & tread,
She who walks with  angulation's undulations deftly spread,
She who wears a tongue so sharp t'would slice a hand or dice a fruit
She whose eyes would dance for thee, for thee to seek pursuit to root.

Hold that brilliant thought in cortexed fields of pain, my son
For foreplay in the wildest scheme I've seen to date, has now begun,
And should you bring the very shards of war upon me then
Despite this death, with her envisaged, I shall rise to thrive again.

Marshalg
In vivid recall......of a very tall and particularly comely Irish *****.
7 November 2013

Our association makes the most of happenstance
When I hover close to look into your eyes,
To see your face dissolving into laugh lines
and witness your loud giggles with surprise.

The joyousness to hear your peal of laughter
Ringing out across the courtyard to the night
And to feel the balm of closeness in the offing
And the warmth of knowing everything's all right.

It's the way you take my arm in yours so easily
It's the way you sooth the worries with your charm,
And your boundless joi de vivre on the white sand by the sea
always guarantees this day will bring no harm.

It's delightful when we stroll along the lakeside
When we hear the sparrows singing in the trees
There's no unnecessary talk as we both enjoy our walk
And quietly celebrate togetherness with ease.

There's the moment when I catch your look of humour
There's the moment when we share the cherry pie,
There's the time we cuddle close to enjoy each other most
I think there's loving in the air for you and I.*

Marshalg
Pukehana with my girl
21 October 2013

The cordons of existence are constricting
For the keepers of the dream have let us down,
Who will buy tomorrow if performances are hollow
Causing all the global spectators to frown?

American has been the silk pyjamas
Since ’45 they’ve lead the world’s display
In health and wealth and brandishing the muscle
But in recent times it seems they’ve seen their day.

For since Clinton’s time the National debt has spiralled
They’ve departed brushfire wars in disarray,
Default now looms obscene with disharmony supreme
With Congressional leaders ranting in the fray.

The fiasco of a Government held to ransom
By a faction of extremist’s from the right,
Whilst the greenback in decline won’t change water into wine
The dire threat of fiscal chaos causes fright.

So global confidence is fading in the dollar
And the watchers shake their heads in blank despair,
For the willingness to follow is now a bitter pill to swallow
When the USA’s rock steadiness aint’ there.

So, what’s around the corner for tomorrow?
What aspirants are waiting in the wings?
With a fading USA perhaps it’s China’s turn to play
Though that’s going to mean adjustments made to things.

Of course we’re venturing into territory’s unchartered
And the crystal ball consulted, isn’t clear
But one thing I can assure, if this is what we must endure,
Is that our tomorrows will be something, now, to fear.*

Marshalg
Auckland N.Z.
19 October 2013

To my mate Stevo....with love*

‘Tis perilous, Sir, to write our thoughts to paper,
To commit our living words to those unknown,
For regardless of the flair expressed in writing all with care
The interpretation’s different to each clone.
What may be black and white and clear as crystal,
To others may diffuse as shades of grey
And the message, though succinct, may be read as challenge brink-ed
To confuse and collapse in disarray.

Oh the agony and the ecstasy of we writers
Is best captured in the rolling of the dice
For to script all saccharin sweet may be interpreted as… effete?
But a dour approach won’t be observed as nice!
Yet to lay about with broadsword is defeatist
And collapsing belly up implies a lie,
So perhaps the best refrain is to abstain from all the pain
And leave the ****** prose to fools who don’t care… why?

Marshalg
In absentia….again!
18 October 2013

Renault and Ford have joined forces to create the perfect small car for women.

Mixing the Renault 'Clio' and the Ford 'Taurus' they have designed the 'Clitaurus'. It comes in pink, and the average male car thief won't be able to find it - let alone turn it on - even if someone tells him where it is and how to do it.

Rumour has it though, it can be a real ***** to start in the morning!  Some have reported that on cold winter mornings, when you really need it, you can't get it to turn over.

New models are initially fun to own, but very costly to maintain, and horribly expensive to get rid of.  Used models may initially appear to have curb appeal and a low price, but eventually have an increased appetite for fuel, and the curb weight typically increases with age. Manufacturers are baffled as to how the size of the boot increases, but say that the paint may just make it LOOK bigger.

This model is not expected to reach collector status. Most owners find it is best to lease one, and replace it when it becomes troublesome.

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