Warm orange is my love
As the heart of a flame from within
The deep black embers of a glowing log at night.

Brilliant blue, as the midday sky
When it’s hot, yet fresh, are my eyes
When they glean a flash of moist, white smile
In your happiness.

The spangle of rainbow tang
As a pinprick of candle light
Erupts in tiny brilliance…
In a tear suspended from one fine eyelash.

Golden green and amber
Is my happiness in this love…

But my passion is crimson.

And yellow daisies in a green field
For simplicity?

Marshalg
Albury
9.45pm March 28 1969

The highs and lows of living life
Occur in sweeping loops
The ups and downs of everything
Are determined by the groups
Of numbers as they glide
Across a digital display,
In  rendering the parabolas
Of this game of life we play.


The winning runs of business
A sweet windfall of cash
Temptation to extend that deal
Beyond …is perhaps rash;
It may just tip the balance
Commence the start of the decline
And your parabolic plunge
Will see you quailing to divine.


How you claw your way to solvency
You sweat to make it right,
How you battle tax malignancy
To surmount official might.
The administrative penchants
Of administrative types
Who insist on crossing every “T”
And switching “OUT” the lights.



Having made it, you sit astride the top
And bask in shining light.
You cast off the cloak of caution,
Claim success as yours by right.
But by morning there’s a thunderstorm
A headache and a snag,
By lunch evicted on the street
With your belongings in a bag.



The ups and downs of life my friend
Are a parabolic coast
One day you’re sitting pretty
The next day you are toast.
The only consolation
Of this constant change of state
Is the reconstructive challenge
In re-determining your fate.



So gird yourself my beauty
Hitch your belt another notch
And launch yourself at living
Before you seek that midnight watch.
For tomorrow is a mystery
The possibilities are vast
And paradoxically speaking
The very best is usually last.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
20th July 2008

As I lay beside my darling
On an early Sunday morn,
I could feel her rounded softness
Sleeping under blankets warm.
My mind caroused the memories
And loitered on it's way
And found itself deliciously,
Immersed in golden play.

I remembered something special
In the way my little boy would look
As his eyes rose up in wonderment
When I read  his favorite book.
And the joy involved in feeding
A hungry little mouth
When the porridge spooned all over
From the eyebrows heading south.

A tantalizing moment
On the beach down by the sea,
In the warm December sunshine
With my happy family.
We were running in the black sand
Drawing circles with a stick
As the surging waves approached them
Laughing little boys were quick.

Laughing, happy moments
And some sad ones like the day
When dear old Meg, our Labrador,
Got sick and passed away.
Young Boaz in his sadness
Climbed the big tree to it's crown
And it took a lot of pleading
To persuade him to come down.

And young Solly played the taniwha
At the Cornwall Park school play
And a better taniwha has yet
To grace the stage today.
A natural in his element
This young comedian
So hilariously funny
As he drew the audience in.

The tender, loving moments
As we both strolled arm in arm
Through the verdant Ferntree Gully
With it's sunlit grace and charm.
And the towering eucalyptus,
Hanging wood smoke in the air
And the whiplash resonation
Of the lyrebird hidden there.

Of Buttercup's wild parties
When fancy dress was king,
When everyone would whoop it up
And laugh and dance and sing.
When mum's and dad's and little kids
All joined the happy throng
With  spud mashing as a ceremony
And a night of fun and song.

Of sitting in the garden
With your feet up and a book
And a cold beer at your elbow
And a barbecue to cook.
With the easy feel of family
As they go about their day
And the joyous sound of summer
When two noisy tui's play.

Memories of yesterday
Moments in the life
Of ecstasy and agony
And wonderment and plight.
And the ordinary ness of everything
And the magic everywhere,
Like the auburn in the sunlight
As it strikes my darling's hair.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
10 October 2009

Portrayed in an artiface
Of long and grey rhymes
Replayed in a video
Of really bad lines
Lost in a tangency
Of bitumen and brick
Tangled in quagmire
Of cigarettes and sick.

Lurching through life
In yesterdays clothes,
Acting the part
That nobody knows,
Chic desperation
Apparent to all
With the certainty
She’s for a terrible fall.

Miasma of moods
Through a *****, blue haze,
Insulting a friend
In an instant of craze,
Sprawled on the street
In a leopard skin skirt,
Makeup awry
Broken nails in the dirt.

Screaming abuse
To the well meaning hand,
Lost, alone
In a drug ridden land,
Fearful of shadows
And clinging to those
Who lustfully use
To so casually dispose.

Blond hair falling
Down over her face
Mascara running
In smears of disgrace,
It’s dangerous to stagger
Through traffic in rain
With lost high heel,
Tear streaked in pain.

Vagrants for company
Hunched in a cell,
Shivering cold
And ****** to hell
In a moment of clarity
And startlingly clear,
A small shimmering hope
Lies so distantly near.


Marshalg
@theCoalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
8th May 2010

It's unfortunate that Parisians
Are very hard to bear,
In terms of flash obsequiousity,
They drive me to despair!
And patience is an attribute
I don't profess to have
To mercifully administer
When accents veer to Slav.

Baltics look like jellyfish,
The Germans are obscene
And loud and overbearing
But the Swiss are very clean.
Italians are a swarthy lot
Who gourmandize on food
And sacrifice their suavity
By being impudently crude.
The Spanish are no better,
In fact they are probably worse,
For obsessing in the blood sports
I actually rate them in reverse.

Starchiness is British
They're convoluted to the core,
The Old Boy system's lost it's sheen
Aspirants flock to it no more.
The Yanks are looking slightly crass
Whilst fighting foreign wars,
Their pinky held up squeaky clean
To call "foul" to China's flaws.
China sits inscrutably
Holding all the cards
Waiting for the moment
To strike beneath the guards.

India and Pakistan
Are squabbling like kids
The uproar over Kashmir
Rates them lower than the Yids.
The Yids are walking tightropes
With Iran's nuclear ******,
Whilst currying Yank approval,
Eventual bombing is a must.
The Dutch behave so anally
They're always proven right
When faced with rigid negatives
They blanch with haunches tight.

But not the Argentineans
They love to dance and flirt,
To chase the senorita
Cavorting in the scarlet skirt.
The South Pacific's wallowing
They're adrift from World affairs
Oz's self preoccupation
Mirrors Kiwi's vacant stares.
Africa's way past comment
Lost to heat and dust,
Warfare, **** and pillage
And the rest decayed by rust.

Eskimos are OK
Clean living on the ice
The population static,
Zer-O pollution's nice!

Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
14 April 2009

It’s paramount the notion
That men are born to grow,
Extend their creativity,
Expand the very best they know.
Explore the realm unseen before
Beyond their very reach,
Inflate the mind’s potential
To absorb and grasp and preach.
To plunder flair unrealized
Extend skills unperceived,
To craft a very masterpiece
Of magnificence, unbelieved.
To raise the spire of excellence
To sculpt a work of art,
Compose a peice which scintillates
And moves the very heart.
To reach beyond the mortal
And let the spirit free
To pen a Michelangelo
And have God sit with me.


Marshalg
@the Coalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
30 April 2010

Why is it so, Oh why is it so
That the owners of capital
Inevitably grow
To be possessors of everything
Strategically placed,
Solidly, tangibly
Gunmetal faced?

Owners of newspapers
Head of TV,
Masters of radio
Commercial and free.
Dispensers of policy
Spreaders of gloss,
Keep movers informed
Keep fools at a loss.

Like a puppeteer General
Manipulate strings
Of artillery thunder
And stratosphere wings.
Subliminal ownership
Military wise
Guarantees power
And fortifies ties.

Holding the cards
In Congressional spheres
Ensures positive influence
To leadership ears.
Holding sway
In the ship of state
Commands control
Of those who rate.

Power to publish,
Power to spin,
Manipulative power
To politically win.
Power to generate
Mountains of wealth,
Marauding powers
Of infinite stealth.

Solidly, tangibly
Gunmetal faced,
Owners of capital
Strategically placed.
Controllers of influence
Puller of strings,
Powerful Anchors
...Societal Kings.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
23 March 2009

I’m squatting alone on the step here
Thinking of things oblique,
The pictures flash by
Like the clouds in the sky
I’d rather, in truth, be asleep.
The jumble of thoughts are confusing
The tangle of pictures unclear,
A good moody pout
May just sort it all out
But I fear it will end with a tear.

Bad memories are clouding my judgement
Extracting the saneness away
Cold tensions exude & the dark thoughts intrude
And sweet harmony deserts the day.
The nimbus comes rumbling inward
The lightning flashes are sharp
The tempest in my composure
Makes me long to retreat to my heart.

Once the maelstrom’s down apon you
There’s no going back for a breath,
You just hang on like hell
& keep ringing that bell,
And you fight like a tiger to death.
You must gather defences around you
And muster your forces at best,
For the enemy’s here, it’s intentions are clear
And you’re in for a formidable test.

The scarlet slash of malice,
The grinding guilt of sin.
The searing green of envy..
That’s where it does begin.
You bite your lip, you taste the blood,
You clench your fist so tight
You thrash and pound that wretched sound
From whence doth come your plight.
You slip aside so gracefully
Your moves have guile and poise,
You strike with stealth & venom
Completely void of noise.
Endurance is your friend this eve
You’ve got the upper hand.
Just keep your boot upon it’s throat
And win you will.. My man!

From just beyond dark thunder mass
A peep of sunshine beams,
It radiates the sated land,
Reflects from bubbling streams.
The emerald green of grasses
Refract the golden light
The clouds are clearing rapidly
As daylight turns to night.
The sparrows in the hedge are still,
Bright stars begin to shine.
You blink your eyes and shake your head
The water turns to wine.

Oh thought… You are a fickle thing
Mercurial and lithe.
You elevate preposterousness
And take the devil’s side.
You scale the heights and plunge the depths
Without so much as pause,
You hold me in your silk caress
And then apply sharp claws.
The surge of wild excitement
When a line of verse spins in
And the turgid sloth of nothingness
When boredom seeps within.

Why is it so.. This up, this down…
So frivolous for thee
When all, in fact, you do achieve
Is dark torment for me.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
30th December 2007

Blue haze is in the air at dusk
Wet dew descends on grass,
Sunset’s red striations touch
Horizon’s clouds of glass
A heavy silence permeates
With the settling of the day,
And clouds of starlings flock to roost
With nightfall underway.
The homestead paddock’s horses
All graze quietly in the gloom
As evening light turns purple red
To a distant blackbird’s tune.
A golden leafage carpetry
Is spread across the road
And the farmer trudges through it
homeward bound, beneath his load.
The cottage lights are glowing gold
As daylight dwindles now.
The softly spiraled chimney smoke,
The lowing of the cow,
The leafless alder branches
Stretching to a sky of stars
As the chill of late Autumnal
Celebrates the birth of Mars.


Marshalg
In the Autumn leaves
Victoria Park Tunnel
24 April 2010

Howling Gale of Winter moment
Blossom pink from cherry tree,
Driving snow which blankets all
Hot Summer sunset glows for me.
Parched and hassled hens in shadow
Scratch the sand to find the cool,
Starkly solid ice in blueness
White and freezing skating pool.
Green and turquoise in the sunlight
Brilliant hills of verdant shawl,
Autumn tones cascade in colour
Silently the dry leaves fall.
Surging surf parades the beaches
Roiling up the shelly sands,
Lightning strike on green pine reaches
Baking sunshine warms and tans.
Windswept on the dry Sahara
Silently the tree ferns drip,
Alpine streamlets splash in torrent
Hot and parched dry grasses flick.
Honeyed scent in orange blossom
Fills the morning air with bees,
Pollen on the air carousing
Noses twitch and often sneeze.
Globally the seasons vary
Hemispheres of colour thrown,
Glorious in shade and texture
Flavoured by aroma’s own.
All enticing motes of pleasure
Each engaging jolts of joy,
Layerings of seasonal treasure
Mother earth’s artistic ploy.

Marshalg
@theCoalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
13 April 2010

Contrary to what is known
About Tunguska’s hellish blast,
Contrary to all the dread
Engendered in those deeds of past,
Despite the anger close at hand
When loathsome fiends encroach thy space,
Regardless of the fury felt
When malcontents spit in your face.

Go gather up your fortitude
Hold all that’s dear, close to your chest,
Contain the beast you’ve locked within
Adjust till you’ve maneuvered best.

Then….
Unleash the very gates of hell
To vanquish those who would intrude,
Break the carapace of blood.
Then stay thy hand, preserve the crude
For them to agonise, reflectively,
Decisions made too cheap
And actions, injudiciously,
Commited indiscreet.



Marshalg
@theCoalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
7 April 2010

So what about it all my friend ?
Has life smiled upon your face?
Do you feel the warming emanate
From within the planet’s  grace?
Has chance played a fruitful hand to you
In lady luck’s cruel whim ?
Has mercy touched your Devil’s side
When you’ve clashed horns with him?

Did something hold you back that night
When anger splashed its bile,
Across your pale and youthful brow
Across your jaws profile ?
What contained reaction so?
How did you stay composed,
When all around was turmoil
And reason lay deposed ?

What brought a small smile to your face,
A sparkle to your eye ?
How could you see the innocence
In this blackness called a lie ?
What is it in your make up
Which promulgates your best
When others will capitulate
To fail the crucial test ?

Why is it that you stand so tall
Among the mottled crowd ?
Do you realize your influence
In making we, around you, proud ?
Is the weight of our dependence
A  millstone round your neck ?
Or do you take it all within your stride
And grin and…What the heck ?

Do you recognize your leadership,
How you wear this mantle well ?
Dare you hold the flame aloft for us
To strive under your spell ?
Will you wear this robe of Kingship ?
Will you steer our ship of state ?
…For should you guide us to tomorrow
We can tomorrow’s burdens break.

Marshalg
@theCoalface  
Victoria Park Tunnel
10 April 2010

Tangentially the Easter thing
Is lost to most at large.
Hot cross buns and chocolate eggs
And sleep in’s lead the charge
To  a relaxed, lazy holiday
Spent down by the beach,
With a shady spot, a novel
And a cold pint within reach.

Diminished are the heavy tomes,
Forgotten are the lobes
Of red religiosity’s
Ancient Catholic robes.
Christ is relegated
To the dusty shelves of past
And the priesthood, in reality,
Knew the ruse would never last.

The spangle of the modern world
The instant-ness of now,
The charging pace of living
Paint  the GET God’s Holy cow.
The sacrements, the sacrifice
The Cross atop the peak
Are lost to relegation
And of this, we shall not speak.

Just bathe yourself in sunshine
Relax in balmy air,
Enjoy the feel of Easter
With the laughter everywhere.
With the little children munching
On their gaudy chocolate feast
And the distant sound of church bells
…Reminiscent, in the east.

Marshalg
@the Coalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
Good Friday, 2nd April 2010

Cross legged in the sauna heat
We speak about the things
Which impact on our daily lives
And pull the old heart strings.
Lifting threads of humanity
To hold them in the hand.
Feel the mellow toned viola
Evoke hot tears, unplanned.
And a little boy laughs
As he wags to and fro
Before the stainless steel
Six by four's reflective flow.
An old friend retrieved
From the shelves of distrust,
Reconciled thankfully
From time's portals of dust.
Oh,the sweetness of sharing
A sweaty faced smile
In the company of Ivy
Cross legged awhile.


Marshalg
@theBatch
Mangere Bridge
16 August 2009

Blue light hangs in calm atone
Evening peace sings in the air,
Daylight'******has fled the sky
A velvet softness holding there.

Shades of evening blend together
Hues of gold and green and blue,
Curtain call to night descending
Dark magenta's pristine hue.

Chilly as the cloak envelopes
Reaching down to smother light,
Stubbornly a glow resists
To hold horizon's remnant fight.

Suddenly the day is gone
The dancing colours are no more,
Death's companion fills the sky
And distant diamonds conjure awe.

Marshalg
@the Coalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
27 March 2010

Today we have few heroes
Few live the life of Kings,
Few go the extra mile to win
The wondrous praise it brings.
Most walk the path of averageness
Most strive to play it safe,
Where convention glides to keynote
And contention is a waif.

Nobody pulls the dragon's tail
Nobody stretches out,
To walk in shoes of restlesness,
And lash the Devil's gout.
Nobody grasps the horns of hell
To cast care to the wind,
Nobody sticks their neck out
Making ego's soar rescind.

Why do we lie in fallow turf
Where textures are so bland?
Why do we slouch in listlessness
Each idle hand, in hand?
Where is the pluck and passion
Which allows our pulse to flail?
Go find the guts and courage
....TO YANK THAT DEMON DRAGON'S TAIL!

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
21 March 2010

Dedicated with love to my youngest fledgling, Solomon, who is venturing forth in his first business.

  Torn by the words of carnal foolsLost in seas of filthy thought,Confused by those who slease away And mindlessly contribute nought.Bouncing back and forth the banterWinning points imagined soSubstanceless determined byThe vacuum shown in what they know.How they bruise that thin veneerThe pride, the love, the passion spentIn forging words and sequencesWhich elevate the soul's intent.To wallow in a pool of mireTo lose the grip of good restraintTo demonstrate for all to seeThat worthyness they claim.....just aint !! Marshalg@theBachMangere Bridge1 March 2010

What would it be to be a soldierTo seek the God of war,To make your mind a death machineTo long for peace no more.To make your sinew hard as ironYour muscle ripcord tough,To bend your thinking mercy freeYour soul enshrined in rough.Conformity in dress attireMeticulous black shine,The gun oil on your sidearmThat rigid stance in line.The taughtness when you march en massThe crunch of boots on stone,The flash of steel with bayonet thrustThat splash of blood on bone. Your hatred for the enemyA lust for ****** war,Abhorrence for a personal styleJust compliance with the corps.The stare that sees a thousand yardsThe spines are ramrod straight,The disciplined magnificenceThe Corps d’Esprit is great! Afghanistan & GazaMogadishu and TehranThe terror strips are globalAnd they’re hell for beast and man.To imagine you’ll enjoy yourselfIs madness to extreme.If you’ve seen a man's face liquefyIn a flailing shrapnel stream.If you’ve felt the fear of God nearbyWhen tribals mount a charge,With the shriek of “Allah Ahkbar”And the stench of death at large. “See The World”, the poster said“Free Training for a Trade”,Develop stiffness in your spineWith the army you’ll be made.Comradeship, companionshipIs the essence of the force,A fast, pack march of twenty clicksAnd chanting till you’re hoarse.The Sergeant kicks your backsideThe corporal licks your boots,Lieutenant has you dodging leadWhist digging trenching routes.The Major trims his moustacheThe General drives right past,Dismissing all the riffraffWho are well beneath his class. This-is-the-Army All khaki and brassy shine,You get to brandish riflesAnd wear berets when in line.So pull that chin in soldierKeep the thumbs straight when you march,Or we’ll have you peeling spuds or worse,...We’ll ream your young white ****. You wanted to be manlyYou longed to make your mark,You signed up  to be countedNow you're Army, hard and stark.So give it all you’ve got young manBend your back and be a knave,the alternative is purgatoryEngulfed, consumed, enslaved.Now you're in for the durationMake the most of what you’ve gotOr they’ll Court Marshal you tomorrowAnd with pageantry.. YOU'LL BE SHOT!MarshalgMangere Bridge27th April 2008

A stranger in a coffee shopOne never knows the types who stopTo sip the ancient brewTo sit and launch a little chatincurrs a risk that leaves one atthe mercy of a stranger. Conversations open up,a world of views, life does eruptin complex tangents, mixed and freea stimulant.. thoughts symphony I met her there quite old, yet brighta living actress, uncontrite,accepting fate with earthy trim,enjoying life’s relentless whim. She told her tales of joy and woeI loved it. When I left to goI wondered if she realised thenthat in this man she’d found a friend.Marshalg / Auckland / 1969

Furtive in this Winter air
We watch a pale life hover there
Suspended by some hope defined
By gossamers so unrefined,
A silky substance floating by
Like spider web in azure sky.

We watch a pale life hover there
In freezing air, in sad despair,
The **** frost down on frozen ground
Reflecting hopelessness profound,
Saw lost eyes in a careless world
...But turned away as day unfurled.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
20 February 2010

******* Bandit time is lost
A gone forever shroud,
Elusive as an errant fog
That’s slipped into a cloud.
Elusive as a crystal shard
Mixed secretly with sand,
You know the shard’s apparent
When It lacerates your hand.


Time lacerates your senses
Like sand between the toes,
It’s there and then it vanishes
Like vapored mist it flows.
Insidiously sneaky
In the way it sidles up
And gallops past like mercury,
Frustration's heady cup.


Were there ways to vanquish time
To pause it in limbo,
I would celebrate with agelessness
And a glass of fine merlot.
I would savour every nuance
And roll it on my tongue
For the taste of piquant victory
Is a toast to battle won.


Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
19th January 2009

Deep sleep or slumber,
Function ability’s number
Have confidence with humility,
Use pride’s tool,servility.
Know when to jump and when to run,
When to sprint to beat the gun.
When to harbour, when to fight.
The time to judge indulgence right.
Courage or audacity,
Lock it in or set it free.
Options all which set the tone
Hit the balance, drive it home.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
11 May 2009

There's sweetness in the crisp of morning
There's promise at the start of day,
Bird song in the trees about me
Heralds life and all's OK !
Howling down the hill on cycle
Feel the blast of wind on face
Give a yell of joy for living
Age on bike and bike at pace!
Sunshine falls upon the meadow
Flowers bobbing in the breeze,
Pukekos with tails a-bouncing
Sheep graze on with studied ease.
Spraying gravel in my corners
Pedals pump as fast as can,
Huffing, puffing, loving morning
"Hello" to a jogging man.
Wheel the bike around the corner
Grind these pedals up the hills
Winding down to see the shore birds
Flock to land with squarking bills.
Young girls laughing, dark eyes dancing
Striding down the foreshore track,
Fresh loveliness in lycra shorts,
They laugh and wave, I wave right back.
Happiness in brilliant morning
Cycling to a sweaty stop,
Relaxing under shady awning
Love my favourite coffee shop.

Marshalg
@the estuary
Mangere Bridge
13 February 2010

There's a well of disappointment
In observing human nature,
For regardless of the colour,
The religion or the creed;
There's a metabolic failure
Apparent in the makeup,
And it's all about ego
And materialistic greed.

I see it in the corporate's
And the hallowed halls of banking,
It drips like grease from politics
And stains God's children too.
It permeates the populace
With a cloak of ashen pallor
And extends from Kings and Demigods
Through humanity to you.

And even little children
Are caught up in the maelstrom
Through television's fanfare
Of fashion and excess,
I feel tragedy unfolding
In our hedonist behaviour
I see brother clawing brother
And the future in distress.

Take a look around you
At the evidence of trouble
Observe the calamity
Of Wall Street's greed.
Feel the discomfort
Of intrusion by Government,
Feel the pain in the pocket
Of taxation's bleed.

The war drums are pounding
All over the planet
Greed and anxiety
Run hand in hand,
Corporate warmongers
Driving the politics
Flailing for more
As their empires expand.

What of the people?
We ordinary people,
Who invisibly strive
Insignificantly?
Pushed and shoved
Bought and bartered,
....In this tempest of greed
What chance have we?

Marshalg
On another sick, sick day.
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
12 February 2010

It’s very nice in Heaven
     Very gentle underfoot,
     God’s temple is so icy calm
     And that’s conservatively put.

     There’s three flags at the gateway
     They’re there to set the pace,
     Hebrew blue and Moslem green
     Under Christ’s bewhiskered face.

     Hindu’s have got a leg in
     And Zen for Zen’s sake’s there,
     But the Proddies and the Catliks
     Are in dispute as to what is fair.

     Amazing how they bicker,
     The Proddies and the Micks
     You’d think in time they’d sort it out
     Take the Irish…Silly ******!

     Getting back to Heaven…
     The golden pathways there
     With avenues of crystal gems
     To welcome you upstairs.

     And high above a shining light
     Burning in the sky,
     Which symbolizes passion,
     I suppose, or pigs that fly?

    This symbolic high Heaven stuff
     Is very hard to read,
     It could be ornamental
     Or perhaps, exactly what you need.

     One thing’s very certain though,
     When you glide into this place,
     It pays to have a solemn look
     Of seriousness on your face.

     They don’t like silly buggers
     Who joke and act the fool,
     Commitment is the keyword
     And the Bible is the tool.

     Confusing when you get there
     You’re read the riot act
     And threatened with damnation
     If with the Devil you’ve made a pact.

     The heavy condemnation
     The steely searching eye
     And then the tome of absolution
     Because He loves you, so must I ?

     So think upon it brother
     If you think you cut the cloth,
     Then walk right up and wing it
     With the Angels, like a moth.

     But should you have your doubts
     I suggest a quickish about face
     And leg it with the villains
     To that other warmish place.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
28 April 2009

Malignancy burrowing
Deep down within me
Grinding the good
To a deep reddish dust,
Flailing about
I try hard to contain it
The pain is intense
But stop it I must.

Malignancy tunneling
Down through my conscience
Baring the thoughts
That I wish least to see,
Revealing the ugliness
Locked in their content
Revealing maliciousness
Portrayed in me.

Desperately trying
To hold the malignancy
Desperately trying
To stop the release,
But out through the keyhole
It flows to the atmosphere
Out to the public
Out to the police.

Malignancy laughs
As a form of appeasement
Malignancy reaches
To hold out it's hand,
Malignancy calms
My hammering heartbeat
The secret's out there
And I'm dead in the sand.


Marshalg
On a rare sick day
@theBach
9 January 2010

Pyramids of fantasy
Heaped upon humanity,
Contingency for failure
And catastrophic loss.
Clear across the spectrum
There's delusion in the making,
Ego's elevated
...and we couldn't give a toss!

Bizarre expectations
In accumulated fortune,
Disdain for the suffering
Rendered bye the bye.
Collateral losses
Are part of the equation,
To hell with the consequence
Reach for the sky.

Promise delivered
With the best of intention,
Received by all
With delirious joy.
Cascading showers
Of pristine tomorrows,
Rendered oblique
As political ploy.

Crass eyes are shining
With glee in deception,
Pockets are bulging
With ill gotten gain.
Across the spectrum
The thieves are aligning,
In robbing the world
And deflecting the blame.

And we all sit around
In our happy confusion,
Blissfully blind
To the larcenous state.
Of a world subjected
To GET  By the mighty;
And an emptiness brimmed
With suspicion and hate.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
6th February 2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
21st January 2007

Aloft upon some distant shore
The seabird sets her wings to soar
The salt sea tang of crested breeze
Or howling gale of winters freeze,
Through oceans, mountainous or not
Or sea Sargasso flat and hot,
In dancing wavelets sparkling clear
Where hunted mackerel school in fear,
Where natives in their dugout boats
Caste out their nets and balsa floats,

That tiny bird will soar adrift
Negotiating each wind shift.
One wonders how a thing so small
Can fly against the wind at all;
But sweep she does and plunge and veer
In gracious symmetry to steer
Across the oceans vastness too,
To land right there, right next to you.
In squawking lightness, dancing swings
Sea bird alights ….and folds her wings.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
8th. December 2007

Through halls of cloud his spirit soared
Through countless skies of gold
In windless corridors of air
Through vistas vast and bold.

Across the checkered fields of green
Above those mountains high
My friend would wing his aeroplane
Into an endless sky.

The windswept beauty reaching out
The world so far below
This freedom to spread out his wings
Would make my friend’s heart glow.

His spirit soaring like a bird
Into a sky of rain
The sunlight setting in the West
In shades of sweet refrain.

Alone, aloft in peacefulness
Is where he means to be,
To fly as one with eagles
High above a distant sea.

To reach up through the heaven’s gate
To be at one with God
To spiral round like feather down
And touch down on the sod.

With a heavy heart and weary hands
He shut his motor down
Forever more to be with us
Imprisoned on the ground.

A sunbeam I see yonder there
At play amongst the shrouds
And I fancy seeing Leon’s ghost
Flying up into those clouds.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
11th June 2008
Dedicated to my flying mate, the late Leon Denize.

Transferred attention some where else
Then lost my train of thought,
Added an item to my list
Of stuff I should have bought.
Forgot to say those silly things
That make it all worth while,
And found myself in jockey shorts
With a lost and vacant smile.


Left the toothbrush in the toilet
And the razor in the lounge,
Fed the dog the ****** cat food
And the goldfish had to scrounge.
Woke up early on the weekend
And slept in late for work,
Is it really any wonder
That my  wife has gone beserk ?



Distracted moments come and go
As life progresses on,
But in these periods of bewilderment
Have I come or have I gone ?
The confusion is annoying
It's like emerging from the mist
And embarrassed explanations
Leave my kid's expression ******.


Conversations breeze along
I'm having trouble with the terms
The children utter gibberish
Which I've no desire to learn.
My old friends speak in whispers
Quite impossible to hear
And the clink of moving cutlery
Keeps dinner parties from my ear.


I guess a change is needed
Maybe, a less demanding day,
Where physicality is really secondary
Where exhaustion doesn't play.
Where the bodies limitations
Are tempered to the task
And a moderated output
Is, perhaps, the best that you can ask.


I've lost my sense of humour
The world is racing by too fast,
This mobile phone's a nightmare
And ****** TV remotes I'm past.
And whatever happened to coffee
At my favourite Bridge cafe ?
Now the order is for decaff,
No cream, half strength, moccha frappe !!


Age is such a ******
It's asset is it's stealth,
One moment you're a titan
The next you've lost your health.
One moment you've got flowing locks
The next you're bald and grim,
Is it any ****** wonder
That growing old is such a sin.

Marshalg
Grumping@theBach
Mangere Bridge
10 August 2009

Across the ice a baritone
Projects his notes of steel,
A tenor’s harmonizing
Adds that melancholy feel
And the glory of the voices
Flows out through alders bare
And the listeners weep for Russia’s soul
And the tragedy found there.


The tragic melancholy
Found in every Russian heart
Liberated by the sadness
A fine harmony can impart.
Of the monolithic yesterdays,
Those forgotten fields of dead
And that fire within the *****
Which numbs the agony of the head.


Dark stains along the timber wall
Wood fire’s stones make steam
It fills the room with stifling heat
Which sweats the bodies clean.
Red wheals raised on shoulders
Birch branches whip the back
Whilst companion tones of maleness
Speak in vectors women lack.


Red larches in the foothills
Gold lantern light on snow,
The vastness of ancient steppes
Of Central Asia grow.
A viola’s velvet passion
Sighs beneath a cottage door
And the sadness in sensation
Brings grown men to weep once more.


The vastness of the terrain
The hardness of the land,
The bitter cold of northern wind,
Each freezing winter spanned
By Siberia’s lashing gales,
White snow is metres deep
And turquois ice as hard as steel
Beneath which... rivers creep.


Dostoyevsky,Kruschev,
Rasputin and the Tsars,
Great Lenin, Marx and Trotsky
And the swords of Horse Hussars.
Gorbachev the great redeemer,
Poor Yeltsin’s pale white skin
And the ****** found in Stalin's smile
Span the politics of sin.


This great Russian melancholy
Lies deep within the soul
It’s a legacy of yesterday
Of her history's brutal goal.
It’s a product of the suffering
Inherent in the past
Endured by legions of the people
Then  dispensed with…
With a laugh!

  

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
13 April 2009

Traces of lassitude
Slow down to cruising,
Warmth of the whiskey
Ameliorates bruising.
Putting the feet up
Makes it inane,
That I'm subtly aroused
In mouthing your name.

Subtle arousal
In tracing the line
Of your thin cotton ******
With fingertip fine,
And watching the smile
Slide up to your eyes,
See the blend of your blushing
In murmured surprise.

Oh the glorious sunset
Streams in through the glass
And the shades refracted
Nicely contour your ***
And the whisky is mellow
The mood is sublime,
So the promise of evening
Improves with time.

With serpentine moves
And the grace of an snake,
You uncoil to your feet
And you make your escape.
Mouthing thin fabrications
And utter wee fibs,
You flee back to your hearth
And your husband and kids.

Solace alone Baby,
Solace alone,
With frustration and whisky
All the lonely way home.
As the penitent thoughts
Percolate through unseen,
My sad mind lingers
On what might have been.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
27 January 2010

Cabana, cheese and mustard sauce
Do grace the tablecloth,
White puffy clouds and warm south breeze
And joy in chilled beer's froth.
Hot sun doth bake these stony walls
Sweet mandolins do play,
And the pigeons peck at breadcrumbs caste.
And all fares well today.

Young darting men on Vespa's
Ply their arrogant good looks,
And those stunning senoritas
Strut their stuff while momma cooks.
Monsignors in scarlet robes
Do scurry through the town
Dispensing Catholic action
To any soul who is around.

Madonna's guard the roadside shrines
Where hot seal winds aloft
Toward the craggy mountain pass
And pastured alpine croft.
The peasant woman bends her spine
Trudging forth with strain,
Wood ******* piled upon her back,
Up hillward bound with pain.

Old men sit and ruminate
And watch the young girls pass,
Whilst nursing dark retsina
In an opaque thimble glass.
The olive trees look stately
In their crooked ancient way,
And cast a darkened shadow
Where the roosting chicken's lay.

And out across the mounded hills
The patchwork quilt of farm
And out beyond that deep azure
Of Italian coastal charm.
Seaward to horizon
The aqua blue intense
Extends as far as eye can see
Mediterranean immense.


Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
23 January 2010

When I was little I would watch
Clint Eastwood on the tube,
Rowdy Yates from Rawhide
In black and white and crude.


He played a young man showing
All the attributes of youth,
With an exciting way about him
That burned with living truth.


Spontaneously cowboy
And fastidiously right,
He filled the part with action
And the character was tight.


He represented all the things
A small boy wants to be,
Young, bright and coiled to go
A special hero… Just for me.


Through the years I’ve tagged along
Watched him play the arts,
The action roles, the love story
And the recent wrinkly parts.


I’ve loved ‘em all and celebrate
The fifty years of fun
Of trailing after Eastwood
And his epochs in the sun.


Play Misty, Iwo Jima
***** Harry too,
Gran Torino, Million Dollar
Spaghetti westerns through
The Bridges and Rowdy Yates
The common touch in all,
For every day people
In an every way call.


Hero’s come and hero’s go
Some fade away to die
Thank God professionals like Clint Eastwood
Just keep reaching for the sky.

My thanks Old Son.....for a Great Journey!


Marshalg@the Gate
Mangere Bridge
New Zealand
4th February 2009

Seldom doth man stop and stare
At the caste iron manhole cover there,
Seldom doth he analyze
The majesty, which beneath it lies.
The pipe work systems vast and long
Dark catacombs so precise and strong,
Buried deep beneath our feet
Extending forth from street to street,
Out across the breadth of town
Those secret fluids trickle down.


Laser levels carve the pathway
Through the walls of solid stone,
Shovels scrape and dig with effort
Forging hard trajectories home.
Digging, digging metal mountains
Sweat cascades upon the brow,
We lay the pipes in straight formation
Precision's satisfaction now.


An Artisan's great work is hidden
Lost beneath the earth's grey stone,
Appreciation camouflaged in that,
The cast iron manhole stands alone.
Magnificence unrealized
For deep beneath your feet,
A subterranean Michelangelo's
Sisteen Chapel, lays discreet.


Unsuspected rivers
Flowing darkly to the sea
In caverns of unwanted waste
Quite unbeknown to thee.
Vaulting brickwork chambers
Which are ancient works of art,
Carry oceans of excretement
Far from where their journey's start.


With thunder's crash and lightning flash
And torrents of cold rain,
The road's awash and gutters flow
Through roadside grates to drain.
Gushing torrents cascade down
In waves of flowing might
To the storm water system
Which promptly swallows it from sight.


Magic, you say ?
Nay, nay I say unto you
That the drain layers artistry
Is unappreciated, that's true !
That the Herculean effort wrought
In winning his great fights
Is largely lost to all and sundry
Who avoid construction sites.
They miss the planning and the layout
And meticulousness too
And the rubber seals which stop the leaks
Which really bother you.
The massive holes and danger
Of being buried in collapse
And the wondrous satisfaction
Of achieving downhill flows... Perhaps!


Marshalg
Apprentice drain layer
MHX Beachcroft site and Eastport
19 September 2009

When the rain is cold and pelting
When the windstorm shreds the trees
Do you find your courage wanting?
Is there weakness in the knees?
Have you faced the dark intruder?
Have you stared that challenge down?
Have you summoned forth the fortitude,
To keep humiliation gowned?
Camouflaged the leaden spinelessness,
That dreaded empty space,
Where once there was a warrior
Who wore courage on his face.


Felt the thrashing of the current
As the waves come pounding in,
Inexorably it lacerates
And tears the fair white skin.
The brutality of bedrock,
The blackness of the night,
And the fear that runs like mercury
Through the torment and the fright.
The uselessness of effort,
The lassitude of limb,
It’s the cramping ague of gutlessness
That is consuming him.


Dissipating storm clouds
The skies begin to clear
And with it go emergencies
And with it goes the fear.
Residually it lingers
As a gnawing hollow blend
Of anxious blue inadequacies,
Of unsubstantiated end
To performance under duress,
Compared to that which is the norm,
It’s just a blinding lack of courage
Whilst in the torment of the storm.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
24 November 2008

Gunboats ahoy there’s pirates about
Speeding from Somali’s shore,
A fast flimsy boat and some black skinny men
With grenade launchers, cannon and more.
They’re coming to capture the tankers
They’re coming to capture the crew
They’re coming to take you hostage
Because fat cats will pay cash for you.

It’s happening more every day now
Ships are held to ransom for gold,
This contagion is out of hand now
The Somalian pirates are becoming so bold.
Hard men in the west prepare crackdowns
Gunboats sail for the Gulf as we speak,
With instructions to shoot to **** now
And make eradication of pirates complete!

But you ask, why is this happening?
Why does a man, a pirate become?
What instigates this crazy morphosis
From fisherman to pirate with gun?
Somalia has no Government to speak of,
It collapsed and went long ago.
No law or army in place here,
Life is dangerous, chaotic and low.

Some fat cats made use of the vacuum
They ditched toxic waste in the sea
They irradiated the coastline region
Making this a poisoned place to be.
The coast folk were dying in thousands
Sick mothers lost babies and kids
Black illness spread madly in villages
Then blind panic and pain hit the skids.

Some fat cats made use of the vacuum
They trawled the coastline clean
Somalia’s fishermen were destitute
The catch went from vast to lean.
The villagers were starving and hopeless
And what was pain became death.
The leaders appealed for salvation
But those with the means, had turned deaf.

Who would take this problem on now?
Who would make these ******* pay?
Most turned around and shunned them,
The world had turned and looked away.
So hit transgressors where they’re vulnerable.
Strike in sea lanes where it’s free.
Hit them near the Horn of Africa.
Attack with blades of piracy.

Hooray for the small man’s justice.
Hooray for his skinny, black shanks,
Please God help their quest for deliverance
For the West has arrived with their tanks.

Now I ask you, in all fairness
To stand back and view the scene,
Where the richest and most powerful
are doing something that's obscene
For not only are they poisoning
The most vulnerable race on earth
But compounding it with genocide,
And I add, for what it's worth,

The West, in righteous arrogance,
are crushing poorest fellow man
In his struggle for survival
Against their mammoth, global hand.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
25 April 2009

Blondes illuminate
The dizzy world of men,
Confident and forthright
And simply, oozing acumen.
So sensually brazen
In a silly sort of way
Yet intuitively capable
Of leading all of them astray.

Blondes are irresistible
When they catch the errant eyes,
When their pearly, sky blue peepers
Irradiate and mesmerize.
When they catch him glancing
At a nicely rounded ***,
When rosebud lip's apouting
Leave him breathless, limp and numb.

Blondes move in a manner
Which defies all things right,
It's a sweet undulation
Which turns day, straight into night.
It's suggestion incarnate
And quite breathlessly so.
Causing pulses to race
And his expectations to grow.

Blondes think in straight lines
Periferals are lost,
And woe betide myopics
Who underestimate at their cost.
Golden locks breed pushiness
The will to have her way,
And the man who calls a challenge
Won't survive another day.

Blondes are soft and fluffy
Dimpled cheeks and curve of thigh,
And are specialists in the art
Of come hither to the guy.
But just beneath the garnish
Is a mind that calculates
And a passion for success
And a taste for wealth that rates.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
19 January 2010

No law or compulsion

In the history of man

Has vanquished the spirit

Or sullied his plan.



No preponderance of nastiness

Or heavy of hand

Have diluted the soul

Of a son of this land.



No oppressive demeanor

Or depraved mood

Have squandered the heart

Of my family brood.



No rule of despondency

Patterned or plain

Will blunt the edge

Of this febrile brain.



No damaged tissue?

No rendered dream?

Pass on cruel smile

With your cold eyed gleam.



Yes, get thee gone

Oh despoiler of men

Or feel the fury

Of my vengeance then!





Marshalg

@theGate

Mangere Bridge

24 March 2009

In toasting Mike I recollect
His steady watching gaze,
I recollect his calm
On a thousand stormy days.
I recall his jaunty humour
In his funny cockney style,
And the rationale behind it
And the pleasure of his smile.

And the quiet determination
In the steeliness within
And the love that emanated
When his Jules laughed loud with him.
When he held her hand and strolled
In the life they shared as one,
In the racket of the grand kids
As they shout and leap and run.

Through the years of hardy seamanship
From England's chalky reach,
Across the ocean's vastness
To far antipodean beach,
To the soft greens of New Zealand
And the promise of this land
And the shining eyes of Jules
When he offered her his hand.

And the life they shared together
Through the joy, the strain the tears
The utter joy of baby Kristin
And her beauty through the years.
The seamlessness of craftmanship
In tradesman's art supreme
And the pride of his achievement
In a sweet successful dream.

A chasm has appeared in life
Where old Mike used to be.
Dreadfull death has exercised
It's right to set him free.
But I can't feel bad for Micheal
For the brilliance of it all
Is celebration of his life well lived
And my toast to judgement's call.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
10 January 2010.

Across expanses far and flat
The freezing wind doth howl,
Through desolation cold and harsh
No sign of beast nor fowl.


No feet have trod these arid lands
No eyes have sought a path,
No heart has longed to venture here
No settler built a hearth.


Far horizons curve the flatness
Cold stars spray the sky,
Freezing diamonds in the blackness
Crescent moon hangs high.


Sleet and snow and driving rain
Assault in winter’s bleak,
Whilst blazing sun and baking wind
Prevail in summers fleet.


Grasses blow in rolling waves
As far as sight can see,
And cobalt skies of burnished blue
Are cloud and eagle free.


Sand grains blowing, heaping, rolling
Dusty dunes do form,
Moving west in steady flow
Sand waves without a storm.


Silent, silent, shrill and silent
Wind’s persistant howl
Shreiking in the rolling grass
No trace of beast nor fowl.


Far horizons defy logic
Something in the dark,
Huge and vague a shadowed something
Ghosts from Ancients hark.



Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
4 May 2009

A golden shaft of morning sun
Threw lines of life to cirrus cloud
A flight of teal on wings of steel
Arrowed from nights flying shroud.
The gems of dew on emerald grass
Blazed crystal violet, hills of glass.

A day is born, a time to live and laugh
Feel young and happy, free as chaff
Caste in the zephyr breeze.

A tear of joy springs to my eye,
A grin, as big as life,
I fly across a meadow, leap a stream.

I’m happy for you Sue and Pete,
I celebrate with night’s retreat
The dawning of your daughter’s day
With all my soul I wish her well
Sweet happiness in life’s foray.

Bon voyage sweet Kathryn

Uncle Dadda
Hamilton
New Zealand 1969

Dedicated to Mike Evans & Wendell Griffin…for their great approach to the King of sports, Golf.


Loosen up, feeling good,
Back swing nice and smooth
Power stroke an easy glide
A solid thwack to move
That golf ball into orbit,
Disappearing into air,
Diminishing like angel dust
On a trajectory so fair.


Looking good, nice and straight
In parabolic curve
At apex point it hesitates,
No breezes cause a swerve
Plummeting to emerald grass
The ball bounces on the green
To travel in a perfect arc,
The best I’ve ever seen,
It teeters at the cup lip
To roll around the rim
And by the grace of God,
That golf ball vanishes within!


The day at once looks perfect
The morning light pristine,
The singing birds in trees
Throw brilliant shadows to the green.
I peer into the cup
To see my sweetest dimpled ball,
That darling Dunlop eight
Henceforth shall grace my trophy wall.
My name will feature on the cup
Atop the clubhouse shelf
And the bar room shout for all the boys
Should put a large dent in my wealth.

But the wonder, the wonder,
The spangled wonder of it all
Will have me grinning foolishly
Whenever I recall,
That magnificent stroke
Towards that iridescent green
When I scored a hole in one
And drank a toast to Golf and Queen.


Marshalg
@ the Bach
Mangere Bridge
12th  January 2009

To go through the motions
In an leaden toxic day
With mundanity favoured  
Over fine thought foreplay,
Where the average are comfortable,
Just don't rock the boat,
Where original thought proffered
Cause the dead eyes to float.

How deadly dull this canvass
How pallid, sad  and bland
Where none take up the gauntlet
To run with it in hand,
Where no one makes commitment
To scream, "dullards awake"!!
With roaring red oratory
And a floor thumping shake.

Hitting the straps
With contention ablaze
Wild eyes magnetically
Willing to craze.
Windmilling arms
And demeanour to match
Has the mob on it's toes
Ears straining to catch.

Where a speaker will stand
With the veins in his neck
Protruding like  rip chords,
Spat saliva does fleck,
As he throws his delivery
Out to the crowd
And they sway with the passion
And scream back aloud!

It's communion at last
And the prize is at hand
....A sharp satisfaction,
An achievement so grand.
For in lifting the bar,
Thereby raising the odds,
To prime social reaction
From ordinary bods.

Marshalg
@Grandpa Vern's Bach
Wanganui
29 December 2009

With eyes of black obsidian
And eagle's beak of nose
Black turban of the Taliban
Worn everywhere he goes,
Warrior of God's mountainside
Mujaheddin, known by name,
Pashto is his verbal tongue
And Allah's quest, his fame.

Razored knife in braided belt
Long"Jezail"musket points to sky,
A gimlet glint to garnet gaze
One thoughtless move , you die.
Gliding fast from rock to rock
Gazelle like in his easy grace,
Silent as an adder's strike
Assassin black with turbaned face.

For centuries invaders came
To vanquish this stark land,
Persians,Romans, Russians
And British redcoats tried their hand.
And recently the Yankees
Came with automated war,
To find themselves engulfed
And fleeing for the exit door.

Inexorable Afghanistan
Has bleached their bones as one
Vendetta for the insult
While there's air to breath and gun.
Like Shah Massoud, the warlords
Descend from mountain cave
To slaughter all who venture
Be they terrified or brave.

Tribally disconnected
From Islamabad to Kabul,
Tajik versus Pashtun
Versus Koranic Islam's rule.
No prisoners are taken,
The women always use their knives
And ravines echo shockingly
As tortured slowly lose their lives.

But the sunsets are glorious
Valley mists by morning rise
And row by row of fractured peaks
Rise in grandeur to blue skies.
And the children croon to goat herds
As they graze high meadow's green
And above the taloned goshawk glides
Ever watchful and unseen.

Hulks of Russian gun ships
Litter valleys and the plain
And the ghosts of many nations
Walk these dusty roads of shame.
For the legacy of the Afghans
Is a ****** litany of war
And the road to their tomorrow
Is paved with promises of more.

Marshalg
Wanganui
30 December 2009.
www.worthyofpublishing.com
www.hellopoetry.com

Tall men think of robust ladies
Shorter ladies dream of length,
Toothless people fantasize
Of mandibles of white, bright strength.
Porcine women lust for thinness
Breast less girlies long for *****,
Dissatisfaction fills the air
It's greener grass or down the tubes.

Black man hopes for pale complexion
White girls bake to raise a tan,
Brown eyed lassie's envy blue-ness,
***** lesbian's, a man.
The wealthy want the easy life
Beggars yearn for cash,
Dissatisfaction's in the air
And mirrors are so trash.

Across the human spectrum far
Mankind wants for more,
The grass is always greener
Looking through another door.
It's bigger, better, brighter, best
The quest is always there
Relentlessly pursued with glee,
Bright eyes and bushy hair.

Results are mixed and varied here
Some reach the holy grail
To watch it slip beyond their grasp
Then founder, fall and fail.
Some teeter on a platform,
Some grasp the prize and run,
Some hit their stride at bounding pace
To see the contest won.

But by and large there's misery
Few climb the road to joy,
Frustration be my brother
Dissatisfaction be my ploy.
Limitation is our lot in life.
Our secret to success
Is to love the mirror warts and all
All other **** ...repress !!

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
23 December 2009
www.worthyofpublishing.com

A silky tendril of time has gone
And with it went the year.
The highs, the lows,
The west wind blows
Like dust it disappears.

The passions and the dreams fly by
And vanish like the mist,
The sands between the fingers flow
Like gossamer dismissed.
The hourglass has run it’s course
The clock has reached the time.
When all those frantic urgencies
Evaporate like wine.

This year has gone and sped away
And left us standing there
With vacant stares and open mouths,
Heads shaking in despair,
The time has gone so fast, it seems,
The frantic dials have spun
Then we starting singing “Auld Lang Syne”
And yet… ANOTHER year’s begun!

May “10" become a special year
For you and yours to be
Much happier and wealthier
And healthier and free.
May breezes blow and fine wines flow
And good luck bless your day.
A toast to you in this new year
With love from M&J.;

Marshalg/Mangere Bridge/for 1 January 2010

Whilst slumbering
I woke at  three
And thought that
I would write to thee.
Write thee a verse
To let you know
Your face visits me
Each week or so….

Do you read my poems Sammi?
Have you felt my questing thought?
Have you caught the sensitivities?
Have you bled for battles fought?

Have I led you by the waters edge
To watch the sun go down?
Have I introduced an argument
That caused your brow to frown?

Did you laugh with “Laughter” Sammi?
Were you sad for “Mother’s” plight?
Did you watch the crescent moon descend
Into the sea at night?

Have you felt the things that move me,
Do you understand my need?
To record the stories in my head
Before dimming thoughts recede.

To put it all on paper
To lock it into being
Before the picture vanishes
And there’s nothing left worth seeing.

So I raise my glass in toast to us
With a mellow, velvet red
And I celebrate the times we’ve shared
And those wonders in my head.

For the hand of time is fading friend
Our history claims us fast
Good friendship should share tenderness
Before our time is past.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
27 March 2009

The purple scent of lavender
A promise poorly spent,
The soft caress of fingertip
A crushing thought's lament.

The tension building in your head
A sudden lightning bolt
Was the cause of all this turmoil
Based in **** that was your fault?

Panicked spasms wrack your gut
Your mind is in a whirl,
Is your rampant sexuality
Preoccupied with this young girl?

You cast about for reason
Manufacture good excuse,
But there's no denying logic
It's because you're far too loose.

This shaggy end is desperate
And desperation is a shame
But the lime green finger's pointing
And it's delivered you the blame!

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
4th October 2008