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


Marshalg
27 April 2013
In rural Pukekohe.
New Zealand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

© 2013 Marshal Gebbie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

Marshalg
For Grandpa
24 March 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slap of leather magnified
Where Caesar’s legion marched
Setting sun of golden light
Though’ Roman tongues are parched.
Pewter helmets bronzely glow
Sweat cascades from dusty brow
Whilst o’er hill the Vandals mass
Salivating hot blood now.

Short swords cleat with marching rythm
Stabbing lances high and cold,
Metronome in stamping sandals
Onward now to victory’s fold.
Scarlet standards fly on high
The statement of intent is clear
Caesar’s men have promised now
To desiccate from ear to ear.

Grey ghost high above bears witness
Cadence of advancement grows,
Column strides in face of chaos
Lowered lance’s sharp steel shows.
Engagement in a stony basin
Flesh and blood, as one, combine,
Cut and slash in perfect order
Stab a *** and make him mine.

Darkness hides her chilling secret
Brooding silence stills the air,
Dawn’s first rays reveal  the spectre
Carnage killed with none to spare.
Grey ghost’s hang in gaunt remembrance
Vespers ring in solemn tone,
Gone forever Caesar’s promise
Dead in vanquished blood and bone.


Marshalg
Inspired by Anselm’s “Broken Promise to Caesar.”
21 March 2013

Gorgons in the grasses by my window
Phantoms in the corridors of mind,
Elves and Angels flit amongst the fairies
But Godhead is the hardest thing to find.

Experiments with rationale confound me
Argument, well meaning, leaves me cold,
I've thrashed it out with he who has seen the Holy See
But futility has left me feeling old.

Millions feel the joy of their religion
Base their lives on regimental right,
Alone I meet the day and feel no need to pray,
And stride with independence to the night.

I read your words of beauty for your Maker
I felt the passion living on the page,
I cried for your belief and in so doing, felt relief
For the singer not the song, for me, engaged.

So there, my beauty, lies our living quandary
For you and I the chemistry's the same.
For you with God in hand inhabit my agnostic land
And simultaneously, we exult in falling rain.

Marshalg
To Christine and Anselm, with happiness in having found new friends.
The Pukehana Paradise
Auckland
12 March 2013

There is no Makers formula
This life depends on chance,
The way you play your given cards
Depicts your daily dance.

Oh dogma flows in utterance
From pulpits far and wide
From those who claim to understand
Eternity's vast hide.
From those who hold damnation
As a weapon from on high,
From those who claim a judgement
As their finger points to sky.
The good, the bad are absolute,
The right bedevils wrong,
Redeemed shall live eternally
The bad shall singe for long.

Old men stand in pulpits
Across this Sunday's land
To threaten with damnation
If you should cross God's hand.
"Belief" is now their catchword
Abomination's wrong
Is to seek to proffer proof of claim
....to Sing the Devil's Song.

So gather all ye faithfull
Go listen to your man,
Sing the Gospel loud and long
And pay your tithe, as planned.
...But should you find you're dying
From cancer's frozen claw
And the the Godly fail to sweep you
To eternity's gold door?
Remember my clear message
Your life depends on chance,
You live within your own good sphere
....There is no Maker's Dance.

Marshalg
After an overdose of Pulpit hogwash.
10 March 2013

Aaargh yes.....
With mighty clap
The Thunderhead with venom breaks.....
And jagged lightning streaks across the sky,
Blindingly, the white flash downward snakes
To impale the earth where frogs, unlucky, die.
Ha!

What surmounts the best of best
What surpasses excellence,
Where resides the wherewithal
To top the prize of prescience?
How to master that which hurts
The song which wears you down?
Limitations splendour son
The fool who fools the clown.
To climb the bleak forbidden peak
To sleep with guts and gore,
Endure a cancer's world of pain
Where moments shut the door.
Resurrect a broken life
When love has fled the room,
Found the strength to seek again
And find light in the gloom.
Hold an old man's withered hand
And listen to his tale
Of life's travails and hardship
Where broken dreams prevail.
Take that cute kid on your arm
And kiss her with a hug,
Treat her like a Pixy Queen
And cuddle dolly snug.
What surmounts the best around
What surpasses all,
Where resides the wherewithal
To claim the prize recalled?
How to master songs of joy
Tunes which wear the crown?
Limitations laughter son
The fool who fools the clown.
Capture magic's glow around
Make each moment ring,
Fling confusions net away
To let your heartstrings sing.
Smooch a mountain maiden
Cry for great things done
Celebrate your life my friend
For it's a fact.... We've Won!

Marshalg
In Sweet Celebration.
27 February 2013

© 2013 Marshal Gebbie

Downy moss doth grow in shadow
Emerald and darkly damp,
Ancient as the runes of legend
Lost to time's priescent ramp.
Damp and downy, roundly soft
Pubescently profound,
Nestled in the vale of love
Where tarantula abound.
Nestled in the vale between
Stark pillars tall and white,
Nestled where tomorrows day
May flourish into night.
Flourish with the elderberry
Mingled with the sage,
Seeping drops of acid wine
Into the maw of age.

Marshalg
23 February 2013

Balanced on the cusp of reason
Teetering in rationale,
Gyroscopic permutations
Take the leap or stay and snarl.

Reason fights with high confusion
Torn between the yae and nay,
Gyroscopic permutations
Pack the case and leave or stay.

Screaming taunts in ragged order
Torment in saliva mist,
Gyroscopic permutations
Cut the throat or slit the wrist.

Standing on the lonely cliff top
Way below the surging tide
Gyroscopic permutations
Take the leap or run and hide.

Balanced on the cusp of reason
Teetering on right or wrong,
Gyroscopic permutations
Join the dead or sing a song.

Walking up the baking highway
Soaking up the streaming sun
Gyroscopic permutations
Laugh or cry... today I won.*


Marshalg
Throwing the dice.
22 February 2013

© 2013 Marshal Gebbie

Twilight falling makes me sad
With expectation seldom met
As wistful evening bleeds away
Ambition fades with soft sunset.

Dawn creates a surge of blood
As tumbled plans carouse to day,
Enthused, this finest moment met
With hope arranged in fine array.

By noon the schedule lies in rags
The tether hangs in tattered state,
Dullness in the discontent
Lies brutal on an emptied plate.

To build a castle in the air
And frustrate dissipation’s fight
When time and time a proven fact
That good intention fades with night.

Daylight flees with ebbing tide
Coolness in the furtive air,
Expectations start to slide
As resignation takes the chair.
  

Marshalg
At the calm of ebb tide
21 February 2013


© 2013 Marshal Gebbie

Manacled the hands
Which intertwine with one another now,
Hands that come to grip with issues
Locked within the soul, somehow.

Manacled, the hands that hold her
Manacled in blood and bone,
Hold the baby’s head so gently
Veined and scarred with love intoned.

Hands of strength that strike the anvil
Shape the shoe to fit the hoof
Hold the stallion’s head commanding
Strong control to stay aloof.

Hands that wield the sword of vengeance
Hands that feed the wood to fire,
Work the field with ox and plough
Stroke her body to desire.

Veinous hands, so strong and calloused
Locked within his every day,
Hands that clap to merry music
Hands that to the piper pay.

Hunter hands to snare the rabbit
Catch the carp in yonder lake,
Pen the words of love to paper
Knead the dough of bread to bake.

Quiet hands that rest in evening
Sitting by the fireside,
Listening to the snoring hounds
Which on the mat, asleep, reside.

Manacled, these hands, he ponders
Locked within the ways of sin,
Reminiscent recollection
…Quiet smile on whiskered chin.

Fingers cooled in fresh spring water
Feel the rays of rising sun,
Stride across the purple heather
These hands, a goodly day begun.

Marshalg
FOXGLOVE, Taranaki.
4.20am 17 February 2013

© 2013 Marshal Gebbie

Inspired by the dream of the founders of city
Collated by planning of leaders and mayor,
Built by the muscle and sweat of believers
A Masterpiece fashioned for pride and for care.

Magnificent structures of bridges and tunnel
Faultlessly conjoined by highways of God,
Dreamt by the forebears of knowledge and passion
Crafted in concrete and sculpted in rod.

Towering edifices scything through city
Asphaltic motorways curving with grace
Estuaries bridged by elegant girders
Created by vision with tears on it’s face.

Fashioned by strength and belief in the promise
Fashioned by fortitude's strong hand as guide,
Crafted by people's belief in tomorrow
A Vision for Auckland and nation with pride.



Marshalg
With the Wellconnected Alliance.
AUCKLAND N.Z.
(Inspired by the animation on a good Mayor’s face)
6pm,14 February 2013


© 2013 Marshal Gebbie

The good looking kids NEVER have pimples!

Have you noticed... How the Banks ALWAYS back the big money?

Have you cottoned on.. To the fact that the VERY RICH always come out on top?

Surely you have twigged to just how easily the BEAUTIFUL girls get the very best of everything?

How about that LAST table in the restaurant? Has the ordinary guy got a shot?

When was the last time you saw a POLITICIAN back a little guy?

Notice how the Priest smiles WIDEST when the Wealthy contribute to the plate?

Who gets the BEST DEAL when they buy a new car?

Preferential treatment at Casinos...Free this, free that....?? The SUPER RICH!

Complimentary tickets to the game?..FAT CATS!

...and who wins the armchair ride to Heaven????
...THE WELL HEELED BUGGERS WHO CAN AFFORD THE TICKET!

So should we, the habitually poor, deprived, ugly sector of society... Feel shortchanged ?
.....or should we be smugly aloof in our tolerated, noble deprivation?

SHORTCHANGED YOU ******* AND THE DAY OF RECKONING IS NIGH!


Marshalg
Just a bit of fun.
11 February 2013

Running for a thousand places
Running for my very hide,
Running to obscure the traces
Run from those I can’t abide.

Pursued by the claw of guilders
Pursued by the Bank of Greed,
Running from the Ruin Builders
Run from those whose lust is need.

I’ve worked to build a modest holding
Worked to feel a pride secured,
Family of love enfolding
Sanctity midst world endured.

Feel manipulations brooding
Moneys lust does intervene,
Those who have it all, concluding,
What is mine is theirs to glean.

Claw back by manipulators
Claw back by the fiends of greed,
Implacable cold calculators
Cut with Law to make me bleed.

Running for a thousand places
Running for my very hide,
Run to flee pursuing faces
Run from that I can’t abide.

Anguish at my walls collapsing
Wailing of my bride’s despair
Futility’s tomorrow lapsing
Monstrous as it flails me there.

Standing in a freezing stillness
Standing in this hall of time,
Forlorn in a prisoned illness
Greed has vanquished me and mine.


Marshalg
For the forgotten people who have been ruined by those, who call themselves the mighty.
Auckland N.Z.
9 February 2013

Heat beats down upon the street
Birds too hot to fly,
Blistered sand you cannot stand
Drenched with sweat am I.
Cows collect in shadow deep
Panting sheep hang head,
Goshawk flies in cobalt skies
Hills of grass stand dead.

Whisp of smoke, a puff of breeze
Sirens scream in air,
Running men in squads of ten
Emerge from everywhere.
Now the rising wind takes charge
Runs with leaping flame
Into crown of eucalypts
To rage across the plain.

Too late the tenders hoses pour,
Too late the fireman’s shout
Inferno hot has run amok
And all control a rout.
Generating mighty winds
The fire charges forth
Spiralling in furnace air
To incinerate for sport.

Vanquished men exhausted stand
Watch with useless eyes,
As raging flames consume their truck,
Inside a good mate dies.
A live thing in the burnished night
It writhes and spirals high
Across the flaring treetops
Hot, red smoke fills the sky.

As sudden as it starts, it stops
A wind change in the air.
Ravaged forest stark and black
Hot ashes everywhere.
Hills of cinders smoking now
Stock in death’s repair,
Homesteads rendered charcoal like
Farmers in despair.

A silence in the ravaged hills
Birdless in the sky,
Bushfire horror, death and smoke
Enough to make you cry.

Marshalg
In support of my Australian brethren and their torched nation.
30 January 2013

Dear friends,

Outward we go, outward to the vast infinity, the great mother ship of all entities, past present and future.
Outward to the cold reality of limitless space where pinpricks of light reflect time which began a million years past.

The great unknown where for eons, since man descended from the trees, his very hopes dreams and prayers have been directed.

Beyond the maelstrom of the sun's living cauldron, beyond the titanic violence of coronal outforce, there lies a false calm. A vacuum of seeming emptiness which harbours a promise of galactic peacefulness but delivers the potential likelihood of eternal, calamitous catastrophe.

This is the realm where God's and Devil's reside.
This is the realm of unimaginable forces and stupendous violence.
This is, at once, our hope and our damnation...
THIS IS THE UNIVERSE.

This is the realm where man has sought communication as long as he has been able.... With utter futility.
For all of his advances in technology, his network of huge radio telescopes, his continuous Asceti transmissions, the development of the World Wide Web, the orbiting space station, the wonderful Hubbard telescope and his advances in space exploration and travel....THERE HAS BEEN NO REPONSE FROM OUT THERE.
SO WHY IS IT THAT MAN HAS HAD NO COMMUNICATION FROM SPACE?

And of time..eternal time ....anticipated as tomorrow. Retrieved as the now and dispensed to the yesterday. Are all three interpretations valid as manifestations of time or are the tones of future and past merely renditions of the actuality...the present?  If that is so how can the light of the stars, emitted so many eons ago, be seen right now as a reflection of the actuality of real time? Has time stretched or are the factors of space distance and time linked entities?

Is eternity a factor of time and space or is there another spectrum. Another source creating equilibrium in the quantum flux? Is size a factor... Is our solar system a submicroscopic nutrino attached to an atom on the **** of an incredibly slow living, gargantuan, multi universe sized ant?
.
..and if this is so...There's no wonder that there have been no replies to our efforts to communicate
...We are infintesimal.....Nobody can find us!

Serenely in the morning air, magnificence defies
Predictions of catastrophe from those whose word implies
That chance, that willing player, who skirts around the scene,
Would show her cards, calamitously, to render doom obscene.
....But for now the peacefulness and order everywhere
Has lovers in the lane ways and laughter in the air,
Has Autumn leaves cascading and white caps on the bay
With balmy clouds in blue skies to reflect this perfect day.

(Though....Forever now humanity could decry me as a brute
For I have, inadvertantly, crushed that ant beneath my boot!)


Marshalg
Looking up through the cold clear night air at 'Foxglove', through the myriad of crystal stars...and beyond.
27 January 2013

A word of explanation: The poem in italics depicts a scene of normality in the big picture, the megamacro world out there, where, like us, they have their own insecurities, their own great unknowns....and like our world, way down here, it is a place where accidents can happen!
Mg.

Thoughtful moments pondering
The worthiness of this,
Examining it carefully
To remove what is remiss.
Questioning the ethics
Of the larger picture shown,
Scrutinize morality
To drive the question home.
Delving into detail
For here the issue stands
And brandishing the blade
When dissection makes demands.
Laying forth the factors
Which, assembled, form the deal
Tasting points of piquancy
To rather sweeten up the meal.
Then....Making the decision
TO REALLY DRIVE THE MATTER HOME
To be left with apprehension
Sitting terrified, alone!*





Marshalg
Pukehana Paradise
Epsom
14 January 2013

© 2013 Marshal Gebbie

I've just come in from sitting out front in some welcomed sun shine.
It's clear out and less cold and for two days or so we are to have
more of the same, but with colder nights, down into the high 20s.

As I walked out to the mail box, a distance of over 250 feet, along
our drive way, I turned back and looked over my shoulder and there
came all three of the outside cats. The Gray Lady, followed by
Tom and bringing up the rear was Jerry. All in a nearly perfect line,
spaced about ten feet behind me and from one another, in near
perfect order and a formation that even a hard edged Drill Instructor
might admire.

I got the mail and returned to the garage, with my kitty parade right
behind me.

In watching these cats and all our other animals it has occurred to
me that I am starting to behave very much like them. We talked
about how animals live in the moment. Reaction and instinct over
planning and thinking. Never over thinking anything.

I guess that is becoming me. I sleep until I wake up. Stay awake
until I grow sleepy. Drink when I thirst, eat when I hunger. Seeing
the sun appear, I seek it's warmth and bask in it's comfort. I pay no
attention to clocks and mostly refuse to plan. With no demands on
my time I do not require a schedule. I worry less and have little or
no expectations. I suppose you might say that I am free.

I can conclude that Life is a circle. Everything I just described might
well fit the description of a routine existence of a human infant.
Apparently we end much like we started out. Or, returning to my point,
perhaps we grow more and more like a cat, or a dog, or just about any
animal or mammal. More basic, simple and uncomplicated. Surely there
is Freedom in understanding and accepting that discovered realization.

And now without any thinking or planning, I shall go and find a warm
soft place to lay down, lick my fur and take a nap.

S.

You are feeling your mortality brother Steven ??.
So an instant ode to you my brother .....

Mortality, our great redeemer
Is levelling the ides of man,
Trimming back the values sought
In every over complex plan.
Trimming back un-needed gloss
Trimming back the fat,
Reducing the absurdity
of mankind’s overloaded  vat.

….To make each instant simpler
To render cleaner time,
To give each day a value
And to make that value mine.

The nearness of my coming end
Is this man’s realisation’s friend
In sorting out the wheat from chaff
To promulgate a favoured blend.

This blend?... My satisfaction’s choice
In the simpler things of life,
My kids, my mates, my poetry
And the touch of my dear wife.

The rest is window dressing, friend,
I leave it for the youth
That’s the group who’s noisy preference
Is behaviourally uncouth.

….Like you, I crave the simpler life
The morning sun in crisp blue air
And the happy sound of kids at play
….Means MY old soul’s in good repair.
                            
Affectionately M

She sat astride the stool in silence
Watching how the mayflies flew,
Symmetry in chaos painting
Colour’s gentle strokes anew.
Felt the touch of evening breezes
catch the tendrils of her hair
Watching mayflies rise and fall
through symmetry, without a care.
Promise fills the moment’s magic
Hope is pounding through her breast,
Mayflies rise and fall in sunlight
Love’s anticipation best.
Scattered light intrudes through leafage
Casting sunspots in the shade,
Mayflies rise and fall in sunshine
Tranquil peace of mind is made.
Softly a guitar is strumming
Melding with the lakeside air,
Rendezvous with him a-coming
Mayflies rise to empty chair.
Mayflies rise and fall in sunshine
Rise and fall...and they don’t care.

Marshalg
‘Foxglove’ Taranaki
3 January 2013

Worry taxing vindication
Deep lines score a harried brow,
Hooded eyes reveal the torment
Green of bile consuming now.

Years compile the load endureth
Weighted soul with quilted guilt,
Bowed is back and shoulder bendeth
Round and bound imbued as built.

So laboured by the leaden deeds
Weighted by the tomes of greed,
Cloistered with the avarice
Of omnipresent want and need.

Oh to see a mote of sunshine
Beam between the felted cloud,
Oh to feel the right of light
Emerge unhindered from the shroud.

God! To witness ordinary
Moments from this sea of pain…
To capture the exquisite joy
Of freely given mirth again ?


Marshalg
‘Foxglove’, Taranaki
31st December 2012

Hold your hand aloft in light
Feel the blood run through your veins,
Know that you have lived a life
Loved a love and held the reigns
Of something..so worthwhile and good
That friends will well have understood,
When you have long passed from this land,
...Your Cup hath Overfloweth.

**MERRY CHRISTMAS

With deferrence to the gentle Edward Ryles who penned the original....*




To wrinkle toes where sand meets sea
Enchants this soul's humanity,
To breathe the air of salty wash
Paints substance into longings lost.
To idle midst the song of tides
Embraces where this heart resides.



Marshalg
Port Waikato Beach
12/12/12



© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Strip into segments the colours of life
At the birth of my sons, loving my wife,
Like the moment of truth when, whilst shivering clear,
I went eyeball to eyeball with that, which I fear.
Like the time when the engine went dead in the plane
And I ditched in the pines to confirm the insane.
When my Father collapsed and died in my arms
And childhood departed with God and his Psalms.
When I first kissed a girl’s soft velvety lips
And felt, with wild rapture, my hands on her hips.
Discovered ripe apricots fresh from the tree
Taste sweeter than nectar collected by bee.
Felt the presence of death compellingly near
Though the body was wracked, the thinking was fear.
Climbed impossible peaks that I dreamt I perceived
To weep the hot tears in a life’s goal achieved.
Laughed loud and long with the wind in my hair
Yet cried when an enemy lost to despair.
Pondered the mystery of what’s round the bend
Concluded beginnings are part of the end.
Compiling the rules to maintain my space
Lie in keeping the oddballs out of my face.
Clasping friends, so few, to my breast
Embracing the true and to hell with the rest.
Committing my time to my one darling wife
And thanking the Gods for this colourful life!*


Marshalg
Sitting in the long summer grasses
3 Decemeber 2012

A coarse, yellow coat with dark spot aplenty
Lean as a greyhound with limb long and lengthy,
Faster than hare from a cold standing start
Impossibly glimpsed in tall grasses that part.
Crystaline jewels in two huge hazel eyes
With the svelt of a feline’s cold killing surprise,
Explosively quick with an elegant gait
And a murderous jaw full of canines that wait
For a fleeing gazelle or a springbok at speed
Then a launch that would emulate bullet, when freed.
Incredibly smooth with a fast loping stride
That would tax any racehorse an envious ride,
Snapping manouvers to left and to right
That mirror a quarry’s evasions of flight.
A blur in a frantic explosion of dust
Then the life blood erupts, splashing red as the rust.

Heaving great flanks after thrill of the chase
Wide open muzzle and gore on the face,
Guarding the game till the kittens locate
Then the spoils of the chase will make portions dictate.*


Marshalg
Serengetti Plain
Central Africa
30 November 2012

Dust on the ledge, before me, magnified
Smell of gun oil in my nostrils and cramp in the calves
The boredom of the wait intensifies,
Stale air in my loft is full of must
With the failing light I’m grateful it is almost time to stand down.

Through the cross hair sprints a target
An ordinary, everyday, running target,
I know not who this target is,
I know not why it runs across my sights,
But because it is, where it is,
It becomes my enemy.

In a microcosm of time
the loud bang alters things forever.
The buck of the rifle’s recoil,
The immediate sour stench of the shot washes back across my face.
The intoxication felt, in being the one who caresses the trigger.
The satisfaction earned in deservedly making the ****.

My target spirals in mid stride,
Contorts in agony
And collapses to the rough tarmac
To lie dishevelled, an insignificant, dishevelled item.

Checking the **** through the telescopic sight
I see the rough stubble of the chin,
The nicotine stain on the fingers,
I see the colour of the eyes are pale blue.
…I know well, it will breathe no more.

With descending twilight
I trudge from my tower perch
With the long ****** rifle slung across my weary shoulders
The  crones in the street glare as I walk by
There is a loathing in their aged eyes, It is a tangible thing.
I know they have no knowledge of the target,
But they know, however, that there has been a killing made for the cause.

A cold beer would be nice.
God! how I hate these young punks with purple hair.*


Marshalg
Gaza, Palestine/Mogadishu, Somalia/Kabul, Afghanistan/Tehran, Iran/Cairo, Egypt/Islamabad, Pakistan/Soweto, South Africa/Dier El Zour Province, Syria/Beirut, Lebanon/Baghdad, Iraq/Tripoli, Libya/Pristina, Kosovo/Grozny,Chechen Republic/Veracruz, Mexico/Guatemala City, Guatemala/Sao Paulo, Brazil/Moscow, Russia.
27 November 2012

For just one second in time, I saw your face.
I saw the cracks and crevices, the moles, the laugh lines.
I saw the feeling held within your expression, your tough, gaunt expression…but kindly.
I saw written there, an understanding, an appreciation
…and a beautiful accommodation for my gentle infatuation.

Marshalg
Convalescing with the leg up.
21 November 2012

(With gratitude to two lovely Polynesian ladies)*

Wondrous, in the light of dawn
Two ladies came with curtains drawn,
To sponge my back and smelly ***
With warming suds, so overcome
With gratitude, was I, to feel so clean
And freshly cared for, in between
Clean sheets and laundered, buttoned gown
Amidst their chatter, cast around,
Their laughter and efficient way
To start, so well,  this budding day.

Patient Marshalg
Ascot Orthopaedics
Auckland
17 November 2012

Six thousand miles of difference
Determined by mans’ hand,
Of greed and power sought by him
Against his fellow man.
Six thousand miles of difference
Exacted by a thought,
That life should be a harmony
Or life should be as nought.


A still and utter peacefulness
Pervading in the air
Normalities great splendour here,
In order everywhere.
A dog barks in the evening light
As neighbours mow the lawn
And the distant hum of traffic
From yon motorway, forlorn.


Shattered buildings teeter
To the concrete debris strewn,
Through war torn streets of battle
Where hot shrapnel sears the noon.
Where blood pools in the broken glass
And fear is in the air,
And the shriek of rockets plummeting
Cause a heartbeat to despair.


Leafy streets of sanctity
Where people mix at will,
Chimney smoke which spirals
In atmosphere tranquil.
Couples saunter, arm in arm
Children laugh and play
The normal, here, is everywhere
Upon this peaceful day.


Decapitated corpses wash
In blood, red surge of sea,
An encounter in the wrong place
Means a sudden death for me.
The skies are filled with torment,
The people quake with fear
As they cringe and flee, directionless,
To frantically keep clear.


Six thousand miles of distance
Determines where we stand,
In battles hell and maelstrom
Or walk free in this fair land?
In Syria’s catastrophe
Where men do **** at will,
Or walk in serene safety
On this lands’ grassy hill



Six thousand miles of difference
Determined by your hand
With greed and power sought by man
Against his Makers’ plan.
Six thousand miles of difference
Exacted by a thought…
-That life shall be a harmony
Or life shall be a nought.


Marshalg
Ascot Hospital
Auckland
19 November 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Whilst spanning continents distraught
I willed all leaders to give thought…
To what will keep our world intact,
Allow the breeds to interact
Together in this sea of greed
Where every ******* sows his seed
Indiscriminately about the place
A sad lascivious twisted face,
Reflecting truly, probably,
How futile is this thought from me….

But maybe, somewhere, far out there
A man will roar with inspired flair
To galvanise the hoard to scream
Aloud for changes’ vital seam,
Aloud for universal ******
To strive before this world is dust!


Marshalg
An appeal from the most beautifully, fragile corner of the globe.
NEW ZEALAND
4 November 2012

Soothing that we aren't at war
Soothing that the thunderous skies
Show bright quiescent lightening flash
In battle field where no man dies.
Soothing that we sued for peace
Soothing that the tempers calmed
In altercations' quarrel lake
Where differences are drowned or charmed.
Soothing that your grey eyes sleep
Soothing that I walk away,
Walked to seek another life
Where conflicts' brat is held at bay.
Soothing now the day is still
Soothing that the air is calm,
Tho now I long for happenstance
In cut and ****** of battles' harm.

Marshalg
Becalmed.
4 November 2012

Strange how the dank hand of disaster clarifies the thinking,
How all irrelevancies are scoured from the frontal lobe,
How, strangely, should you look into the morning sky, the blueness is of a brilliant, startling intensity.
How biting into a piece of fresh fruit reveals the new mouth watering,  exquisiteness of clean sweet,flavour.

Strange how the dank hand of disaster allow us to consolidate our values.
Where suddenly, the drabness of yesterday becomes the brightly,beautiful now.
Where miserable mindedness adopts an abrupt re-evaluation, in that the sour faced neighbour is embraced with passion as being a fellow survivor.
Where the rich and the poor are thrown together to work willingly, cheek by jowel, for a common cause…Tomorrow!.

Strange how the dank hand of disaster brings out THE VERY BEST IN US …isn’t it ?**

Marshalg
A commonality observed In having survived many disasters over the years.
1 November 2012

Oh....that I could reach beyond all this.......
Throw my mind above its' boundaries......
Tear down the walls which border my resolve,
Shed restrictions of temperament and expression,
Adopt a wisdom of honesty and clarity,
OPEN UP MY FACE TO ACTUALITY....
...and have the courage to wear it all....UPFRONT!*

Marshalg

The regions’ magic carpets are a-beckoning
The brassware in the back bazaars aglow,
Exotic spice is nice
For a very reasonable price
And the camel market’s just the place to go.


But…


Afghanistan’s dark Muslims are scheming
The women folk are sharpening their knives,
When foreign troops depart
The bloodletting will start
With collaborators screaming for their lives.


The children of the Ottoman are smarting
For their neighbours are showing them disdain
By peppering with bombs
Along with Syria’s pogroms
And I wonder why the local folk complain?


Oh the sun comes up with glory in old Egypt
As another national leader meets demise
And old Nasser’s bile will burn
As from his grave he will return
To try to rectify his children’s Holy lies.


There are whispers of  a strike at the reactor.
There are reactionary reactions from Iran
With annulment of the bomb
The region should resume aplomb
But I have my doubts this mixture really can.


And it never rains on dear old dusty Cairo,
Here, you never feel the chill of falling snow,
You may stalk the back bazaars
For the rare blue water jars
But you should really buy protection when you go.



And they whinge that all the tourists here are dwindling
That the middle Eastern charm is all but spent,
When the red blood flows like wine
In the good old Bhyzantine
As the peace of night, with gunfire, is wrent.


But…


The dates are really sweet
And the carpetry so neat
And the music is exotic in the night,
And with the flash of Asian eyes
I can guarantee surprise
As you flee for very life…with ****** fright!


Marshalg
From the dark Bazaar
23 October 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Locked within expressions
In this little girl’s smile
Are nuances of wonderment
Destined to compile,
All the mystery of womanhood,
The guile of the breed,
The allure of her ***
And the promise of seed.
Her love for her mother,
Her joy for her dad,
Her path to tomorrow
Be it happy or sad,
The tears and the joyfulness
Stretched out before..
There’s the dog at the hearth
And the cat at the door.
And the beautiful sunsets
Those blue eyes will see
And the love of her life
Who’ll get down on his knee,
The scent of the lavender
Fresh from the fields
And the lakeside laburnum
Which subtly yields.
The colours of love
And the texture of fire
When the threads of her life
Turn to passion’s desire.
The moment of truth
When she turns to her mom
And her face wears the smile
And her arms bear….a son.
Oh the world turns in circles
Of shades of soft hue
And time waits for no soul,
Especially you,
And the babes of today
Become mothers of yore
And the great lesson learned
Is.... keep open the door.*



Uncle Marshal
With wonderment at the beauty in a little girl’s secret smile.
Auckland
12 October 2012



© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Thought about the way my kids
Will judge the world I’ve left behind,
Wondered how perception’s eye
Will shade the tones of what they find.

Worried that the work undone
Shall disappoint the judgements made
And sway perception’s jaded brush
To paint the memories in shade.

It matters that regard is there
To render recollection’s sound,
To pluck the gems of warm regard
From detritus of earthly round.

To look upon my megre works
As worthwhile in the scheme of things,
To nurture somewhere in the soul
The song which satisfaction sings.*


Marshalg
Pondering in the dead of night beneath a hallowed frozen moon.
Foxglove, Taranaki.
7th October 2012

Torment in the passing song
Commits my soul to long…to long
For moments past in softer climes,
Where wafting breezes whispered rhymes
And lavender did gift her scent
To soothing minds of harsh lament,
I stroked my hand across her brow
To reassure the calming now.
…Disturbing how they got it wrong
That torment in the passing song.

Walk with me on stony hillsides
Walk with me in crags of schist,
Walk amongst Blue Borich carpet
Walk in lands of silver mist.
Feel the ancient history seeping
From the veins of shining stone,
Feel the company of Goblins
When you tread these paths alone.
Granite lattice work in marble
Layered from the depths of time,
Beauty and mystique and marvel
Walk with fear and awe, as mine.
Humble in these rugged mountains
Privileged to behold the scene,
I take my leave regretfully
For grandeur lives from whence I've been*.

Marshalg
Strolling through the ancient Schist in the bold, remote, magnificence of Central Otago.
10 September 2012

A cocophany of yabbering
An avalanche of sound
And not a word is understood
Frustration is profound,
Until a beaming smile appears,
Until a laugh innane.....

Then there's a pleasant realisation
That our language IS the same!

Marshalg
Great reaction to an excited Asian gentleman in a noisy, scorching sauna
7 September 2012



© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Extrapolating time as distance, the last 1000 million years, which is the age of our oldest known rocks, is represented by the distance from here to roughly, 3 city blocks distant.

For instance:

Mankind rose from all fours just 60m down the road… and Christ was born just 60cm away.



This allows the enormity of time to gain credence in the capacity of man to visualize…especially difficult considering the limitation of humankind’s puny lifetime duration of just under 100 years.



But I beseech you… consider the advancement of humanity in that incredibly short span of his existence as a species.



From cave to skyscraper

From  raw bones to haute cuisine.

From jumping a metre in the air to manufacturing and implementing a successful research exploration to incredibly distant Mars.

From the snarl of wrath to an intricate debate on advanced mathematics

From faltering first step to Ferrari.



What other species on earth, or as far as we know, anywhere else in the universe… has made progress at this astonishing rate?

What other creature exhibits the drive and compulsion to excel and succeed?

What other creature exhibits the variance betwixt an expression of love in eloquent poetry and a declaration of outright, murderous  warfare… to his fellow man?

What other creature has the capacity for infinite creation and absolute destruction?

What other creature even considers these absolutes?



We humans are the vanguard and promise of tomorrow.

We have the responsibility squarely, on our shoulders…to endure, to succeed.



Marshal Gebbie



© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

There she stands so slender, white
A wraith in gossamer,  so slight,
A trace of smile on carmine lips
Her femaleness on line of hips.
You wouldn't know her yesterdays
She utters only terms of praise,
demure and oh so quite petite
She gives no clue she's from the street.
You wouldn't know the hardness there
The brutish men who wrought despair.
The brutish men who left her laid
Upon cold, concrete slab displayed.
She's past all that, she soothed her soul
And made another world her goal,
Changed her hair and wore a frock
Set her task, that done took stock,
Altered how she saw the world
Watched her secret rose unfurled.
Watched the sweetness feel the light
Watched with trepidation's fright...

Now she stands so slender, white
A quiet confidence... so bright,
Tomorrow's smile on carmine lips
Her femaleness on line of hips.*


Marshalg
Waterview
4 September 2012