Old friend, that shot is picture perfect. Your place (The Gebbie Compound)

is indeed heaven on a hill. You did a fine job in planning and execution. I'm

so happy for you and your lovely wife, you guys deserve what you have created.



Old son, I think we both have found what we have looked for all our lives.

**** good on us! They say; "Good things do come to those that wait".

(Sure, as long as we work ****** hard to get it while we wait.) What we have

earned and our kids make old age bearable.



Steve



A perfect, cold and frosty mid-winters day. Air is biting crisp, sun, warm on my back. Old Egmont towers behind the house gleaming with pristine snow and ice. The tui’s are cavorting in the trees ******* nectar from the early fuchia flowers with their long curved beaks, a flash of green iridescence as they fluff their neck feathers. Mother is cooking something great in the kitchen, she is about to call me in for hot coffee and cake….Life is great Stevo, could not be better.



Like minds-different hemispheres-same world.

Regards M





But for starlight, the night is black, no moon

on the rise. My porch a stage to the music of

crickets and frogs in the summer grass. A gentle

breeze touches me like a lover in the dark, caressingly

cool in my July heat of peaceful repose.



The scents of gardenias and honeysuckle drift

in on the currents and far off up the hill a Coyote

calls to his friends. Cooing night birds mummer.



The barn cats come to join me, silent and careful.

One onto my lap, the other to lay down beside my

chair. Soon the purring of a feline mixes with the

music of the grass and the air. Together we all peer

out into the peaceful void, perhaps thinking the same

thoughts, living fine, being in the moment.



These small perfect bits of time come and go. If only

I could string them all together, like rubies on a chain,

what a priceless necklace they would make and yet,

they cost me nothing and once collected, are not for sale.



© 2012 Marshal Gebbie


  Author's Note


Exchange between two old codgers situated in opposite hemispheres, in opposite seasons, but with a remarkably similar take on the quality of their individual lot in life.

A poem for Steve Yocum


“Hark to me”, a wise man said,
“Behold the past and present thread
Of passions held within your heart,
In memories recalled from the start”.

Treasure flooding through your mind
Of joy released in life’s rewind….

“Hearts, minds and memories, my son,
Will well endure till living’s done”.

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Funny how you perceive a complete stranger

....to be a friend.

- Simply, on the strength of a few lines of prose

- Simply, because of an element of warmth in those words…

- Simply, because of a touch of understanding in the message and a trace of humanity in the tone.



And funny how, over time, you come to rely

On that presence…to be there.

A sort of subliminal assurance that you are

In the proximity of something of value.



And it’s not funny at all

That when this is abruptly withdrawn….

There is a tangible sense of loss, of betrayal.



Funny, really, how vulnerability manifests itself.



© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Piece together portions of an ever shrinking memory

Sift the extraneous, consolidate the sound,

Rid thyself of factions preposterous and fractious

Crystalise the essence of essential and profound.



Immortalise sensations of sweet rapture incarnate

Clutch to your breast all good warmth from the past,

Know what’s retained is the BEST of your being

Treasure each recall and pray that it last.



Love each moment with ardour of passion

Value the brilliance of colour and sound,

Savour the sweetness in apricot nectar

Indulge like tomorrow will NOT be around.





© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Greetings Sissa,

Sunday morning early we walked along the wild black sand beach at the bottom of our road at Taranaki. For once the sea was quiescent, tranquil even. A gentle surge but the air was freezing. A heavy white frost cloaked our pasture at home and the grazing cows were snorting eruptions of hot breath from their nostrils. Over our shoulder old Egmont loomed, whiter than white with a heavy mantle of fresh snow, the foothills just behind home had a good coating too.

Quite often janet & I will bolt out of the sack, just before dawn, have a quick cuppa & drive up to Pukeiti for a walk through the gardens & the bush. We get the beautiful dawn chorus of the birdlife and it is SPECTACULAR!

We planted out some flowering “Companionata” cherry trees..great for the visiting tui’s in spring. They get highly territorial…my tree!..and have ding **** battles, chasing each other at high speed through the bush. Amazing aerobatics. We’ve got dozens of these trees scattered around the place now…in ten years the spring blossom show will be amazing.

Had a bit of bad luck with the vehicle lately, blew the core out of the radiator & cooked the motor, fixed that, drove 24ks down the road and the motor computer died. These things are like hen’s teeth to replace. I found there is a national waiting list of 11 owners sitting on dead landcruisers waiting for 2nd hand computers for the 93 auto model!!! And the 2nd hand computers here are selling for $3000!!
I even wrote to Greg in the States to see if he could pick one up for me…. Then I happened upon this little Asian bloke, just around the corner, who said”Oh I can fix that for you”!....cost me $196….I nearly kissed him!
Anyway mobile again and the old crate is running ,once again, like ****** clock!....but expensive when she stuffs up.

We are both working like automatons….you and your old man would know ALL about that!
We work 12 hours /day, 6 days/week then we jump in the car and launch off to Taranaki, 5 hours distant, to work our arses off, down there all Saturday, then, the next day, Sunday, pack up and barrel off 5 hours up the road back to Auckland… just in time to ****** a few hours sleep before the coming weeks work!....*******!

Sometimes I wonder what the hell it is all about.

Quite enjoying the new job, I’m the “Plant Coordinator” for the Waterview Project.
I keep track of all the plant scattered over miles and miles of construction site, tabulate plant movements, keep the hire companies honest and keep our operators operating! Involves constant driving from site to site, constant computer entries in my trusty laptop and a hellava lot of vigilance because every ******* is trying to beat the ****** system. Much more interesting than the Storman’s job, much more vibrant, much more confrontational!

Just the thing for an adolescent 67 year old.

That’s it from me…. Hope you are happy and keeping it all together. Hope the kids are doing well… mine are all pretty busy and happy with their lot…. Got a lovely call from Boaz at some unearthly hour on Sunday morning… Looks like he will be back in godzone during August.
Obama’s government is giving foreign workers a hard time in the States….too many Yanks out of work in their own country…so he is awaiting his Visa renewal and is doubtful that it will eventuate. Incredibly, his boss just told him that he would like to keep Boaz there, (In the States) for another five years of the projects life!!
Pretty ****** good for a country boy from National Park!

Gotta go, luvya Siss, love to Royboy & a big smootch for the girls.

M

Gone the quill that wrote the line
Lost the wordsmiths softened rhyme,
Lost to us in evening light
The feeling felt in words wrote right,
The feeling felt as friends depart
In hollowness of hollow heart.

Bon voyage Brother

On the recent passing of a colourful Australian poet,
Paddy Martin.

A very firm intention
To tell it as it is
Has the audience attention
On its toes and all afizz,
Though channelled to the circumspect,
With a patterned thought awry
It chaotically cascades
Across the prism of the eye.

It chaotically discharges
In a scattergun array
Of verbal innuendoes
Through a thin, saliva spray,
And all the passion spent in telling,
All the effort of the tale,
Sends a barrage of confusion
To occipital portrayal.

Where the tiny bones of balance
All atremble with the sound
Have discharged interpretation
Through a penny to a pound.
There’s a lost extrapolation,
There’s a blank look on the face
Where the balance of exchange
Has frittered nimbly from this place.

A calmness in both parties
As a sad pretence prevails,
Where communication nexus
Is ignored to save the whales.

Marshalg
Incommunicado
30 May 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Times behold when twisted men are captured by their spleen
When souls will writhe in torment though their thoughts are seldom seen,
When agitation rides aloft with blunt spur on its' ****
And the hounds of hell are baying as though purgatory will pass.
Torment in its' basest form is shaded beastly red
Immersing flocks of faithful in the mind set till they’re dead,
For shredded nails and worry lines, so deeply now ingrained,
Are signatured paralysis of the breed that has abstained.
Abstained in all things beautiful, such as dreams which flow in mirth,
Abstained from eyes of merriment and joyful leaps from earth,
Divorced to all that conjures up the gracious well of love
Divorced from thoughts of holiness in faith, both hand in glove.
Baptised to despondency, inured to sights and sounds
Which lift the mind's creation well beyond all earthly bounds,
Committed to the trench of the dark abyss of gloom
Assigned to unenlightenment...The soul has left the room.

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Turquoise in the morning light
The treetops are alive
With the myriad of birdsong
As the swirling mists arrive
And the shaft of brilliant sunshine
Penetrates the greenish gloom
To illuminate the craggy ridge
In a honeyed, golden bloom.

The rabbits head for burrows
Retreating from the night,
A flock of teal, in unison,
Explosively take flight,
There’s a freshness in the morning air
A tingle to the skin
And the twinkle in the blue eyes
Lets a secret smile begin.

Autumn in the country glade
The russets and the gold,
The song of early crickets
In the leafy knoll takes hold,
There’s a brilliance in the crispness
In the piles of windblown leaves
And the healthy crunch of underfoot
Invokes a sense of ease.

The peacefulness is calming
The solace in the sound
Of the distant song of blackbird
In the tall oaks that surround
And the velvet feel of morning
Thrills the mind to warmly hum
To the glory of occasion
In the warmth of Autumn sun.

Marshalg
Beneath the reds and golds of Autumn leafage.
14 May 2012


© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Caste aside on sand so mean

Where fraud itself is seldom seen,

Where castigation hurled about

Results in scoring scars that route

The sensitive and gentle vein

Of acquiescence’s curtained pain,

Of acquiescence’s shadowed smile

Wherein the strands of shame defile.



Marshalg

In sand so mean.

10 May 2012



© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Tiny things that strike your fancy
Any verse which hits a note,
Messages from all and sundry
Extracts from your favourite quote.
Moments from a treasured movie
Recollections from the past,
Sunday roast from Grandma’s oven
Sights and sounds and smells that last.

Memories of moonlight saunter
Arm in arm with newfound love,
Barefoot where the sand meets water
Lost to all... but stars above.
Walking in the hills at daybreak
Crispness of the frosty verge,
Feel the pounding pulse of living
Feel the joy of being... surge.

Tomatoes from the garden plot
Rich and biting, acid red,
Delicious on hot buttered toast
With liberal salt and pepper, spread.
Gazing at your baby daughter
Softly pink in muscled arm,
Wondering what future holds
For her in love and wealth and harm.

See the grasses thrash to windward
Hear the pounding surf cascade,
Lines of gulls in steady hover
Thunder breaks at lightning fade.
Old friend’s letter, unexpected
Tells of hardship over time,
Loss and sadness unconnected
To good fortune, found in mine.

Tremor in her frail, white fingers
Dancing of her rheumy eyes,
Sharing yesterday’s good tales
To bring a joy to aged disguise.
Lavender in gentle velvet
Serves the honey bee her gold,
Nodding in the balmy breezes
Reminiscent perfume, old.

Cup of tea for all the Aunties
Dear old Fred has passed away,
Sadness... but we all agree
He made the most of every day.
Sun ball on the far horizon
Melting orange, richly gold,
Sinking to the seascape, gone
To let the moonlit night take hold.

Marshalg
Sitting on the Taranaki sand with my love, with nibbles and a glass of wine
Watching the enormous, Autumn sun melt into a flat, flat sea.
April 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Aloof you stand, aloof, alone
High moral ground you make your throne,
So sacrosanct as one to be
Despoiled by pride's hypocrisy.
Above the fray that hostile stare
Entrenched, assured to show the care
That others err whilst you yourself
Preen with sanctimonious wealth.
Aloof you stand, aloof, alone
Enshrouded destitute, poor crone.

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Easter is with us
The end of summer days,
The heat, the sun, the summer fun
The languid lazy ways.
Road gangs are laying asphalt,
The smell of melting tar
And above the wheeling, flocking birds
Prepare to migrate far.
The Autumn tones are in the air
The leaves begin to turn
To dulcet shades of russet gold
With a reddish, browny burn.
 
The church bells ring upon the hill
Believers shuffle forth
To regurgitate their litany
For the holy in the north.
The Christ, the cross, the sacrifice
The purging of the sin.
The sound of money in the plate
May ameliorate an in
To Heaven’s golden, pearly gate
Salvation in the sky,
A tome of absolution
For the good…that’s you & I.
 
Four days of happy Easter fun
To celebrate this week
There’s Easter eggs and hot cross buns
To share out as a treat.
The kids are full of energy
They laugh and leap and play,
The chocolate on their faces
Makes it such a bright, fun day.
 
There’s time to spend with loved ones
And a mood of balmy ease,
Before Winter shakes her cloak out
Throwing cold wind to the trees.
So spend an hour sleeping in,
Saunter to the pub.
Catch a fish or catch some rays
IN THE EASY EASTER CLUB.
 
 
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
21st March 2008

An ode to my long and satisfying relationship with the product of Portugal’s Douro Valley.

Golden amber, smokey smooth
Rich with pleasured bite
Spreading warmth to ample girth
The brandy’s fine tonight.

Dustless, standing on my shelf
Bathing in half light,
Golden highlights shadow deep
Paints Douro Father's right.

Born amidst the hills of schist
On vines that root in rock
In patterns neat and quite arcane
Of ancient grappa stock.

Old men sit by river barge,
Mustachioed and wise,
To argue politics and sip
God’s amber nectar prize.

Tepid sun is setting low
To throw long shadows tight,
To bathe the vines of soft green tones
In liquid amber light.

Golden spirit, smokey smooth
Glows with silken light
Satisfaction’s spreading warmth
Paints Douro Father’s right.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
Sipping a tumbler of amber warmth in New Zealand’s Autumn sunset.
26 March 2012

White face at the window pane
Eyes of slate, grey blue,
Gazing out at frozen world
Intent on thoughts of you.
Body wasted by disease
future days unsure
But love for you is paramount
In my lifeway's swinging door.

White face at the window pane
Stubble on my chin
Gaze to middle distance
Where the fog begins to thin.
Pain is now my sister,
Future days unsure
But hope remains eternal
In my lifeway's swinging door.

White face at the window
Fogging on the pane
Pale eyes watch for signs of you
Which won't occur again,
For your heart has wandered
future days unsure
Love is lost to loneliness
In lifeway's swinging door

White face at the window
Destitute of joy
Drifting shadows take your place
You're gone my golden boy.
Emptiness is amplified
In Future days unsure
Now laughter sheds it’s pleasure
At lifeway’s swinging door.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
13 March 2012

Meanderings of maudlin whit
Out beyond the thoughts that hit,
On matters vital and profound,
Which cause progression’s surge to ground.

Rather those that sit mundane
In ordinary pedestrian vein.
Living thoughts which cloud the mind,
Congesting inspiration’s  find.

Sifting thoughts of where to cope
To seek diversion’s antidote,
To caste away confusion’s hiss,
To render clear...creation’s KISS!

Marshalg
8 March 2012

Hark now brothers, surely you
Will have been to where I’ve trod,
Out toward the far extreme
Of reason, near the face of God?

Surely you have ventured out
To realms of the far extreme,
Out beyond exertion’s pain,
Out beyond the child birth scream.

Come my brothers, tell your tale
Of how you tempted ****** fate,
In how you hovered on the edge
Of illicit exultation’s gate.

Tell me why you lied to me
Whilst swimming in your smile’s disguise?
What panic wracked your timid soul
When guilt exposed your weak, blue eyes?

How do you compromise your soul
When life’s reality drives home
To leave you standing high and dry
Abandoned there, exposed, alone?

What fantasy commits you to
The nervous way you handle guilt,
The way you always laugh too loud
And protest innocence to hilt?

Laughter will have creased your face
When realisation touched your brow,
Without exception-ALL WE SOULS
Share these weaknesses right now!

Hark now brothers, surely you
Will have been to where I’ve trod
Out beyond the far extreme,
Far beyond the frown of God.*

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
9 March 2012

It is a slow day in a little Greek Village. The rain is beating down and the streets are deserted. Times are tough, everybody is in debt, and everybody lives on credit. On this particular day a rich German tourist is driving through the village, stops at the local hotel and lays a €100 note on the desk, telling the hotel owner he wants to inspect the rooms upstairs in order to pick one to spend the night. The owner gives him some keys and, as soon as the visitor has walked upstairs, the hotelier grabs the €100 note and runs next door to pay his debt to the butcher. The butcher takes the €100 note and runs down the street to repay his debt to the pig farmer. The pig farmer takes the €100 note and heads off to pay his bill at the supplier of feed and fuel. The guy at the Farmers' Co-op takes the €100 note and runs to pay his drinks bill at the taverna. The publican slips the money along to the local ******* drinking at the bar, who has also been facing hard times and has had to offer him "services" on credit. The ****** then rushes to the hotel and pays off her room bill to the hotel owner with the €100 note. The hotel proprietor then places the €100 note back on the counter so the rich traveller will not suspect anything. At that moment the traveller comes down the stairs, picks up the €100 note, states that the rooms are not satisfactory, pockets the money, and leaves town. No one produced anything. No one earned anything. However, the whole village is now out of debt and looking to the future with a lot more optimism. And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is how the bailout package works.


Wonderful article passed on to me by an anonymous author

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
6 march 2012

A gossamer extravagance
More valuable than gold
But substance less as ether
Impossible to hold.

This is all the time we have
Every second past is lost
Irrretreivable to we
Who ,so nervously, count the cost.

Every mote of passing time
Fading from the now in mists
Losing shape’s integrity
Whilst coloured radiance desists.

What is soon to be, is now
And relegated fast to then,
Vanquished in a flick of fraud
Of stolen time to frantic men.

Like dust it pours through fingers
Seconds irretrievably depart,
Fleeing fast from consciousness,
Wrenched away from racing heart.

Lying in our skinny beds
We sweat away our seconds now,
Flicking eyeballs counting down
Till death eternal shows us how.

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
4 March 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

I Warrant that thy lack of care
Is bound within a hard restraint,
Bound within thy calloused fist
To disavow convention’s taint.

I Warrant that thy steely eye
Hath fixed upon the prize of yore,
Hath disregarded consequence
In disinterring mankind’s law.

I Warrant that thy wall of pride
Hath steeled thy arm of self regard,
In keeping thy  momentum’s rush
From dissipating conscience hard .

I Warrant that the breath thou breathe
In  staling air of all contrite,
Contaminates the very heart
Of those who roar “Seig Heil” to *****.

I Warrant in the dead of night
When phantoms stalk thy peace of mind,
Incineration souls aflame
Might cause thy yellowed  teeth to grind.

I Warrant that through centuries
These ghosts shall ride thy spirit hard,
And man shall weep in horror when
He looks upon thy cruel regard.

Marshalg
Warrantor to an indiscriminate other
24 February 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

To our darling Veronica

With affection, she I call “Sweet Pea”
The lady’s smile, I always see
When she waltzes by with sponge and mop
With a cheerful wave to all that lot
Who never see her scrubbing there...
To tidy kitchen, loo and stair,
Who never see her great technique
Let alone defer to speak.....

Sweet Pea we’ll miss your great finess
Your bright and cheery fix of mess,
Your happy way of making right
That which most refuse to sight,
May you find your life’s real gain
Dispelling old folk’s aches and pain.
May you have sweet days of bright
Without a cleaning mop in sight.

Love and a great big kiss of gratitude
For the wonderful sparkling world you have given us.

Love from us lot @ VPT

Eleven strong went in to bat
When dusk was in the air,
Eleven strong did face the wall
For others had shown flair.
They'd mustered up a goodly score
They’d shown they had pinache,
They'd demolished Tunnel bowling
And made our field work look a hash.

Eleven strong went into bat
With gritted teeth and ire,
Eleven set the pitch alight
With galantry and fire.
The leather ball was massacred
A pounding it did score
With repetitious boundaries,
Drilled cover drives and more.

The marker looked excited
The sweat ran down his brow
And as the score did level
He had to ask the Angels how?
And the providences shone
Upon this galant Tunnel team
For Claude's classy, deft square cut
Ensured we grinned the winning gleam.

Cricket is to Englishmen
As golfing is to Yanks,
And cricket played with pageantry
Make the civilized give thanks.
And cricket played with elegance
Fills the English heart with joy,
And Victoria Park Tunnel Team
Have downed an ale to victory's ploy!

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
Auckland
17/2/2010

Down her cheek there rolls a tear
Lowered eyes reflect the fear
She feels that others see the pain
She tries to hide to mask the shame.

Shame of what she has become
Despite her efforts to succumb
To good intentioned, sound advice
Delivered at preposterous price.

Shame at how the mind deplores
Those temperamental personal flaws,
Of slights inferred and insults hurled
At friend and foe with flag unfurled.

Friend and foe who tried to help,
Who lowered guard  to feel the welt
Of verbal horsewhip to the jowl,
To violently recoil with howl.

Betrayal in its basest form
All sympathetic help withdrawn.
She furiously stands distraught
In isolation’s cold white thought.

Down her cheek there rolls a tear
Of distain for the eyes that jeer,
Direction of the darts of blame
From whence no help will come again.

Marshalg
Collateral damage
4 February 2012

When I look into the mirror
Each morning after dawn
To peruse the wrinkled skin
And slack musculature drawn,
When I snore upon the couch
Before flashing TV screen
To be woken by my sweetheart
For a dinner yet unseen.

There’s an overriding likelihood
That achievements made to date
Will be my lot for evermore....
An admission that I hate!
And the scent of hot seduction
Though a feature of my youth,
Shall be confined to flash of fantasy
Amidst pains in nagging tooth.

Enduring twinge of aching joints
To the whistling in the ears
And the apnoea of sleeplessness
Which just consolidates the fears.
Homeopathy has promise
To the happy road to health
But pharmaceuticals are farming
For my meagre worldly wealth.

Though the promise of the afterlife
Which held aloft on high,
Presents a gaggle of good churches
Who will proffer you the sky.
Best to form your own religion
With philosophy of POW!
To say" IT’S ALL ABOUT ME, BROTHER"
AND I WANT MY YOUTH BACK NOW!!


Marshalg
Wielding the Gold Card with an impotent flourish
AUCKLAND
25 January 2012

For such is this precarious life
To have these souls haunt me so.
To have the trammels of a lifetime endured,
Re- broadcast in a rude succession...
Of moments of acute, squirming discomfort!

Moments of red embarrassment from the ether,
From within the grey catacombs
Of my own ****** recall.

Hauled out by the memories.
Memories shaded by individuals of note,
By gossamer ghosts of association, long, long  passed,
Who hold sway over my fragile peace of mind.

Phantoms who temper my serenity
With episodes of vile recollection,
Plucked from the detritus of a chequered past
By ethereal, pointing fingers of blame.

Do you out there, in all truth,
Not suffer a similar ******* malady?

Marshalg
Watching the Ripples Radiate.
21 January 2012

Whist shopping in the mall last week
To fill the Christmas tree,
A derelict old soul held out
His grubby hand to me.
"Spare a copper for a cuppa mate?"
He asked with shining eyes,
And there was something in his manner
Which quite took me by surprise.
Delving deep into my pocket
A Christmas smile upon my face,
I came up with five bucks
Which made his world...a better place.
He thanked me so effusively
His face a wrinkled grin,
Then we went our separate ways
And felt the joy of Christmas
...SING !

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY
Love from Janet & Marshal

Weighing brutality's candour is taxing
Feeling the certainty, heavily dark,
Sonorous mutterings echo in twilight
Whitely, loquaciously, utterly stark.

***** ***** in a temperament simmering
Stalking through rage in a judgemental way,
Lurching for conflict from deep in the mindset
Locked in a skirmish of consequence play.

Searing white pain of brutality's candour
Reeling from obvious lack of control,
Obliquely collapsed beneath blue jackaranda
Flaccidly spent, I surrender my role.

Marshalg
In absentia
7 December 2011

In the fullness of time
The state may be reached
Where man’s comprehension,
Embedded and beached,
May run the gamut
Of realms unconcieved
And bring him to terms
With the great unbelieved.

He may come face to face
With his devils and God
And face stark realisation
That old pathways he’s trod,
Have rendered him sterile
And lost to the world
Of enlightenment’s treasured
Potential unfurled.

He may curse the day
When he wallowed within
The restricted, dark walls
Of his ego and sin.
The restricted thinking
Possession allows
And the deadening influence
Of substanceless vows.

When he wallowed within
The restrictions of self
And condemned his tomorrows
To rot on the shelf.
In pursuing the way
To such shallow relief
He convicted potential’s
Sad limit....A THEIF!!

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
3 December 2011

When you live on the wrong side of sixty
You flirt with cold death every day,
You **** sweet air in like nectar
And you hold your breath and you pray,
For tomorrow may bring a black tumour
Or a spasm, or seizure or more...
Then whatever you do, whatever you say,
You’ll end up prone on the floor.

For our time on this planet is temporary,
Our time of enjoyment is brief,
Just pull out the stops and let loose man
Live it up, kiss your girl, take relief.
Tomorrow is lost in the dreamtime,
Today is the essence of being,
So kick up your heels and spin all your wheels
and send all those worries a-fleeing.

When you live on the wrong side of sixty
Your skin has a penchant to sag
And no matter how hard you diet
Your gut gets as wide as a bag.
Your whit was once so exciting
Your repartee so sharp
Now you mumble and wheeze
And occasionally sneeze
And frequently squeeze out a ****.

Oh life was once so enticing
The sparkle and crackle was there
When you danced on the floor
The crowd yelled for more
And you dazzled with lights in your hair.
Now the dance floor is silent and empty
The music has faded away
Just to have it once more
My poor heart does implore ?
... But the crimson has faded to grey.

Now you’ll think I’m buried in sorrow,
Enmeshed in self pity galore
But the fact of the matter
Is served on a platter
… I really don’t care anymore.
For you see I’ve learnt a great secret,
Discovered a pearly white truth....
That life is as free
As a bird in a tree...
And remorse is really uncouth!

So no more do I wallow in sadness,
No more do I tear out my heart,
Instead I rejoice in my gladness
And retrace all the steps from the start.
For living’s a sequence of pictures
To give or take as you choose,
If your selections awry
Then you’re lost in the sky
...you pick the wrong one... You lose!

The sun comes up in the morning,
The light erupts in the sky
And the beautiful song of the blackbird
Brings a tear of joy to my eye.
The golden greens of the shadows
The crystal glint of dew
Encapsulates the rapture
I feel on seeing you.
For a friend makes life worth living,
A smile a golden door
To the promise of tomorrow,
Oh! The future’s good ..once more.

When you live on the wrong side of sixty
Life’s lessons treat you right,
You separate the wheat from chaff
And celebrate the fight.
You make the most of good stuff
And embrace all the fun,
You interact with positives ..
DO THIS,
AND FRIEND ….YOU’VE WON!

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
21st January 2007

I felt his shadow pass me by
That friend of mine from yesteryear,
Long gone, his bones had turned to dust
But still his laugh, I seem to hear.

I felt his shadow pass me by
Familiarity in the play
When warm companions pause to smile
As chance depicts they pass this way.

I felt his shadow pass me by
So close, I almost felt his touch,
An empty path I turned to find
And sudden sadness hurt, so much.

I felt his shadow pass me by
Unsettled in a fleeting smile,
Remembered from a distant time
When laughter rang aloud, awhile.

Then laughter rang aloud for us
When warmth in our friendship grew,
Until his shadow passed from me
To death’s dark door, alas, anew.


Marshalg
Sitting in the light of the deep, velvet glade.
29 November 2011

Serenely independent  of ineptitude in life
Unclamoured by resentment’s inconvenience and strife,
When borne upon a wave of incredible blue sea
To leave a beaming smile on this old, wrinkled face of me.

Gleefully convulsing at a funny story told
When the teller roared with laughter and crossed her legs to hold,
And the day began with sunshine and a twinkle in the eye
And progressed to such hilarity, to make a grown man cry.

And once you’ve got the giggles, they’re impossible to lose
Despite the glass of water or the remedy you choose.
The tickle of the moment will make you catch your breath
And you’ll erupt in gales of laughter and quite *** yourself bereft!

Oh the joy to have a  wet spot on a sunny afternoon
When the pheromones are coursing and the day is for the loons
When the aching in your belly joins the weakness in the knees
And reminds you of the magic found in laughter, if you please.

Marshalg
Tickled pink in the sunshine
23 November 2011

Lazy days and choppy waves
Upon a copper sea,
A breezy, warming westerly
Is blowing down on me.

Sunlight striking wavelets
Below clouds of cotton cool
And seagulls hang in squadron lines
Aloft from oyster pool.

Road signs judder in the breeze
Ripples weave amongst long grass,
Mangroves bend in unison
And asphalt bakes in molten glass.

A parasol of brilliant blue
A picnic basket brimming high
With lemonade and icy beer
Whilst sausages and onions fry.

Two barking dogs cavort with joy
Chasing ******* sandy beach,
Leaping high in summer air
Running, fetching, ***** to each.

The lazy summer saunters in
Engulfing us with solar heat,
The pretty girls wear tiny shorts
Which breathless boys find such a treat.

Pohutukawa’s bursting forth
In waves of rich and scarlet red
Which juxtapose dark olive greens
Of leafage midst each flower bed.

A sky of brilliant powder blue
With salt spray aura in the air
As swimmers splash in gales of fun
Hot sunlight baubles kiss their hair.


Marshalg
Port Waikato beach
15 November 2011

© 2011 Marshal Gebbie

I sit quietly by myself
and let your features drift through my mind,
let the thrill of recollection
stimulate my eyes to wrinkle
in a slow and happy smile.
 
The warmth of intimacy remembered
causes a searing red response
to my glowing personage.
 
Drenched with pusating happiness
am I at having shared so much,
in so short a time,
four days of the happiest Easter that I can recall.
 
My expression fails me
 in my urgent need to tell you
of the excruciating love
you cause me so easily.
I am consumed with the most intense feelings
of sensitive , sweet longing.
Christine, this hurts me so beautifully.
 
My fancy runs to a grassy glade
splashed with deep green shade
and warm April sunshine;
excited children splash amid the stones
of a bubbling creek
and shreik with delight
in their careless fun.
 
To us, scintillating sights and sounds,
a spiritual bond of unhampered, happy humanity
and a grassy sunlit swath of beauty.
Together we sit and warmly enjoy
the conciousness of each others nearness.
 
Smile on my man
for you are loved
by one who, in all truth,
deserves a Prince.
Amble off to bed my friend
for you are tired and happy.
Dream of her
and remember when
In a moment of love,
she did softly whisper
“Happy Birthday my Darling”
 
And, as I recall,
your heart almost burst.
 
Marshalg
Albury
9th April 1969

From origins of humble pie
From parentage so bland,
A simple soul with simple goals
He sprang from South Auckland.
The green, green grass of Tuakau
The onion fields of home,
Wherein he tended hives of bees
For golden honeycomb.
 
Tall and lanky, mighty man
He strode through life in tune
With little fanfare, little flair
No technicolor moon,
To choose the low key profile
Was an automatic thing,
Humility was in his blood
Elan, a spurned gold ring.
 
Self conscious, long and concave chest
A toothy lantern jaw,
With skinny ribs and pallid skin,
A boy could want for more?
Bright shiny eyes and earnest will
He gathered up his gear
And conquered Mt Olympian
Without a trace of fear.
 
A forte found, a passion sprung,
A love for mountain air.
The rocky crags and pristine snow
The cold wind in his hair.
***** after ***** his long legs climbed
His skill and ardor grew,
And all at once he found himself
In a Himalayan crew.
 
The stories told the legends made
Those mighty deeds alone,
Both he and Tenzing stood astride
The planet’s summit dome.
They went to where no other man
Had ever been before.
They conquered Everest’s soaring peak,
They witnessed heaven’s door.
 
And on and on through life he strode
He raised a happy brood,
But tragedy would strike and ****
That joy in Kathmandu.
To ressurect, to lift your game
From whence you were so low.
It takes a special breed of man
To wear that dreadful blow.
 
The Sherpa schools and hospitals
Were built by funds he raised,
He organized good teachers
And the building Trusts he paid.
In far Nepal and India too
His fame did spread afar
But this man kept his ego
Firmly locked up in a jar.
 
He shot the mighty Ganges
In a jet boat through and through
He drove a Fergi to the Pole
And through McMurdoe too.
Across the world his fame did grow
To epic size and plan
But in his heart he stayed intact
An ordinary man.
 
Throughout this fair and lovely land
I think it’s true to say
That every man & boy & girl
And farmer baling hay,
Respects this Kiwi Icon true
And salutes, to a man,
This epitome of greatness
From the Himalayan land.
 
Today we said a sad farewell,
The rich and famous too.
All gathered here in squally air
In thousands, me and you.
We celebrated greatness
And a noble life supreme.
We tasted humble graciousness
In a grateful Sherpa’s dream.
The words were said, so well I thought
Reflecting, probably,
This lifetime will not see again
The like of Hillary.
 
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
22 January 2008

Along I strolled a country path
spread with leaves of happy shade,
sunspots sprinkled on the turf,
insects humming in the glade.
 
Towering gumtrees soar aloft
running mauve to whitish tan,
strips of bark hang limply downward
richly capped with leafy crown.
The great bowl squats, it’s fan of
massive roots inumerable.
 
The leaves are wet
and silver sunlight sparks from sheen to sheen,
dazzling those who care to notice
moss so green,
and lacelike in it’s tiny brittle intricacy
 
Sunlight stirs the breeze to eddy
swirls of leaves in turn do bring
the brown eyed blackbird out to sing
his lilting challenge;
blue crisp air.
 
Delightful is the word I choose
to announce my sentiments,
nature in late summer gown,
drab winter in disgust
relents another day with thunderous frown.

Marshalg 
Ferntree Gully
26th March 1969

Resultant from years of financial haggling
The Money Boys come to the fore
Capitalizing on predatory trading
Manipulating for profits galore.
Leveraged stocks and debt obligation
advantage producing high dividend yield,
Squeezing the borrowers mortgage commitment,
Showing the hopeless the foreclosure field.
Passionless people with passionless faces
Smiling with fathomless eyes at your plight,
Knowing that if foreclosure is pending
Return on the sale will turn out all right.

Inflationary pressures are gradually worsening
Our Treasury man is flexing his arm
He’s keeping a close eye on monetary policy
Holding the cash rate to stop fiscal harm.
Upside and downsides defy expectation,
Rampantly wobbling the real estate boom,
Uncertainties globally, holding to ransom,
That American sub prime must remedy soon.

The high Government spending and big dairy pay outs
The rocketing prices of everyday stuff
Ridiculous rules for control of emissions
And fiscal expansion that’s really too tough.
Domestic inflation is making it harder
The Treasurer’s threatening to hike it this year
Persistent uncertainties running quite rampant
And our money communities sniffing the air.

Do you have faith in the bank institution?
Do you trust them with all of your funds?
In the event of collapse do you think you’ll be honoured
With return of deposits in full total sum?
Not on your Nellie my fine young depositor
An unsecured creditor fellow are you,
You go to the back of the line if there’s failure
You’re hung high and dry at the end of the queue.
You can yell and complain till the sun sets my friend
Compose all the letters you like to the judge.
But the fact of the matter in Money Men chatter
Means IT’S LEGAL and ON THIS OUR STATE WILL NOT BUDGE!

So the money boys win, never mind about justice
Causing division right here on our plate.
There’s the rich and the poor, the haves and the have nots
Social corrosion in wealth based hate.

Extrapolate out and you witness this worldwide
The fabulous West and the destitute poor,
The pina coladas and Chevrolet excess
Thin starving kids on dirt African floors.
Indulgent young starlets with ******* teasers
Black Ethiopian mothers in rags.
The fat and the frivolous gorging on beefsteak
Filthy and homeless men begging for ****.

When you bring it all back it’s a fraudulent system
Where the money men cause a division in man
Instead of devising a planet of sharing
They grab and they gouge and they keep all they can.
The God of GET is worshipped widely,  Egocentric, selfish man
Tomorrows future hangs in the balance.
…WOULD YOU LAY ODDS ON GETS’ GREAT PLAN ?


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
25 January 2008


  

© 2011 Marshal Gebbie

There comes a time, my Darling, when we must all relinquish the reigns.

I wrote each of our boys a letter . It spoke of our pride and love for them. It set them free and wished them Godspeed. It gave gentle , but good advice.

The letter told them of the wealth of possibilities out there and the choices which lay at their feet. It showed them the broad, clean canvass which lay before them.

It told them of our high expectations and the need for them to stay within society’s guidelines. It told them about social conscience and responsibility to friend and family.

It told them of the need to produce their very best work at all times, to strive for innovation and improvement. To take pride in their creations.

Those letters I think, made a significant change in the thinking of both boys.
The letters lay open the heavy gate of adulthood, for them to choose to pass through.

And I must tell you my Sweet, that writing and delivering those letters, left me standing quietly, with a strange, remote and sad feeling of contemplative emptiness.


To Darling Janet from her loving husband.

Marshalg
Auckland, NZ
5 November 2011

Plucked spinets in discord
To a harmony of chorus,
Sonorously pitched
On a warm Summer eve.
Balmy is the air
In a shimmering blue silence
And the purity of cadence
Leads the Godless to believe.

Passers bye pause
In the magical moment,
All heads rotate
To the origin of sound,
Heavenly cascades
Through the twilight of evening
Causing couples to dance
As though jewelled and begowned.

Delicate resonances
Entwine the moment,
Swayed rythmic rapture
Entrances the crowd,
Ensembles of satyr
Arouse tender senses
In caressing the maidens
To pink ****** proud.

Pink ****** proud
Are the breathless young maidens,
Bright shining eyes
From young tapping toes.
The rapture of spinets
Played deftly with passion
In the cool of the night,
Where a pale moonlight knows.

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
2 November 2011

Gee it’s great to meet good people,
hear strong words and see big sights,
Feel the atmosphere pervading,
seeping through the wrong & rights
of giant types.

Strength in structure, taste in art,
these things I did percieve,
when you and I dear we did cart
a cache of plums, deep blue and ****,
under your grandma’s eve.

It’s funny how you feel at home,
feel acceptance without effort,
knowing that the breadth of foresight
will not judge you without cause,
Love and animation calling
through the sturdy timbers tight,
stretching down and pulling upright
countenance depressed by laws
of those callow public paws.

When we left my heart was singing,
I did love them like my own,
for I knew deep down inside me
I had found another home
in which we two....
could build our love alone.

Marshalg
Albury 18th March 1969

Have you noticed how the music screams,
How children in the mall confront,
How anchormen are filled with glee
When TV news disaster's front?

Noticed how the colours fade
When iridescent seas are fouled
Or skies turn turgid grey from blue
And football crowds scream hatred loud?

And why is it that every time
An ethnic immigrant complains,
He points the finger square at us,
The fools, whose benefits he claims?

And Asiatic hatreds brew
Between the Indian brother’s, brown,
Over Kashmir’s shaky border fight
And Pakistan’s deep, angry frown.

There’s trouble in the Middle East
Kalashnikovs shoot up the town,
Somebody soon, should tell those boys
When slugs go up, they must come down.

And what about the filthy beasts
Who scatter needles in the sand
To leave the fickle fall of dice
To innocents with tender hand.

Have you noticed how the wealthy keep
The good stuff for their selfish self?
The rest of WE are left to fight
Amongst ourselves for lowest shelf

And how about Ghaddafi’s end
So brutal at the sandy drain
Where wild eyed Arabs shot him dead
And TV watchers, fat, complained?

And listen to the moaning Greeks
Who’ve clearly lived beyond their means,
Complain about austerity
And pauperize their Europeans.

And witness now the howling Yanks
Who stand to point recession’s claws
Directing blame at anyone,
But themselves, whom problems cause.

And finally an Arabesque,
Macabre in its grotesque call,
Of skeletal, Ethiopian forlorn
Whose starving end, ignored by all.

There’s beauty in this bounteous world,
There’s Godly, good, and quiet serene,
But just beneath the surface lies
The human filth, deserved, obscene.

Marshalg
Observing my world in turmoil.
Auckland N.Z.
22 October 2011

Ethnic Raging in my face
Everywhere I care to look
Coptic Christians, brown and white
Scream intolerance, forsook.
Jew and anti Jew defile
All good laws of rationale,
In raw voraciousness of hate,
In howling shred of faith’s morale.
Blessed are the just for they
Enshrine their plaque of rich noblesque,
Blessed are the weak of will
Who deeply sip  from traitor’s breast.
And blessed are the strong who hold
At bay the laws of God’s restraint,
In tandem with the rich who cower,
White, behind their armoured gate.

Ethnic raging everywhere
I watch it through the children’s eyes,
Led to purge the coloured flesh,
To flay a difference ‘till it dies.


Marshalg
Recoiling from it all.
Auckland NZ
11 October 2011

The rage I feel
At the loss of one so fine!
So young, so lovely, so calm, so together...so KIM!

I rage at the turbulent waters that stole her promise.
I rage at the annals of  chance which paved the way to her end.
I rage for the agony I see on the face of her father, her lover, friends and work mates.
I rage for the tears and heartbreak of my darling wife who loved this girl as a sister, since her days of skinny
childhood.
I rage for the missed moments of tomorrow’s laughter which will now, never be...
and the vacuum of fun in her words of dry humour, which will now, never be uttered.

I share this rage with ALL OF  YOU!...because the death of this beautiful young girl IS JUST NOT RIGHT!

But I DO CELEBRATE the GIFT of the PLEASURE experienced in sharing her vibrant, living years.

There is, however,  a wonderment here amidst the tragedy...
Because Kim voluntarily bequeathed the gift of hope to unknown others.
She gave three unknown people her organs, her heart, her kidneys, her cornea.
SHE GAVE THEM THE PROMISE OF A TOMORROW!

Her beautiful heart lives on in the soul of another...and for this I give thanks.

THE WINDS OF LIFE
by Marshal Gebbie

The wind careers across the years
Gathering leaves and dust,
Sweeping lives before it
In cartwheels of redness and rust.
Epiphanous moments of magnitude
Through special occasions employ
The will o the wisp of everyday stuff
From sadness to anger to joy.

The billowing tumble of living
Through vaulting halls of trees
In the dappled light of sunshine
And green corridors of breeze.
The exquisiteness of living
When senses soar in the air
When the colours of being are rampant
And we savour each moment with care.

For the living time goes quickly
It flares and fades with speed,
‘Tis best enjoyed boisterously
With passion, love and need;
‘Tis best when tasted piquantly
Like a claret on the tongue
When you cloak the days with good things
And you hope your dreams die young.

Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
29th January 2009

(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

Dedicated to Ashley and Logan...May your young lives find the way.

You ***** and moan about your lot
You loath the rich and what they’ve got
You howl abuse that you’re so poor
You’re out the window, out the door
You’ve no place in this affluent land
And migrant Asians you can’t stand
The Moslems and the Poly’s too
Are barging in and breaking through
The things you value in this state,
They give you cause to vent your hate,
Beat them up or cut them down
Deport them, throw them out of town.
White supremacy’s your bag
Redesign the nations flag!

You gaze about and all around
The simple things in life abound,
The wonder of the detail small
Enthralls the mind and makes it all
Deliciously and so enticing,
Like sticky date and sugar icing
Like hoarfrost on the meadow green
The scent of love in sheets between,
The stuff you smoke, the scotch you choose
That muted trumpet’s low jazz blues,
Aroma of fresh coffee ground
The hum of honey bees around.

You step the walk and speak the talk
The loudness of a parrots squark,
The cooing of a nesting dove
The harshness of a boxers glove,
Hot sweating brow on summer’s night,
Those fingers freeze with winter’s bite.
The tangerine of that first kiss
That velvet touch of female bliss.
Soft golden glow of setting sun,
Dawns bright first rays when night is done.
The tempests howl, the zephyrs touch,
That feeling when you eat too much.

It all amounts to lifes great song
When all is right and nothings wrong
When dreams come true and every day
Enables you to laugh and say....
THANK YOU FOR THE CHANCE OF BEING
THANK YOU FOR THE SIGHT I’M SEEING,
THANK YOU FOR THE SMELL OF MINT
MY THANKS TO YOU FOR WORDS IN PRINT,
THE MAGIC OF A LATIN BEAT
THE SOFTNESS OF A KISS SO SWEET.

It’s all a state of mind you see
You bind your mind or set it free
You take the yin, you take the yan
You make your bed ,you choose your plan.
The way you think the way you live
Determines what you have to give
To this old planets state of being.
Stuff it up and you’ll be seeing
Disaster on a massive scale,
Social chaos off the pale.
Misery and  destitution,
Thuggery and prostitution.
Burnt out buildings torn up streets,
Corpses where the violence meets
The kiss of death, the chosen few
Consider boy, it may be you,
Lying there in that bleak place
Lying there in dead disgrace.


I’ll leave it there, it’s up to you
To choose to do or not to do
Tomorrow’s there for you to take
So grasp the prize or hesitate,
The dice roll out the bright coins spin
Go suffer loss or grab that win.
It’s all before you…spread about
You make the choice… YOU WORK IT OUT!

The simple things in life abound
The soft rains fall,
Our world spins round.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
10th September 2007

Waiting here, at the corner of my life,
For that moment of lost love,
from so long ago.

Waiting for the breathlessness of youth...
and the deep ache of longing to revisit

... to electrify my wooden soul.

Marshalg
@the corner
19 September 2011

See that old man on the seat
Looking destitute and beat.
Easy to ignore that man,
Old and grey and sad and bland.
Easy to just overlook
The fact, that in his lifetime took:

A million risks to guarantee
That you and yours, today, are free!

Negotiations in his stride
To guarantee your fair pay’s pride!

The knocks and hurt to make ends meet
To guarantee your boots for feet!

A million friendly smiles to fix
The deathly, dull amongst you ******!

...So, when you’re tempted, next to pass
That dear old chap, there on his ****,
I charge you to forgo your youth,
Approach him with warm smiles and couth,
Go shake his hand and wish him well...
My bet he’ll tell you ...“Go to Hell!”

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
17 September 2011

The blue smoke spirals round me
As I taste the nicotine
And the acid smoke of the tar cheroot
Calms a wild mind to serene.
For this my friend I thank thee
For the balm of your advice,
For the smuggled loot of a good cheroot
In your way of being nice.

For this , my friend, I thank thee
For your ever present arm
A sturdy man to lean on
When the evil-ness does harm.
When the plank of rank misfortune
Falls upon my shaven head,
When the doctor's heavy hand
Writes me off as being dead.

And the blue smoke spirals round me
As the tangled panics clear
And a lung of smoke really calms a bloke
And the tar suppresses fear.
Do you see the complication?
Do you see why I am wild?
Can you see what this is doing
To my poor, dear wife and child?

For this, my friend, I thank thee
For your comforting warm word
And your gentle phrase of frank concern
Was the sweetest I have heard.
But alas, the hard oppression
Has me clawing for my breath
And the weight of my confinement
Has but smothered me to death.

And the blue smoke spirals round me
As I taste the tar cheroot
And the maze of my mind is so utterly confined
That I’ve given hope the boot.
Farewell to bright tomorrows
Farewell to laughter’s peal,
Farewell to the taste of my darlings lips
And how good her ******* feel.

And as blue smoke spirals round me
It’s the bitterness I see,
For the game was lost when the dice were tossed
And what has been, will be.
For you, who stood beside me
I raise my arm’s salute,
As the final smoke deserts me
I stub out the last cheroot.

Marshalg
@thebach
Mangere Bridge
14 September 2011

We strode together in another age, my love,
You, in your earthen gown and beautiful dark tresses.
I, the wearer of the long plaited, thong and sinew sandal.
You and I, we strode through quiet valleys of tall conifer
Where huge rock falls left monolithic edifices... as monuments to past largess.

Together we walked as one, in a world much simpler than the one we live in now.
In a time, without the inhibition of contrivance or sophistication.
We walked in clarity and drank from clear, clean waters.
We dallied in the honeyed light of a huge, summer moon.
A field of dandy lions in the warm April sunshine, was the byre in which we made love and produced our babies.


A love ... un-harried, unhurried and devoid of any preoccupation other than that of the beautiful desire
We felt for each other.

The love we feel now is the same as the love shared then;
But in this age it is diluted and complicated by the urgencies and imperatives of the day.
Then there was just time...given and taken.
Without cost or penalty, without blame or insinuation, without hurt or harm.


Time in that better age...was a friend.  
A friend who augmented the beauty of today into the promise of tomorrow,
A friend who exchanged the serenity of yesterday for the excitement of the new day’s dawn.

This was our time, when the bond of eternity sealed our commitment to each other.

For however many lifetimes we may live in...

We shall be one.

Marshalg
For darling Janet
12 September 2011

Sweet Sister,

I feel the sanguine-ness of age upon me.
I feel I understand the things which confused me in youth.
I have a sage satisfaction in being pleased to have reached this juncture,
In being able to look out the window and see the beauty of a desolate beach of dunes with the course grasses snapping to windward.

There is immense pleasure in seeing my children find their place in life, maturing with the years and the travails of work, love and responsibility.
I miss old friends...but such is life.. we all move on.
Colour and texture and sound mean a lot to me, they are the patterns of pleasure which paint each day.
And the steady warmth of love for an enduring wife who is the shining light in, my otherwise, subdued and essentially, muddy existence.

One thing which does **** me off is the penchant of the Inland Revenue Dept’, to lean on developing young businesses to pay for the sloth and layabouts
Of our society who have no endeavour. This is a travesty of social justice and an unnecessary retardant to the progression and advancement of our struggling young nation.
I think the Chinese have the right answer here...You don’t work.. you starve.... You bend your back and produce... you prosper!

As I grow older the shades of gray diminish, things are more definite, more black and white.

My work in construction, is constant and demanding...and ****** enjoyable!
Like a cat, I seem to have fallen on my feet once again??

The pleasure of the written word is my pastime and interest, I rejoice in the creativity of my fellow writers and bask in the glow of their company.

The Eagle’s Nest at distant Taranaki is looking green and tidy, landscaping is progressing and the rhododendrons are about to burst into flower.

Life is pretty ****** good!

Love to you and yours
M

Marshal Gebbie
Storeman

The Captains and the Kings depart
Conflict’s flag descends the mast,
Skirmishes of battle stilled
Recriminations put to past.

A pageantry is in the air
Banners snap to stiff sea breeze,
White dust stirs as multitudes
Retreat in legions to the seas.

War retreats to motes of peace
Lost and honoured are deceased,
Weary troops are homeward bound
With mortal sins repealed by priest.

A stillness on the fields of mud
Skyward points artillery’s snout,
Cordite’s stink conceals the blood
Of legends made in battle’s route.

A stillness in the ringing ears
As corporals wend their weary way
To embarkation’s khaki fleet
Which wallows short in ocean sway.

A weariness of bone and limb
Bloodshot eyes glaze over now
Trudging to Creation’s Hymn
Juxtaposed by war... somehow?

Whitecaps on the ocean spray
The Captains and the Kings depart,
Repatriation’s cloak descends
To wrap war’s futile, cold, black heart.


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
9 September 2011