Starlings fly in silver sky
Bullfinch in the dry grass sings,
Emerald teal in tandem fly
Explosively on phosphor wings.
Miracles are in the air
Golden sun in evening glow,
Marigolds of orange flair,
With lavender, in patchwork grow.

Sap is flowing in the wood
bursting buds of olive greens,
Winter flees as winter should
Whilst bubbling brook transform to streams
Miracles are in the air
Colour rich in reddish hues,
Greens of fresh lime , aqua flair
Spring arrives in vivid views.

Silk striations lace the sky
With molten, mackerel clouds of gold,
Evening chill for you and I
Suggest we snuggle close to hold.
Miracles are in the air
A Moonrise breaks horizon’s door,
Hugely round with craters bare
We laugh with joy and seek for more.

Tantalizing night upon us
Stars ignite the heaven's fire,
Black as pitch with jewelled Adonis
Hot white pinpoints of desire.
Miracles are in the air
Passion in the blood doth boil,
Moonlight through her silver hair
Exquisite as blue fire on oil.


Marshalg
@thebach
29 August 2011

From parturition to bereavement
Your destiny is there
To gather to embrace
Or discard without a care.

From the moment that a father
Holds a newborn in his hands
And dares his thoughts to venture
To his baby’s future plans.
From the little boy who ponders
How to scale the mountain high
And sets his sights to conquer
Till he reaches clear blue sky.

From the moment that a damsel
In her frilly party frock
Plans a life of strutting catwalks
Clad in classy, fashion stock.
When a young man battles conscience
In his fight with lust’s hot sin
And temptation’s call to deviate
To ******* or crime or gin.

From the sloth of doing nothing
In letting time just trickle by,
To the driven soul who strives
To win each challenge with each try.
From the numbness of exhaustion
Clad in cancer’s deathly quilt,
Where the chance of a tomorrow
Depends on, largely, how you’re built.

As the cloak of family mantle
Shoulders mortgage, wife and child
With responsible compliance
To secure commitments filed.

And the burden of an aged life
When capacities do fade,
There’s a burning need to champion
The good destiny's, displayed.
Wherein to demonstrate the honour,
To the new incoming teens,
In showing destiny’s importance
To fulfilling our bold dreams.

Through the realm of our potential
In the great unknown ahead,
The joy of running with our destiny
Makes the future read as read.


Marshalg
@thebach
27 August 2011

Blindingly obvious to all but me
Momentous moments don’t come free.

To make decisions raise your hand
Then, thick or thin, you make a stand.
Make decisions, make ‘em right
Wear the consequences and/or fight.
Own 'em big, own 'em strong
For on your back they now belong...

Commit, my friend, to make it tight
Then wear decision's lead weight right!

Marshalg
(Helping him out)
25 August 2011

Could it be that locked in memory
Ancient thoughts are held in store,
Passed on by Neanderthal man
Who's origins we may recall.....

Ape like in physique and frame,
Prominent prognathus jaw,
Burning eyes intense and sharp,
Intelligence to seek for more.

Telepathic thought transference
Little need for guttural grunt,
Massive strength in hand and thigh
Stinking pelt to back and front.

Rushing through the reed and long grass
Casting lance with lunging throw,
Mastodon with roaring bellow
Thrashing trunk with thunderous blow.

Darkness in the smoky cavern
Clustered at the flinted flame,
Family and others warming
Squat encircled, chewing game.

Listening in the chill of moonlight
Listening to the wolf pack howl,
Out across the snow clad forest
Out beyond the hooting owl.

Chewing pelts to soften leather
Massive teeth in massive jaw,
Wary eyes observe the weather
Southern winds may bring the thaw.

Luscious she with scent ascending,
Luscious she with hairy maw,
Bent to me in sweet surrender
Downy hip and coaxing paw.

Roar in rage and beat the earth
Blazing eyes and heaving chest,
Invasion from the **** Sapiens
Seeking females for their nest.

Skies descend with fire and brimstone
Rock cascades and burns the earth,
Mountain God has vent his fury
Scamper hard to cave’s safe berth.

Cold, so cold this bleak snow weather
No retreat from Winter’s ire
Brother, sisters, sons are huddled
Frozen dead in blue ice byre.

Few, so few now to migration
Trek to southern food and heat,
Starving, wet and hypothermic
Staggeringly trudge the weak.

Few, so few to intermingle
With the **** Sapiens here,
Serfs in *******, low and squalid
BUT SURVIVORS..STRONG AND CLEAR!


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
13 August 2011

Who’s going to say you’re right, Love,
When you pack your bags and run?
Who’s idyll hand will help you
When you fracture all the fun?
In tearing down the fabric
Of our castle, built of straw,
Is there any satisfaction?
Do you care, Love, anymore?

Who’s going to say you’re right, Love,
When you hurl your verbal spears,
When you lash out with vindictive
And disintegrate to tears?
Who’s going to hold your hand, Sweet,
When you shriek and stamp away,
Leaving chaos in your wake
And destruction in the day?

Who’s going to say you’re right, Love,
When you leave the kids with me,
When they ask Dad “Where is Mummy”?
And tears make it hard to see?
When I know there is another
Who will take you to his lair,
There to rub your silken shoulders
And stroke your auburn hair.

Who’s going to say you’re right, Love,
When you break our world apart,
When you dessicate the fabric
Of this broken family’s heart?*


Marshalg
@thebach
Mangere Bridge
13 August 2011

Slipping into darkened slumber
Silver tensions ease to sigh,
Dreaming intercedes with candor
Prone, alone with sleep am I.

Gentle snoring slides to tenor
Rapid eyelids flutter bye,
oblivion to deep surrender
Gentle, velvet sleep am I.

Dreams of rougely nippled sirens
Plunging to a calming sea,
Fleshed in swelling rings of passion
Slumber's sister's hand on me.

Deep down to abyss's chasm
Deep into  serene's pink calm,
Gentle slumber's sensual finger
Slides into oblivion's balm.

Marshalg
In repose
11 August 2011

Fortune holds
Like a fly on the pane,
Indecent translucence
Like life, it's ingrained
With a terrible filth
That seeps out from the pores
To assault sensitivities
Imagined scores.

Perfidious thoughts
Scrape across the serene
To leave bruised aberration
Where little is seen,
To leave an impression
Across the cold glass
Where sunshine pale
Waits for morning to pass.*

Marshalg
@thebach
30 July 2011

For every leaf in Autumn’s fall
A child is lost without recall,
For every song that’s sung for love
A child is whipped by callous glove.
For every latte shared in joy
There’s *** abuse to some small boy,
Each million dollar haul of art
Starvation stills a child’s young heart.
When tears of joy cascade in breeze
A thousand homeless children freeze,
For every morning sunbeam clear
The cloud descends on some child’s fear.
For every excess we consume
Mass underprivelaged children loom,
Blond beauties all attired in red
Unwanted babies left for dead.
Massive plenty for the few
Dispossessed small children *******,
Privelaged cold concience clear
Little feet bequeathed the fear.
Global sympathy won’t change
‘Till effete thinking rearranged,
Sanity shall not transform
‘Till WOMAN leaders are the norm.

Marshalg
For the lost legions in our midst.
20 July 2011

When she left my  moonlight died
Laughter left my face and cried,
Memories became my dreams
In fitful, aching, silent screams.
When she left tomorrow fled
Writhing in my sleepless bed,
Now she’s gone her smile, so wry,
I glimpse as young girls pass me by.
When she left my light went dim
With dreadful numbing from within,
Now she’s gone I catch her scent
In every rose that may relent.
Now she’s gone my life’s a shell
In every moment's empty hell,
When she left the moonlight cried
Laughter left my face and died.

Marshalg
For every love that left.
15 July 2011

Supporting strangers
Standing tall
Silent in the wings
On call,
Yet vocal
With penache and flair,
Supportive when
The call is there....

Stalwarts stand
In blazing light
Resolute
To keep the fight
Above indifferent
Eyes downcaste,
Resolute
To broach and blast
Encouragement
Way beyond the time,
When expectations high,
Exceed the very best of mine.

Marshalg
An accolade to you,
The few... who quietly, eloquently and roaringly support.
14 July 2011

Age old forests compressed
To thick primeval ooze
Interred between layers
Of sediments fused
By time and tonnage
To hard papa rock
Concealing CRUDE OILS’
Subterranean shock.

Shocking in value
Escalating with time,
Shocking in politics
Which equates to a crime,
Implications shocking
When you stop to see
That resource limitations
Have diminished quickly.

Consider the clout
When a fast world of cars
Without hydrocarbons
Would seize up like stars,
Stars, in the sense
Of their immovable grace,
For a fuel less planet
Would IMMOBILIZE this place.

Abrupt immobility
To bring chaos and mess
And the utter lost beauty
Of a girl in a dress,
And the time and space
To smell a good rose
Instead brittle chaos
Malevolently  posed.
Bleak desolation
Of the world we hold dear
And a massive regression
To impoverished fear.

Marshalg
Looking thru the hour glass
4 July 2011
**Only way to deliver this poem is SLAM and with vehemence!!

Were that I were bounteous,
Were that I were strong,
Were that I had substance
I would sing for freedom’s song.

I would sing, as does a blackbird
With a resonance so clear
As to wake the deaf of humankind
And hound their jaded ear.  

To awake their sense of sameness
To jolt their sense of fair,
To arouse the warmth of brotherhood,
To cleanse our racist air.

For the blacks, the whites, the brindle
Are homogenously one,
You break the skin, the blood is red
We’re born beneath one sun.

Each man loves his mother’s warmth
Each man holds his wife,
Each man feeds his children
And cherishes his life.

So where’s the racial difference?
What makes this problem start ?
What prompts the cold Kalashnikov
To **** that other heart?

What prompts back alley beatings
Of infidels who stray ?
What price religious difference
By men who say they pray?

Who is this God who fosters war ?
How can he profess to be
A champion of sanity
To unleash this killing spree ?

Were that I were bounteous,
Were that I were strong,
Were that I had wisdom
I would sing for freedom’s song.

I would sing for racial harmony,
I would sing for such a day,
That men could laugh together
Be they black or white or grey.

Marshalg
For the United States of Humanity.
2 July 2011

Terminate with Prejudice,
The word came from on high,
Synchronise the satellite
Above her in the sky.
Instruct the drone manoeuvres
To glide 10,000 feet
And fire the micro missile
Through the roof, but be discreet!

A haze of gas like perfume,
A sneezing fit or two
And every living thing within
The building dies on cue.
No symptoms are detected,
No evidence is found,
The toxic gas is oxidised
Before the hour comes round.

She lies in all her beauty,
Clear alabaster skin,
Green eyes stare to infinity
No heart, that beats, within.
Her searching words offended
The holders of the grail,
Who reached across the globe
To wield their deadly flail.

This Brave, New, evil World
With technology to do
The bidding of the acolytes
Who transgress borders through,
Of every creed and every man,
Across the planet vast
To violate, at will,
All human values of the past.


Marshalg
Revelations in a Scorching Sauna
26/11/2011

This moment NOW ..
This very instant
Is the ONLY Absolute!
The only period of importance.
Yesterday is relegated to DUST and memories,
Tomorrow is Vaporous and UNCERTAIN.
Promises are just GAS.
YOU want to make IMPACT in this life?
DO IT NOW!
SAY IT NOW!
BE IT NOW!

Marshalg
In the Absolute
25 June 2011

Stark in freezing winter air
Deeply orange, clustered there,
Rich shades in a cameo
Of black and white in frozen snow.
ROSE HIPS IN THE MORNING LIGHT
Shining warmly, softly bright.
Wicked thorns, the stems, adorn
***** frost, on the buds, is borne
Atop the ancient root in soil
Where beetle gnaw and earthworm roil.

Marshalg
Exhaling in the frozen air
24 June 2011
Inspired by Patrick Wakefeild's delightful "When I have been a Rose"

Time for chewing sanction chasers
Time for calling out,
All those dogs who run for cover
All the slimes who flout!
Time to spin the wheels of change
To cull the slack who bludge,
Time to look behind the mirror
Spotlight those who fudge.
Time for nailing shirkers
Who employ the wriggle out
Time to hit the finger pointers
And the **** who pout!
Mostly time for settling
This old, outstanding score,
Drop your fool pretence
In standing bare arsed on the floor.
Bare arsed in the spotlight
With your sharpened fangs well drawn,
With talons sprung like drawknives
And your slitted eyes of scorn.
It's time to test your metal
In this avenue of pain,
Time to face your nemesis
Or you’ll NEVER stand again!


Marshalg
On the Razors Edge
Winter Solstice, 2011

A toast to the life of my good mate, Bill Massey


We toasted life with “steinies”
Watching Ngauruhoe smoke,.
We clambered over tussock
Laughing easily, “bloke to bloke”.
I Knew him as a good sort
Those forty years long past
But realised much later
That Bill’s friendships last.

To appreciate the standards
That Bill would always keep,
The quality of thought
That his ministrations reap.
The camaraderie enjoyed
And the bounteous Joi de Vivre,
And the lengthy conversations
Over occasional  cold beer.

Elements of friendship
That once won are not lost
Until cruel deaths intervention
Is counted heavily, as cost.
But the flip realisation
Is now readily made clear
That time shared gave value
That we both held as dear.

Bill was a good friend
In a firm, gentle way
And I thank my good fortune
For that long distant day,
When he entered my door
And smiling, held out his hand
And I entered the realm
Of a Gentleman’s Man.

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
21 June 2011

For Beep & Sue Robinson, Foreman, Victoria Park Tunnel


Auntie Elaine Kingii
Died last night in her sleep,
Ninety years of age
Keeping secrets she would keep.
Last night she passed away
In her tiny single bed,
At the Onehunga rest home
Where she finally laid her head.

Auntie Elaine Kingii
Lived her long life on the street
Helping other vagrants
Find a kinder place to sleep,
Helping other street kids
With the hassles of their day,
Sharing a quick cigarette
Or a dryer place to stay.

Auntie Elaine Kingii
In her ninety years of life
Had eighteen babies born to her
From sailors , waifs and like.
Eighteen babies born to her
Beneath the Grafton bridge,
Each with unknown fathers
Or a family heritage.

Auntie Elaine Kingie
As a girl danced out of class
Where the morning sunshine sparkled
On the crystal dew, clad grass,
And her green eyes shone with lustre
In her  joy of dancing free,
Whilst the street kids stood in cluster
Quite entranced by what they see.

Auntie Elaine Kingii
With her eyes of emerald green
Lived her days among the lost souls
Of the City Mission scene.
Life amongst free spirits
Was a chosen path for her
Shunning organised prosperity
With a structured raconteur.

Auntie Elaine Kingii
With her eyes of emerald glass
Chose to die the way she lived
Quite serenely with her class.
Happy with the company
Of whom she would befriend
In the park surrounds of Auckland city’s
Busy people blend.


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
21 June 2011

(For my old mate Kevin Blackburn)

Bentonite is magic
When mixed in slurry form,
And injected into apertures
Where earth worms are the norm.
The slurry forms a barrier
Which holds the concrete, wet,
Quite apart from earthen surfaces
To give exactly what you get.

YOU GET NO CONTAMINATION
YOU GET CONCRETE DRYING CLEAN
YOU GET SMOOTH GREYISH SURFACES
WHICH COULD BE PARCELED TO THE QUEEN!

So when constructing tunnels
Or massive footings bare
Or reinforced deep piling
Which extends way down to there,
You MUST pour in the Bentonite
In slippery, slurry form
To keep the concrete looking
Sparkling clean, as is the norm.

Then....
YOU GET NO CONTAMINATION
YOU GET CONCRETE NICE AND CLEAN
YOU GET BEAUTIFUL GREY SURFACES
SHINING BRIGHTLY FOR THE QUEEN!

Marshalg
Lurking near the Bentonite tanks
Victoria Park Tunnel
15 June 2011

Lines of life through gene transmission
When handed down through *****,
Tho’ rugged, sound or sickly matched,
Are caste about like coins.
Luck ensures a robust chance
Of longevity and health
With intelligence or dolt hood
As a final gauge to wealth.

Traits of blue eyed, fair haired lovelies
Brown eyed, freckled, long of limb,
Temperaments across the spectrum
Placid fat to fiery slim.
Aptitude to run the long race
Good endurance, depth of heart,
Lady luck decrees their worth
Tho' the Priesthood may depart.

Frontal lobes of clear retention
Heightened rationale of thought,
Reasons through the problematic,
Resolutions made as ought.
Capacity to empathise
In tears of joy and sorrow spent,
Capacity for true belief
When wrong is righted with repent.

Goodness and black evil
Are caste about like chaff,
Depends upon the show of cards
Who laughs the final laugh.
Conscience can be virtuous
But then, so can be greed,
Depends upon the circumstance
And if approached at speed.

And finally indulgence
Plays a massive hand in this,
For love and lust determine
If a union is remiss.
And should that union founder,
Should Lady Luck throw in her hand
...You can blame it on the chromosomes
Which confounds the Makers stand!


Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
14 June 2011

It’s all pretence, I see, my Dear
This facade that you live so well,
Your look, your walk,  the very talk
Convinces most, but I can tell,
That just beneath your garlanding
There lives a soul so insecure,
So nervous in a measured way,
That  every second... you perform
To structure a collapsing day.

Softly and with gentle touch
I kiss your anxious, fevered brow,
Stroke the tightness in your neck
Reassure that you know now,
Your secret is secure with me.
I step aside and beam to you
My silent, warm applause, my Dear
For your command performance
Holds at bay this constant fear.

Marshalg
In quiet admiration.
11 May 2011

A quandary,
How inconsequence can change us
A comment, made in passing, without thought,
Can bring down mighty empires and associations
And render good relationships as nought.

A quandary,
How we pick up bad impressions
And label them with values as we go
Until the crass delusions of a lifetime
Are worn as camouflage to what we know.

A quandary,
How we founder in the hindsight
Of guaging how our brothers measure up,
When flavoured by our own apparent short fall
And tasted in our own judgmental cup.

A quandary,
How life slips bye through the fingers
Preoccupied with details of the way
We  watch the fool performance of the others
And lose our true perspective of the day.

This quandary,
When a rain storm clouds the morning
Then suddenly a bright sunbeam appears,
It's like quandary's building worlds of complication
Which dissipate when rationale interferes.

Marshalg
Pondering issues lightly...
3 June 2011

Winter sun shines wanly in the church ground
Long shadows grace the wooded park.
The newly cut lawns sparkle emerald green in the late morning light
And the steeple bell tolls, calling the faithful to worship on this Sunday in late May.

An old man sits on the bench nearby and quietly mutters to himself.
The church goers ignore him as they congregate together discussing the inanities that pass for conversation prior to worship, he is invisible to them as they companionably file through the portal of the church doors, exchanging pleasantries with the welcoming, smiling priest.

Oblivious, in his disheveled way, the old man quietly mutters  his words to himself. His wrinkled, white bearded face totally preoccupied with his thoughts about where his years have gone.

Just yesterday I ran that race
In bare feet for the mile,
My school mates cheered me on
And I recall I won in style.
And last week at the dole queue
When stale bread was handed out,
I swear I only took my share
Despite the Copper's shout!
The when I held my baby girl
In ****** swaddling clothes,
I saw exhaustion take my wife
Her face a pallid rose.
And in the pits the burning heat
The coal dust and the gas,
Filled the lungs of most of us
With a bitter, black morass.
Though Charlie Donoghue's cold ale
Was nectar to me then,
And a sharper axe was never swung
Or how, or why, or when.
I'm always short on Thursdays
It's a hungry time of week,
And the street kids pinch my park bench
So I've got no where to sleep.
Oh the beauty of that first kiss
With the lass across the road,
Versus brutal hiding's dished out
By that bully, ******* , toad.
Sunshine at riverbank
When there's nothing much to do
And the sparkles on the water
And the cold of morning dew.
Money in your pocket
The feeling's Oh so grand,
When you can shout your mate a beer or two
And he runs to shake your hand.
There's a dull ache in my hip now
And it never goes away,
And when asked to elaborate
The smart *** Doctor wouldn't say.
Best of all were the apricots
On Fergie's green old tree,
And we kids would run and pinch the fruit
And gorge it all for free.
Oh the joy on my darlings face
In that wedding on the hill,
When tomorrow promised everything
And the very world stood still.
And I recall the starlings wheeling
In a sky of brilliant blue
As they flocked in tune with Autumn,
When the leaves were red in hue.
But I can't remember details now
The days are getting dim,
So it's hardly worth the effort
To try and share this all with him........

Marshalg
On the bench in the wan winter sunshine.
29 may 2011

A line of trees in massive form
Encroach along a ridge of stone,
Gnarled, bent and weather worn
Their clinging roots call granite home.
This ancient wood has weathered time
Felt the freezing gales of snow,
Has witnessed birth and death by day
Through life's kaleidoscopic show.

Oh the stories they can tell
When sunshine in the heavens ,warm,
When rivers run in merry tune
And safflower honey bees do swarm.
Oh the stories they can tell
When fillies kicked their heels in grass,
When whippoorwills did sing their song
And rampant stallions vied for class.

Oh the stories they can tell
When ancient armies trod this way
When clashing steel rang loud and clear
And good blood flowed in battle fray.
Oh the stories they can tell
When faceless horsemen galloped by,
The stench of putrid fear's lament
When populations bled to die.

Oh the stories they can tell
Of mountain peaks succumbed to fire,
Where ash removed the very sun
And panicked people fled the dire.
Oh the stories they can tell
Of black and white and good and bad
....But immaterial, perhaps, to trees
Who root in rock and seem so sad.


Marshalg
Taranaki dreamin'
26 May 2011

Rain on me
In the cold clear Taranaki air,
waves of rain across the field, pelting down.
Saturating, pouring down my face, glasses fogged.
Every item of clothing on my body drenched and clinging.
The little red ride on mower spumes rooster tails of wet grass skyward
And I exult in the sheer brilliance of wetly getting this huge green swathe mown.

Marshalg
Laughing in the Taranaki rain
22 May 2011

God curse developers
Who bury waste contaminants,
God curse investors
Who prey upon the weak.
God curse the Nazis
Who terrorize minorities
God curse the leaders
Who lie each time they speak.

God curse the despots
Who subjugate their people,
God curse Big Oil
Who swamp the world with greed.
God curse the Jihadists
Who slaughter indiscriminately,
God curse the poor
Who bleat about their need.

God curse the haters
Who bleed the world of latitude
God curse the moaners
Who take away the hope
God curse religion
Which robs us of tomorrow
And God curse the rest of you
Who limit me, my scope!

Marshalg
@thebach
17 May 2011

Life's Blue Bubble hovers there,
Floating twixt joy and despair.
Floats amidst a sea of waste,
Ignored in all the desperate haste.
Hovers in a shoal of souls,
All with independant goals.
Floating through chaotic time,
A sanity to fools sublime.
Retching technicolour barfs,
Marking time between the laughs.
Drifting by, so purposeless,
Assiduously avoiding stress.
Slips between a start and end,
Beyond which few can comprehend.
Life's Blue Bubble seeks to love,
Void below and void above.
And then cold fate will play it's worst
In causing Life's Blue Bubble's burst.

Marshalg
@ the bach
13 May 2011

Stringent to lilly livered
Toxic if afraid,
galling to goers
Who thrive on being brave,
Enthralling to observers
Who see finer tones,
And fatal to loiterers
With shrapnel in bones.
Loose lips in the war zone
An anathema to we
Who strive for control
In adversity.
Loose lips in the war zone
A systems relapse,
Which preceeds establishment's
Rapid collapse.


Marshalg
@the bach
11 May 2011

BITING** hard to taste the blood
Searing FRANTIC tensions flood,
Know that should you STOP to turn
The HORROR just behind will burn
ALL that you have done to date,
Tear, DESTROY, eviscerate.
Flee or FIGHT with tooth or gun
WEAVE amidst collapses run,
Weave amidst CHAOTIC mess
GIRD thyself to wear duress,
Turn to STRIKE there's no recourse
FLAY THE EVIL, NO REMORSE!.


Marshalg
In Confrontation.
AUCKLAND
9 April 2011

I wanted to be there for Parsnips but time and  money availability have precluded it from happening. I cannot make it down for the funeral.

I f you would please pass on the following few words for me.

Parsnips was my mate, He was the epitome of a man from a different age.
He was wild and intense, dark of mood  and definite of opinion.

He was poetry in motion astride a good jumping mare, many a time I have seen him clear a seven wire fence with a good foot of daylight to spare.
His understanding of equine mentality approached that of witchcraft. He was capable of anticipating the  lashing hoof before the horse had formulated the thought, much less put it into action. He had NO patience with intemperate horseflesh. Many a frisky animal had second thoughts of misbehaviour after they had worn the thick end of a coarse rasp at close quarters.
Parsnip’s work was artistry, he was truly... one of the GREAT farriers.

The end of the working day would see Parsnips drown his sorrows in the demon ***.
This was the emergence of the dark soul who cast about for answers to impossible questions, who wallowed in the unhappiness of his failed horizons and the bitterness of his life’s disappointments. My mate Parsnips was not the easiest man to know in his dark moments. But a mate is a mate... you take the good with the bad.

And there were a lot of really good times... when a happy Parsnips had laughter in his eyes and a flash of excitement in his demeanour. I recall one such time when, on a wild rafting trip on a rampaging, flooded Mohaka river, The raft was marooned on a jammed stump in the midst of violent huge killer white water. Parsnips hung off a rope and with a look of wild joy on his face announced to his flabbergasted mates...”And I can’t even ****** swim a stroke!... fantastic. Needless to say he survived the trip and loved every moment of it.

I called to spend the afternoon with him a short time ago at the Rest Home. This was a shadow of the Parsnips I had once known. He was completely disillusioned with the hand fate had dealt him. He saw no future to speak of... He wanted out.
So I must say that I am not entirely surprised with the way things have materialised.
Parsnips usually arranged the system to get things the way he wanted them.

I grieve for the loss of my wild, intense mate, God knows there are few enough of them left.
Real people who live life in the black and white way.
Definite personalities who, for the good or for the bad, never ever leave you in any doubt as to where they stand in the way of things.

Fare well my old friend, I leave you with these words.

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

Whilst wet with rain
beneath a tree
An introspective moment
had a sneaky peek at me.
Who am I and what am I
... and what have I to show?
And should I be concerned
that very few... may care to know?

Slightly left of centre
With a wrinkled, balding crown,
Scarred and bushy eyebrows
And a mouth that tends to frown.
A grizzled beard hides multitudes
Of sins I wish to hide
And the beauty of my burning youth
Has long since shrivel dried.

The paunch has spread expansively,
Athletic legs have shrunk
And my ****** performance
Has diminished with a thunk.
I suffer fools reluctantly
In fact, it’s true to say...
That my patience and forbearance
Is  more limited each day.

Pasta Carbonara
In a creamy bacon sauce
With a smooth rewarding merlot
Is my favourite fare.. of course!
Plus a stodgy Apple pudding
Bathed in double dairy cream
And a steaming cappuccino
Topped with chocolate is a dream.

A powerhouse of action
With the things I Iike to do
And a sloth, to beat the band,
When the Tax Return is due.
An ardent fan for Old Jazz
Vamped on keyboard and the snare
But the world of Rap
Just leaves my head In hideous disrepair.

I’ll face down bullies twice my size
And heaven help the fool
Who interferes with family
For I’ll hit him hard and cruel,
Yet feed me sad old movies
And, any given night, you’ll see
A little tear run down the cheek
Oh so, self consciously for me.

The woman is God’s gift to man
The statuesque, the strong,
The saturnine eyed redhead
Where the gazes linger long.
The magnificence of a ponytail
As it bobs along the street
Atop a Grecian Goddess
With her undulations, sweet.
And ****!.. there is that little dress,
The one that fits so well,
That amplifies your promise
And gives my senses Hell!

And there’s the need to tell the story,
To formulate the plan,
Initiate the living thought
In a delivery of élan.
To modulate the language
To win the ears of youth
With an oratory of promise
To impact them all with couth.

There’s commitment to your Darling
And a tolerance for the kids
And the need for good provision
So we all don’t hit the skids.
And the cat and dog need feeding
Plus the goldfish in the jar,
Then there’s Alf and Frank and Joe
Who all expect me at the Bar.

So what’s it all about you say
This parody called life?
Is it all a headlong rush
Along the road avoiding strife?
Is there any plan or sequence,
Does it pan out in the end
Or is everything a chaos
Driving me around the bend?

Survival is the answer!
Take one small step at a time,
Smile at dear old ladies
And your day will turn out fine.
Avoid the grim policemen
And skirt all growling dogs,
Be gentle with your Sweetheart
And don’t skate on jellied frogs.

The recipe’s so simple
The answer is so clear
Don’t complicate your time with ****
And, please pass another beer.

Marshalg
Still soliloquising under the tree in the falling rain.
26 March 2011

In response to Louis Brown's upbeat take on belief:"Gods Son Identified with Man"and JP's delicate handling of his juxtaposition.


Never have I understood
The need for man to find a God,
No solace in an idol’s crutch
To bind the here and now to sod.
How come this gaping maw in man?
Why must he seek a golden door
To steer him to a righteous place
To shed his lust for sin and flaw?

I wallow in my earthy ways
The nectar of a merlot smooth,
The colours of a raging sea
The softness in a woman’s move.
I seek not more in afterlife,
I know not how to quest for this.
My day is NOW and when it’s done
I’ll rest my case and die in bliss.

Marshalg
22 March 2011

As a maddened beast it charges
Emanating with expanse
Brute techtonic plate reaction
From the epicentre’s stance.
Huge concentric rings diverge
Expanding at horrific rate
Black, titanic, towering waters
Ploughing to a deadly fate.

Kneeling in her bed of roses
Pollinating bees abound,
Morning sunbeams kiss her shoulders
Peaceful garden bliss surrounds.

Surging to the coastal shelf
The black gigantis rears on high
Claws toward the placid beach
Seabirds scatter to the sky.
Tide receds to bare the reef
Stranded mackerel whitely leap,
Enormously the massive wave
Attacks the land and they who sleep.

Death comes fast to they who loiter
Violence in the tangled purge,
Massive pressures, crushing debris
Broken buildings in the surge.
Ships and cars are tossed asunder
Inexorably it slams
Far inland to slay those fleeing
Locked in highway traffic jams.

Strange roar at the garden wall
Terrified, she finds her feet,
Roses, bees, sweet girl engulfed
As black entombedment swamps the street.

Far inland the chaos flows
Wreaking death's destructive bands,
Halted now by highland hills
Where souls in horror, wring their hands.
Slow retraction leaving ruin
Desolation far and wide,
The smell of new death in the air,
Heartbreak in the countryside.


Marshalg
For Nippon
18 March 2011

Clear and crystal
So anciently old,
So brilliantly fluid
And tastelessly cold.
To coalesce in vapour
Of limitless cloud,
To fall in fat globules
Of rainfall in shroud.

To cascade through air
As a mist in the fall
Or plummet as downpour
Through Calcutta’s pall.
Gathered in puddles
To flow down a drain,
Amass as a flood
To pour across plain.
To playfully tumble
From mountains of shard,
To flow to the sea
Where the surf crashes hard.

A field of marigolds
Bobbing in sun,
Nurtured by moisture’s
Life giving fun.
Green grasses grow
With barley and wheat,
Through the magic administered
By wetness’s feat.
Imagine disaster’s
Protracted drought
Where dryness obliterates
Green life throughout.

Sparkling clear waterfalls,
Hard pounding surf,
Trickles of crystalline
Cascades of mirth.
Rock pools so clear
That trout can be seen
And the bone china cup of tea
Served to the Queen.

Standing in rain
As it pours from the sky
With a grin on my face
Smearing mud from my eye
With arms outstretched
And a song in my heart
For the great joy of living
This water imparts....

Water my Angel,
My priceless gem.
A waterless world
Would bring death and mayhem.
An oceanless planet
As seen from the moon,
Would lack life giving blueness
And be hued in gloom.
Sweet water is life
In a miraculous way,
Thus we hail the Gods
Each rain swept day.

Marshalg
Sitting by the beautiful Manukau Harbour
11 March 2011

Stop right now and NUT IT OUT
Which way you wish to go,
Do you want the wealth and stressful strain
Or blithely flick and throw?

Do you preen yourself with smiling pride
Owning shining  chattels new,
Whilst shallow OTHERS OGLE
With those envious eyes on you?
Or do you seek the clean four winds
Untrammelled by concern,
With sleeping bag, a crescent moon
Whilst crackling bonfires burn?

Have you thought to chuck it all
The car, the house, the boat
And cause your superficial  friends
To snigger, leer and gloat?
To simply live in HUMBLE CIRCUMSTANCE
To wake without a plan,
To greet the day with unconcern
And breathe a new, fresh man.


Is the courage there to TAKE THE CHANGE,
Can you make the first big move,
Or does convention stay your hand
To stray from comfort’s groove?
Have you thought about what others think,
Reactions from the crowd,
The clamorous cacophony
Of objection rendered loud?


“Absolutely NOT, my dear”
Pygmalion my ****.
To throw it all away, Silly,
Simply would... betray your Class!
“It’s all so rudimentary
This thing of living rough”
“Reminds me of the great apes,
And other basic stuff!”


There’s loads of reasons why YOU CAN’T,
The mortgage at the bank,
Insurance is essential
And while we’re being frank...
There’s the tennis club subscription
And the afternoons I’d miss
Sipping lattes with the ladies
..though, the gossip’s SO remiss.


Perhaps we’ll put it off for now
Another day perchance,
When devilment and joi le vivre
EFFUSE another prance.
When the dream of having freedom
With the cold wind in my hair,
Will drive me to release
The inner WILDNESS hidden there.



Marshalg
Victoria ParkTunnel
4 March 2011

Enter the dragon with death and disruption
Pride and tradition cataclysmically thrown,
Magnificent structures reduced to rubble
Distraught people bereft of their homes.
Chasms of heartache with bodies of babies
Strewn with the bricks in vast disarray,
Dust in the air and the howl of the sirens
Shouting police on a horror filled day.


Christchurch is bleeding, her confidence shattered
Our keynote cathedral is lying in shards,
Vacant eyed people are clinging to strangers
Jagged black holes in suburban back yards.
Christchurch is bleeding, our torn, gracious City
The nation arises in hurt and alarm,
To face the challenge with strength and resources,
To nurture our sister with healing and balm.


Sympathy shown by the myriad faces
Racing to help from all parts of the globe,
Expertise offered with money and labour
Students with shovels and priests of the robe.
Sadness and torment for kin of the missing
Frustrated rescuers work till relieved,
Moments of triumph with lost resurrected,
Agony felt when the dead are retrieved.


Led by the strength of the Mayor of the City
Courageous citizens help where they can,
Moments of bravery, moments of agony
Inspirational feats of elan.
Poignancy shown by the sad Maori Warden
Guiding the aged through the strewn broken glass,
Aiding the ambulance crews in their labour
Proud to be Kiwi as folk show their class.


Christchurch WILL arise from the death and destruction
Once again people will overcome grief,
Pride and resilience will triumph with the passing
And time will repair with deserved relief.





Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
AUCKLAND
25 February 2011

Stimulated by Neva's lovely verse "Layers of Faces"

Phasing from the pockmarked scowl
Of urchin from  the pauper's keep,
To fresh complexioned beauty
As she prepares herself for sleep.
Plunging to absurd
Amidst a paroxysm of mirth
With heaving breath and yellow teeth
Atop substantial girth.
A vacancy of shock
Within two eyes of palest blue
Who witnessed a young fledgling killed
By the cat who lives with you.
Dribbles from a masticating jaw
begin to dry
And a sudden bark of anger
causes feeding birds to fly.
A smile as warm as sunshine
Brings the pherimones to bear
And the young and the beautiful
Both magnetically stare.
There's a fan dance of faces
Stretched across the prosaic
And the layers within layers
Etch it all a rich mosaic.


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
22 February 2011

How could the dead not realise
The secrets that you keep so near?
Why, would not, the shame you feel
Be founded in disclosures clear?
Naked, shock exposure
Plasters pictures in your mind,
Quaking realisation of the dread
You fear to find.
How the brilliant crimson
In your cheek reveals it all...
Why the squirming torment
In your gut becomes a ball...
Can you face the horrors
of the sleepless night ahead?
And will you come to terms
When you're confronted by your dead?


Marshalg
Walking in dark solitude
Mangere Bridge
21 February 2011

Notice how the whisper dies
When strangers near a gathered few,
How laughter dwindles in the air
Where yesterday, free breezes blew.
Our public forums disappear
Like dominoes, they fall in turn
And each in turn consumes a truth,
Like ******* in a flame they burn.

And everyone’s opinion fades
As nervous glances flit the room,
A menace in the silence felt
As whispers hush, suspicion looms.
The banks call in the mortgages,
The Cops demanding hard
The language of the press subdued
And every one’s on guard.

And the failing economies
Across the whole globe,
And contrived **** happening
With oil price hikes disrobed.
Grinning cartel monopolies
Who manipulate fare
To cause catastrophic collapse
In the market elsewhere.

Government’s tone has altered
From homilies of home,
(God bless our land & honour the flag)
To harsh Corporate drone.
Big Money’s in the mix you see,
Pharmaceuticals and Big Oil
And the Military have the casting vote
In cashing up the spoils.

How has it all come to this ?
Where have our freedoms fled ?
If they ever really did exist
Were they... only in my head ?
Restricted private ownership
With travelling curtailed,
And the information black out
Shows the freedom press have failed.

But the repetitious broadcasts
Which they want us all to hear,
And the droll propaganda
Which confuses the  ear,
Those brainwashing dogma’s
Which stifle the mind,
Oppressing the rational
To keep we souls aligned.

Why, my friend,
On this bright summer’s day
Should my heart be bleeding
It’s freedoms away ?
Who sanctioned oppression,
Who opened the gate,
To admit the dark forces
Who thrive on the hate ?


Marshalg
Feeling the vibe of what is beginning out there...EVERYWHERE!
AUCKLAND
20 February 2011

It’s taken you’re fed up
With politicized debate
And the fools who do brinkmanship’s
Scared world of hate.
And the ghouls who eat babies
As pawns in their game
In their scrawny white *****’s
Sad quest for fame.

Where the sick sabre rattlers
Cavort with their ploys
Of destroying old satellites
To show off their toys.
To drape flags of challenge
With threat weave inbound
Across mantles of aspirants
Desirous to be crowned.

Intimidating tactics
From they with the gun
Against all the challengers
Emerging at run.
From China to terrorist
The gauntlet’s thrown,
You cross our line
There's no mercy shown.

And we little guys sit
In our quiet, timid way,
Whilst the gigantic ego's
Jostling holds sway.
Whilst the arrogant right
Profess to have God,
And the rest of us cower
In fear, like a dog.

And the sun comes up
With a glorious show
And the nuclear dust
In the air is aglow,
And the rich and the famous
Are dead in their beds
And the ***** and the cockroaches
Nibble their heads.

It’s all such a waste
In a terrible way
When the General’s pushed buttons
And had such a day....


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
10 February 2011

Orange hazards blink in gloom
Autumn mist in early light,
Traffic cones direct the flow
Attenuators keep it tight.
Through the mist construction looms
A mighty swath comes into sight
A structure massive, incomplete
Sweeps past the Birdcage portal light.

Burrowed deep within the Park
Surmounted by its stark white beams,
The tunnel curves towards the Bridge
To emerge near the Victory screens.
Symmetry in huge largess
Biblical in size and form,
Built by puny hands of flesh
Man inspired, conceived and born.

Columns in the concrete mass
Loom as sentries, side by side,
Level in majestic sweep
Through the tunnel’s corner glide.
Massive beams locked overhead
Cap the roof’s gigantic clasp,
Reinforced by gridlocked steel
Bound within the concrete’s grasp.

Mounds of blue, congealed wet clay
Layered in an old sea bed,
Hauled away from ancient crib
By Fletcher excavators red.
Roaring diesel truck and tray
Loaded overburden high,
Water blasted ***** and span
Keeping highways clean and dry.

Monstrous cranes with hanging rig
Lower weights of ponderous steel,
Gently to the tunnel base
Led by Dogman’s coaxing feel.
Urgency in every move
Hard hats drill with diamond core,
Fixing massive panel slabs
To the looming concrete’s bore.

Well below incoming tide
Pounded by the drenching rain,
Four inch pumps snake to the sump
Ensuring flood control’s maintained.
Foremen bark and keep control
Hard hats share a secret smile,
Safety first for every man
Think before you lift that pile.

Gate girls smile at passers bye
Politely chiding those who stray,
Holding up a halting hand
With trucks inbound in hazards way.
Smoko at the Bowling Club
Murmur of a hundred souls,
Grubby in their hi vis vests
Munching on the caterers rolls.

Morale amongst the working men
Is high because they feel the cause,
A project that is so worthwhile
They KNOW that it  deserves applause.
Traffic roars above it all
Passing in a steady stream,
Brake lights on the viaduct
Cop cars flash and sirens scream.

This project has a consciousness
A Heart, a mind, a soul.
And an inspirational spirit
Which guides us to the goal.
To eliminate the bottleneck
In Auckland's traffic day
And to streamline the system
Of our vehicular motorway.

Politicians snarl right now
Champing at the huge expense,
But by next year’s finish date
Congratulations will commence.
The jewel in the crown they say
Is found within our park of green,
The Victoria Park Tunnel, friend,
Is a true magnificence, to be seen.


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
5 February 2011

Ursula-my friend,
My quiet, distant, rarely seen friend
From days of yore.

How calm you are.
how you glide through your days
Keeping your private thoughts to yourself.

How the urgencies and anxieties
That plague every life
- are so well contained in yours.

And in your soft green eyes
I feel a happy acceptance, born of time.
Born in my brotherhood of your Sam.

My very European friend,
Made in the turmoil of youth
And so warmly regarded then, now and beyond.

Ursula my lady, always a lady,
You posess a tender spot of pleasantness
In the corner of my mind.


With affection
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
5 February 2011

Hauling hard together
Sweat stream in the eyes,
Sinews stretch like whipcord,
Tongue saliva dries.

Key man at the pivot point
Reliant on a lead,
To call the shots decisively
Whilst calloused fingers bleed.

Whites of eyes are bulging
And stress climbs to a strain
And the need for trust's reliance
Tests the mettle in the pain.

Dependable this long day through?
Pedantic to a tee?
When the crunch impacts upon him
When the tensions fly for free?

That's where the game is won or lost
As each is forced to bend
Then the last thing on your wishlist
Is for a fair weather friend!


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
Auckland NZ
2 February 2011

Gone before tomorrow
Is the fellow who insists
That the day of his retirement
Is the workday he resists.

Where he pulls the plug on having
An excuse to leave his bed,
Which escalates the likelyhood
That , perhaps, he’ll soon be dead.

Because...
To lose the joy of purpose
Is to lose the will to try
And when the spirit of endeavour's gone
The soul begins to die.

So do yourself a favour son
Recant on how you play...
Excorcise retirement
And live another day.

Enjoy the flow of living
With purpose at it’s hub
And magnify the meaningful
Yea brother... that’s the rub!


Marshalg
Magnifying the meaningful@the Bach
Mangere Bridge
24 January 2011

Found in regions dark and dank
Where vaulting caverns, huge of span,
Hide tablets lost in dust and mire
Upon which wrote... are Runes of Man.

Ancient wizards, bent and thin,
Travelled far with guiding hand,
Clad in gowns of filth and sin
To meet in Pharaoh’s desert land.

There beneath the shade of palm
Bequeathed the olives, lentils, lamb,
They forged the Runes of wisdom’s balm
To guide the future world of man.

Runes which set and redefined
The boundaries of humankind,
Hieroglyphics  hungered for,
For which a Pope would ****  to find.

Mantras carved in granite stone
Which call a halt to man’s excess,
Which drop the sword of heaven’s wrath
On they who wilfully transgress.

Runes which set the matrix line
Cage temptation’s flaccid paw,
**** the greed of Satan’s spawn
And limit mankind’s lust for more.

There is a limit to resource,
There is a point, which gone beyond,
Unravels all that's won before
And leaves a chaos... pale and wan

So seek to find the Runes of Man,
Venture into Hell's hot maw,
Plunge the depths of oceans deep
Claim and keep... by tooth by claw.

These ancient Runes by ancient men
Who gifted us their wisdoms grace,
Who gathered in an ancient time
To future proof this human race.

Marshalg
@the Bach
Mangere Bridge
22 January 2011

A beastly wind with savage heat
Blew from the north with dust,
The brazen sun relentlessly
Baked skin as red as rust.
To scan the near horizon
Is to ***** the eyes to squint
And a man would **** his brother
For a cold beer from a ****.

There’s orders for the gunners
To load cannon with coarse shot,
To prime them with dry powder
And ram them all till hot.
To keep the eyes upon the hills
And be ready for the call,
Because the savages are massing
And our backs are to the wall.

Release the carrier pigeon, boy,
To recall the horse hussars
Because before this day is done
Our blood may run in jars
For the drums of war are beating
And they’re sweeping from the hills
And God help the luckless fusilier
Who dallies with his skills.

In waves, the savages do run
And roar their chant of war,
Beat their spears upon hide shield
And roll their eyes and more...
A wall of pure malevolence
Descends upon us large
And we gird ourselves for battle
And the bugle screams the charge.

Black naked men pour from the earth
In hoards of shrieking mad
With rolling eyes and streaming hair
And rancid breath, so bad.
Roaring shot and cannon volley
Cut a swathe through flesh,
Spear and shrapnel fly opposed
And axe and bayonet mesh.

Swearing men are head to head
Blood and guts do flow,
The agony and roaring triumph
As blades trade blow for blow.
Good and bad are dying now
Their bodies fall like rain,
Young cry for their mothers
While the older scream in pain.

Blood is running in the sand,
Twitching bodies lie,
The jagged sound of battle dims
As vultures fill the sky.
There’s silence with the setting sun
As  horse hussar arrives
Too late, by far, to save the boys
Who lay in clouds of flies.


Marshalg
@The Bach
Mangere Bridge
18 January 2011

She arrives in high stilletto’s
And a miniskirt so taught
That the boys are all distracted
And our job becomes a rort,
And the office girls get ******
And production spirals down
So then our new Middle Manager
Rolls up her sleeves and goes to town....

She sticks her oar in frequently
And stands with jutted hip,
She’s territorial dynamite
And serves us gloating lip.
She often curries favour
With Department Heads and such
And makes a fuss at our expense
Which irritates so much!

She has a way to circumvent
The types she will not face,
In using her authority
To snidely put them in their place.
Her manner is too sharp
And too dismissive for my taste
And the condescending smile
Has me grinding teeth to paste.

And the way she stands and taps her toe
And glares beneath her brows
Has the office juniors panicking
And avoiding, as allows.
There’s an issue over paper
And the telephone account
And the petty cash, though balanced,
Is a questionable amount.

Historically our working week
Has employed a give and take
With an easy flexibility
That allows us all a break,
But the new Middle Manager
Has reversed the mode of work
So that everyone competes
And the roster’s gone beserk!

Her manner’s often strident
With a whiplash to her voice
And the snarl of her vindictiveness
Leaves us all with little choice
But to bend our backs to labour,
Work our fingers to the bone
And suffer her till knock off
Then, thank God, we’re fleeing home!

There’s a memo in the “In box”
Rumour has it, from on high,
That due to overdue restructuring,
That some redundancies are nigh.
And though there’s great reluctance
And some measure of regret...
It seems our new Middle Manager
Has got her notice...Sorry Pet!


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
15 January 2011

Thou spinster of the silken night
Why slide beneath that sylphen cloud,
Why hide the blush of pallid cheek
To mask your secret smile in shroud ?

Pale crescent love of velvet void
A vivid splash of pinprick gems,
Suspended in black solitude
Such  beauty midst celestial friends.

Lovers kiss beneath your spell
Hand in hand they stroll the lane
Garlanded in silver light,
Ensnared within your crescent’s reign.


Thou siren voice doth wax and wane
These very oceans sing your song,
As seabirds ply your ebbing tides
And global winds blow clear and strong.


Lunar light threads through tree boughs
Casting lurid shadows bare,
Causing wolves to crouch and howl
At living, moonbeam shards in air.


Oh sister of the silent night
Feel the haunting call of owl,
Scan the forest’s shadowed light,
Gild the snow clad mountain’s cowl.


Thou spinster of the silken night
Rest thy secrets in thy soul,
Fade as shadows blend  to day,
Relenquish all to sun's control..



Marshal Gebbie
Victoria Park Tunnel
14 January 2011

Hail the hero’s, too few many
Hail the boy who strikes a blow,
Hail the one who sticks his neck out
Risking life for nought to show.

Countermand the armed offender
Sheild the maiden’s breast from knife,
Bare the heart for chance to take
This brave young soul’s incautious life.

Blow the trumpet’s scarlet fanfare
Wave the flags for all to see
Heroism’s rare exposure...
Praise this man for what he be!



Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
11 January 2011

For my dear friend Ann Sharp,
who was one of the seven.

Sisters at the grave side
Wood coffin in descent
To the dark and cold embrace
Of this living earth’s lament.

Dear mother in her night attire
Has passed her mortal time
And tears of heat fall to the sod
From six of those in line.

The seventh stands expressionless
With clear eyes soft and round,
Red ruby lips set in a line
No teardrops tumble down.

A sibling touched her slender arm
And wordlessly sought how?
She turned her gaze with anguished cry
“Who shall we girls ask now?”


Marshalg
Victoria Park tunnel
6 January 2011