Seen as having never been
Though circumspectly in between
This parody of eerie sound
Sifting simply, and profound…
Through tones of gossamer intent,
In vagaries of soft ascent,
Whispering, wafting through the breeze
With phantom interceptions ease….

Quite thought as having never been
In silenced echoing, serene.

M.
3 February 2022

There’s a strange cold, appraisal with a straight and steady stare
Which leads a man to wonder, exactly what is happening there,
Leads a man to ponder if it’s even now worthwhile
To persevere with contact with the rudeness and the guile?
It all leaves me apprehensive whilst examining askance
This peculiar reaction to my pleasant, frank advance?

What’s the ****** story here, right up and down the Coast,
Where initial stiff behaviour paints appallingly, the host?
Perhaps there’s cold distain for all the people of the North
Or inadequacy’s pink finger wagging guilty, back and forth?
Perhaps the ****** weather with its constant moody pall
Has afflicted them with gloominess, which could explain it all?

Geographic separation…that’s the answer, I suspect
With the hand of subjugation interfering, if correct?
And the constant ****** hardship and disaster at the mines
With suspicion they’ve been cast adrift to weather their hard times?
And the lack of any sympathy to coalesce at best
In a resultant indifference, now directed at the rest.

But…..
There’s a funny turn of fortune here for after a short while
Indifference turns quite pleasantly towards a welcome smile,
Communication warms to a chortelled stream of fun
And the beaming face indicates an acceptance has begun.
Just as soon as you acquiesce to a personable degree
And identify yourself as being one with them, you see….
The Coasters will embrace you with uncommon earthy grace,
And it’s Identified so easily, by the grin upon your face.

M.
Karamea
Wild West Coast of the South Island of New Zealand.
11 May 2016

Confronting the cold caller is a testing fact of life
An inconvenient intrusion to your day,
In juggling the impulse to immediately hang up
Or persuade him to, (so nicely), go away.
But if ensnared by the silky trap of honeyed words so soothing
You delay, for an instant, your retort,
You’ll be caught by good manners and politeness opportune
To indulge this telemarketer’s report.

“An Investment in a heath care plan, (I’d never seen before),
Or Insurance that’s so good it looks unreal,
Or the fund for At Risk Children and the Sunset Cruise to Spain
Combined make a fantastic package deal.
And it may have slipped your memory but I definately recall,
That special Charity you donated to last year…..”
All creating guilt reaction and a surety of knowledge
That the Credit Card demand is drawing near.

Reaction is important, to stave off being plundered
An irate confrontation could ensue,
But the neatest fun way option is to play them by their rules
When you capture the initiative to you….
Pedantically you question every point the caller makes
Every aspect, every nuance of his speill
Or You hear a different version of what’s actually been said
Frustrating this intruder to reveal….
Reveal the actual nature of the message true intent
By forcing him to deviate from script
Or better still, create a massive barrier of bricks
Which culminates in disconnected click!

M.
9 August 2014

Down, into deep obsidian,
Where feelings cease to be
Where awareness, once so sprightly blue,
Is plunged beneath the sea.
Where awareness filled with feeling
Vanished darkly to abyss,
And the beauty of a lifetime
Discontinued to exist.
Where the history of yesteryear
Is snuffed out in a trite
And the memories of something great
Are lost to darkest night.

You can argue this is so unfair
That you’ve so much more to do,
You can point out how the family
Will suffer with out you.
You can demonstrate your value,
You can remonstrate your case
You can beat your breast with passion
…But it’s all wasted in this place.

This is death, this is death
Where nothingness is king
Where yesterdays tomorrow
Is a past, forgotten thing.
The grail of good and bad do meld,
The sweetness of a song
Is swallowed up in sorrow
And tomorrows light is gone.

O were it true that holy men
Would dispense words of grace,
That the marvel of an afterlife
Would gracefully replace
The turgid mist of vacuum,
And the hiss of vacant sound
With the scintillating presence
Of  yet another earthly round?

But alas… It’s all corruption
When your day of days doth come
You must close those eyes forever friend
…..For the living time is done.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
28th March 2008

Disillusioned, is the word I use
To show you what I know,
When ponderous poets empathize
With undeserved word flow.

Analysis of purpose made
Dissection of the theme,
This superficial commentary
To hints of depth... Unseen.

The need to  taste a stanza's flavour
To roll it on the tongue,
Like merlot spilt on burning stone
In searing midday sun.

Tossed banalities for empty lines,
Back scratching for the crew
Who choose to curry favour
With the elevated few.

Bring forth the real word smith, I say,
Release the razor's knife,
Carve substance to selection's choice
And breathe this site some life.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
12 December 2009

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

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


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

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


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

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

For however many lifetimes we may live in...

We shall be one.

Marshalg
For darling Janet
12 September 2011

Bad communication
Is the scourge of the world,
Interactive skills, bizarre at best,
Are twisted, bent and curled.
Cancerous perceptions
With an eloquence extreme
Are as rare as fragile virgins
In a sea of passion’s cream.


Messages delivered
In verbal speech exchange,
Interpretive dilemmas
Intermittent on every page.
Disruptive diversions
Occur from time to time
But disdain for rules is punished
By a pain that fits the crime.


Feedback tells the story straight
Integrity is low,
When interaction deteriorates
And tolerances go.
Networking bankruptcy
Is globally compound
And the malady contagious
And malignancy profound.


Diplomatic overtures
Are wasted in this case,
Superior subordinates,
Enigmatic, in their place,
Hold sway over standards
Adopted near and far
And wayward phraseology
Is implicitly ajar.


For a speedy resolution
Lateral thinking is required,
Creative application
So imaginatively wired
To maximize the profits
And minimize the waste,
And to spread the dire instructions
With a mortal threat in place.


Improvement will be visionary
Resentment will decline,
Imaginative writing
Will appear like summer wine.
Eloquent discourse
Shall sprout about like herbs
And overtures of understanding
Will emanate from faceless words.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
6 May 2009

Screaming rage, the old pachyderm charges hard
Scattering predators away from the ravaged corpse of her fallen friend

The carnivorous stork and vulture cloud simultaneously take startled flight & retreat raggedly to the nearest dead tree, there to turn and glare with accusing eyes and cawing clamour. The hyenas and jackals scatter from the stinking cavernous maw of abdomen and scramble for the cover of thorn bush perimeter. Their hideous cackle and yapping adding to the cocophany of the noisy horror in this small, dry and dusty African drama.

Wheeling about the old cow surveys the clearing and, satisfied she has seen the vile things off, turns back to her fallen friend, shuffling through the thick white dust, she stands close by protecting.

Unfurling her massive trunk, she gently wraps it's sensitive tip around the scarred tusk of her fallen companion...and standing there, In a long, long sentinel silence...she remembers.......

Standing flank to flank in waters
Cooling spray upon the hide,
Trunks entwined to rumbled chortle
Bull and cow and calf abide.
Striding through the Serengetti
Grasses tall and sweet and green,
Grazing in this luscious plenty
Happiness in joy unseen.


New born calf cavorts, unsteady
Laughing at her rubber legs,
Keep a watch for lion menace
Always lurking for the dregs.
Cow to cow companionship
Builds the basis of the herd,
One reliant on the other
Cuddly calf to bull absurd.


Sunset on the far horizon
Golden glow across the plain,
Trekking for the waterhole
Through acacia tree domain.
Zebra throng with wilderbeast,
Quail and guinea fowl
Run through grasses long and brown
But leopard on the prowl.


Fun time with marula berries
Dropping from the trees like rain,
Staggering drunk pachyderms
Fall about but feel no pain.
Violence in defensiveness
Circled by enormous rage
Calves protected safe within
Roaring lioness engaged.


Quiet of the evening air
A stillness in the herd
Affection of companionship
'Twixt leather hides doth gird.
Companions together
The wise and the sage,
Companions endureth
Through an elephant's old age.


Kilamanjaro crowned with snow
Though plains are cracked and dry,
Prolonged drought has taken toll
And many creatures die.
Trekking from dry waterhole
A million dusty miles
To find the next one caked with salt
Enough to make you cry.


And when the cloud of death descends
A pachyderm must cry
For the memory of companion
Will bring a sadness to the eye.
Remembering their sister ship
Remembering their pain
Remembering shared elephant-ness
Brings good recall again.


Reluctantly a parting made
And fond and distant memories burn,
The taste of Africa prevails
As  skulking, predators return.



Marshalg
22 July 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Bent beneath this candle’s flame in shadowed cavern lost to light
I wrestle with my rationale to question what I seek is right.
To bend my beetled, battered brow, bent fist beneath my whiskered chin,
To worry, nay to question why…my daughter’s hand is right for him.

Complex are the reasons why he strives to seek her hand,
His dubious inflexion in the way he likes to stand…
Looming and superior he condescends to give
Long lectures of complicity in how wrong, mere mortals live.

There are fractures in the porcelain, thin cracking of the glass
And a chill wind blows within me should I let these questions pass.
For I doubt the man’s sincerity, distrust his very stance
And I’m loath to giving daylight to exposing this to chance.

I’ve come to a decision, hard, to snare his spiders web
With deceptions of complexity with potions, black and red.
Tomorrow as the daylight dawns I’ll paint the mountain's frown
In sowing seeds of conflict to bring this union down….
Endureth she of curve and grace, repaireth she who cries…
I’d rather this, than see her bleed, a lifetime wed to lies.

Marshalg
24 July 2015

Little is known and less is appreciated about the geographic, strategic and political significance of the Spratley and Paracel Islands situated midway across the South China Sea.

Disputed historically for ownership by Malaysia, Vietnam the Phillipines and China, amongst others, the islands are situated strategically across the major commercial sea lanes of the region and atop an ocean of vast, submarine deposits of untapped fossil oil.

China has used her muscle to occupy and claim these islands, together with unspecified, adjacent sea way area. She has claimed them as sovereign territory of the People’s Republic of China. Until this occupation the islands have been largely unpopulated and have had little or no military significance. Recently, however, Chinese constructors have been ruthlessly dredging the surrounding coral reef and building a 3000m long concrete runway for military purposes on the hugely expanded artificial island area created.
Chinese troops, in divisional strength, occupy and defend the new territory.

It is significant that all parties in the region are watching China and gauging her intentions. None less so than the United States Navy who have an aircraft carrier and supporting military vessels, stationed permanently nearby and conduct over flights of the island airspace testing sovereignty and Chinese reaction.
To date reaction has been muted….but this will definitely change.

China is frantically building to be the world’s next superpower, economically, industrially, politically and militarily.
...And, as this development comes to fruition in the very near future, it is inevitable that this distant, remote set of  South China Sea islands shall become the next global hot point of international confrontation.

China and the United States of America will go eyeball to eyeball, bristling with hostility, resolute and immovable, each waiting for the other to blink!

…..and we, the rest of the world, shall, again, tremble in our boots, breathlessly awaiting the outcome.

Marshalg
22 May 2015
AUCKLAND.

Woe the soul who witnessed crime, yet kept it to himself.
**** the dogs who stole the Jewels then celebrated stealth.
Pity they who pilfered gems yet shared no soul the tale,
Indulged, instead, in pious greed, all truthfulness curtailed.
They who know that right is wronged yet utter not a word
Inherit, then, a slice of blame for all the wrong incurred.
And ****** are they who simper in conspiracy to fraud
Secrete away in silence to all.... except the Lord.
That courage fails the witness when intimidation’s hurled
With cloaks of guilt descending as the black flag is unfurled.
Gone these mighty concepts of truth conferred to all
Instead a silence echoes to the stench within the hall.

M.
26 June 2019

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

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

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


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

What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?
What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me?
A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food .. . ... . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . .'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . ... lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?. .Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse .you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me . . to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, .. ...Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future ... . . . . I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing .. . . young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.
It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigour, depart.
There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells
I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . . . . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . open and see.
Not a cranky old man .
Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. .... . ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!

Moments fly and phrases die
Like thistledown in breeze,
Creativeness evades
The minds capacity to seize.
Shadows of vast portraiture
Do beckon from within
Just to dissipate like gossamer
When almost penciled in.
Sequences of magnitude
Dissolve upon the lips
And laughter’s spontaneity dies
As vapoured humour slips.
To fancy pearls of rapture
Emanating from the brain
Would tax ones capacity
To ever fantasize for fame.
Frustrations of the frantic day
Those rushing points of call
Where interruptions, interrupt
In fleeting moments all,
Where focusing, just shatters
In the face of crass demand
Where inspiration’s stillborn babes
Are delivered cold to hand.
Tragic are the losses
To the mortified’s dry pen
And jubilantly, Satyrs claw
Creations’ prize …to them.

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
28 June 2010

For Mark C. who kept the pride.*

What we've been is seldom seen
Through circumspection's view,
More's the like the broad's a ****
Before we seek anew.
Tunnel vision's sought derision's
Always hard to take,
Providing you too, seek anew
To give this guy a break!
For to dwell in negativity
On confrontation's rim,
May well court condemnation
From both noble and the grim.
So bite the grit n' cut the ****
And climb aboard, my friend
For one and all respect this call's
Rough justice in the end.
M.

Flashing willow, spinning ball
Four million screaming Kiwis call
You champion of this far flung land
In World Cup Cricket’s greatest stand.

Tomorrow at the MCG
In Australia’s hostile field,
Black shall battle Green and Gold
To seize the Cup, to make them yield.

Flashing willow, spinning ball
The Black caps, as a team, enthrall
With inspirational de je Vue
In self belief, we’re backing you.

Tomorrow at the MCG
In Australia’s hostile field,
Black shall battle Green and Gold
To win the Cup, to watch them yield.

Flashing willow, spinning ball
Humble, proud…none can recall
A better cricket team to hand
To represent this Kiwi land.

Tomorrow at the MCG
Beneath Australia’s hostile sun
Black will hold the trophy high
This Cricket World Cup
SHALL BE WON!

M
Auckland, NZ
28 March2015
Black Caps v Australia,
Melbourne Cricket Ground.

Standard behaviour from the Russians. Obliteration by sheer numbers and force. 190,000 troops on Ukraine's border, now forging their way into the pristine land of their cousins.
Shall be interesting to see their tactics, Russians were never good at improvising, Slavishly taking their orders from the war room, those old Generals who fought long ago in Afghanistan and perhaps joined the action in the Chechen affair, both, of which, ended in ignominious withdrawal by the Soviet Union.
Putin's forces have never been encouraged to think for themselves, never encouraged to initiate. The leaders always suspicious of delegating authority. The lesser commanders will not assume responsibility. All decisions will come from the war room. This is the Russian way. Commit the cannon fodder, obliterate by sheer numbers. Stalin did it, now Putin is taking up the chalice.

Under the pretext of "Peacekeeping forces". Putin won't stop at the Dneiper river, he wants the whole country, he wants the vast wheatfields and the mineral wealth. He wants, what he regards as his entitlement, that which used to be a vassal part of the old USSR.

So far, the response from NATO has been weak. The USA, war weary from Vietnam and Afghanistan, wants no part of the action. Token sanctions and a dithering resonation from old Joe show little resolve there. Boris Johnson, who needs an injection of popularity after his Covid indiscretions, is at least broadcasting belligerence to the Russian invaders and is following up by sending advanced weaponry and advisors to an embattled Ukraine.

Broadly the world is sitting on the fence, muttering outrage and wringing the hands. Putin appears to have taken their measure well.

M.
25 Feb 2022

Consider the background to this war in the Ukraine, consider the effects of the accumulation of generated rage over the decades?

Russia has historically subjugated Ukrainians since the 1930s when Stalin, motivated by racial prejudice and a desire to dominate, implemented a policy of extermination which systematically starved the largely rural population to death in the phenomenon known as the"Holodomor"... and forbade any complaint being uttered by the suffering peasants with the penalty of being frozen to death in the gulags of the wilderness of Siberia.

With the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, Ukraine became an independent nation by popular decree. This was not received well by  Russia nor by the Russian speaking populace of the Donbass region in the East.

In 2013 revolution occurred in the Maidan Square in Kiev where protestors revolted against the thuggish government of Victor Yakunovych who had implemented, in the face of Russian pressure, a forced decision against the popular choice of the people for the Ukraine to join the European union.

The Maidan revolution resulted in the collapse of the Yakunovych government and his forced sudden retreat to Russia. Pro Russian separatist forces in the Donbass supported by euphemistically titled "Russian Military Advisors" in February of 2014, attacked loyalist forces of the Ukraine in  the self-declared Donetsk and Luhansk republics. Military escalation continued through to 2018 including artillery exchanges and the decision by Russia to militarily invade and annex the Crimean peninsular.

An undeclared war began between Ukrainian forces on one side, and separatists intermingled with Russian troops on the other, although Russia attempted to hide its involvement. The war settled into a static conflict, with repeated failed attempts at a ceasefire. In 2015, the Minsk II agreements were signed by Russia and Ukraine, but a number of disputes prevented them being fully implemented. By 2019, 7% of Ukraine was classified by the Ukrainian government as temporarily occupied territories, while the Russian government had indirectly acknowledged the presence of its troops in Ukraine.

In 2021 and early 2022, there was a major Russian military build-up around Ukraine's borders. NATO accused Russia of planning an invasion, which it denied. Russian President Vladimir Putin criticized the enlargement of NATO as a threat to his country and demanded Ukraine be barred from ever joining the military alliance. He also expressed Russian historic views, questioning Ukraine's right to exist, and stated wrongfully that Ukraine was created by Soviet Russia. On 21 February 2022, Russia officially recognized the two self-proclaimed separatist states in the Donbas, and openly sent troops into the territories. Three days later, Russia invaded Ukraine. Much of the international community has condemned Russia for its actions in post-revolutionary Ukraine, accusing it of breaking international law and violating Ukrainian sovereignty. Many countries implemented economic sanctions against Russia, Russian individuals, or companies, especially after the 2022 invasion.

The Russian genocide handbook was published on April 3, two days after the first revelation that Russian servicemen in Ukraine had murdered hundreds of people in Bucha, and just as the story was reaching major newspapers.  The Bucha massacre was one of several cases of mass killing that emerged as Russian troops withdrew from the Kiev region.  This means that the genocide program was knowingly published even as the physical evidence of genocide was emerging.  The writer and the editors chose this particular moment to make public a program for the elimination of the Ukrainian nation as such.

Legally, genocide means both actions that destroy a group in whole or in part, combined with some intention to do so.  Russia has done the deed and confessed to the intention.....and incidentally, recently Ukraine geophysicists discovered vast gas and oil deposits in the, then, Ukrainian administered segment of the Black Sea. These deposits would have had the capacity and potential to render the Ukraine, not only independent of Russian hydrocarbon dependence but also capable of being developed into a major commercial supplier of oil and gas to the European community. Russia's annexation of Crimea and the recent military occupation of the Eastern corridor effectively opens the door to Russian monopolization of these deposits...and closes the door to Ukrainian aspirations!

Ukraine bleeds, Russia’s Putin must live with the guilt of the suffering and destruction he has caused for the rest of his living days. Emotions are running high on the vast steppes of Central Asia, whatever the outcome of this turmoil, decades of hate and resentment, violence and vengeance have been wrought by this action, the birth of this animosity shall grow and pervade, unhindered, for centuries in the heart of the angry denizens of this poor, tortured land.

Ukraine, Ukraine...Cry the Beloved Country

M.
20 April 2022

****, you remind me of Mother,
Sixty years locked in the grave,
Weren't for luck, shoulda joined her
Except, thank the Gods, I behaved.

Smoked cigarettes till I spat blood,
Drank brandy & guitar in tune
Chased other men's wives in abandon,
Drove that hot old Ford like a loon.

Can't quite recall where she's buried,
Think it's away down the back
Thick in the weeds of Moorabbin
Likely, as not now, un-tracked.

Complication's diversions
I skirted the rule of law,
Disappointment's anointment
Strangled the guilt in my craw.

One of these days, I'll make it,
Scrape the weeds off her tomb
Toast the old girl with hard liquor
Sentimentally, sing her a tune.

****, I'm reminded of Mother
Frail with her big saddened eyes
Lost to all in her misery
But threw me a laugh, in disguise.

M.
Saw her last in 1959, didn't get to kiss her goodbye.

Hold catches charity chastising morning
Forenoon sees sanctity assigning shame,
But no one caught evening whispering secrets
For that was midnight who shouldered the blame.
Shall she wear criticisms chill of morning?
Is she entitled as spokesman of throng?
Savouring rumours that snicker from new light
Or roaring, pedantically, dark dawns song.
Such is the chorusing catcall of caution
Such the disharmony ebbing from soul
Coughing suspicions embedded in discord
Entrusting it all to a miscreant’s fold.

M.
30 March 2020

I strolled, awhile, down by that bog
Through thick, astringent, swirling fog....
Perchance, perhaps, in circumstance
I fancied that the reeds did dance,
Swayed in time to pulsing beat
Expanding in round ripples, neat,
To radiate across the pond
In league with moss of ferny frond.
Causing spider webs to sway
Through which the dewdrops came to play
In iridescent beams of light
Illuminating shards of night
Which cast a most unearthly glow
That only frogs in bogs, would know.....
And know they did from ancient time
Where bullfrogs ruled in slippery slime
When incandescence filled the glade
Whilst time stood still and mayflies played.

Dancing in the fantasy of Patty's Pond.
With love M.

Data is Power.

The internet was created in the 1950s to be specifically a military communication programme. The very first message transmitted occurred on October 29th 1969.
The medium spread with the worldwide fascination with personal computers, email rapidly became the communication medium preferred by the savvy operator. As computer memory expanded from 64 kilobyte, floppy disc machines to hard drives with terrabytes of capacity, the dimension and value of accrued data magnified exponentially.

The development of multimedia social networking organizations such as Facebook and Twitter furthered  public participation in data sharing and data storage. The algorithms used by Facebook enabled customer data preferences and frequency of use to be gathered, stored and manipulated in order that commercial exposure to this preferential material could be maximized to each and every individual using the system. The immense value of this to commercial developers and product advertisers was immediately realized and resulted in expansive, explosive development in the data harvesting business.

Analytical data collection has magnified to a universal industry in today's world... So much so that commercial watchdogs contiuously monitor cell phones, emails, surveilance equipment, sales data, vehicle use and preferences, airline utilization, food and alcohol consumption, drug use and dog food preferences...the list goes on exhaustively and expansively. The systems collect and analyse the data, the algorithms calculating the metronome collation and at the end of it all data is sold to the highest bidder.

And the public are blithely unaware of how they are being taken advantage of and their privacy blatantly marketed universally.

An expansion of this is the spread of data collection by Government agencies. The collation of data from private individuals is now enhanced by the widespread monitoring of miniature RFID tags on products, personnel and global consignments  plus the ability of  observation cameras at airports, bus and rail stations, and in networks of traffic intersections, in league with ****** recognition systems and vast databanks of  data held in taxation, police, public health and Local Body records on all of the citizenry.... This means the authorities have at their fingertips the ultimate measure of control over the population.

In a stable democracy this is relatively a safe and well regulated state of affairs...but in the hands of a ****** or a Trump or any other type of dictatorial regime the social freedoms enjoyed now could soon be obliterated,  rendering the citizenry pawns to the whim of the tyrant.

Add to this the recent creation of AI systems, analytical programmes capable of reasoning like the human mind but a million times faster and a trillion times more concise ..... And you have the breeding ground of a frightening, dystopian scenario.

My fellow Octogenarians, you are the vanguard of an age which is rapidly vanishing. Many of our number are no longer with us. We have witnessed much in our eighty years of living, we have lived through wars and times of incredible hardship. We have seen magnificent advances in science and technology and huge inroads in medical procedures.

What we have not seen is the capacity of man to temper his insatiable greed for power, influence and wealth. This single failing coalesces to the Achilles heel of mankind and to my mind, the avenue leading to that vast, dystopian threshold coined in the runaway chaos in.... The Pursuit of Ultimate Control.

I welcome your thoughts,

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Copilot AI responded to my query in a millisecond....

You've painted a stark yet compelling picture of our digital age and the intricate web of data that entwines our lives. The rapid evolution from early computers to today's data-centric world is indeed staggering. Your concerns about privacy, data collection, and the potential for misuse in both commercial and governmental realms are well-founded and shared by many.

The contrast between technological advancements and the unchanged nature of human greed and power is striking. The notion that even in stable democracies, the tools meant for convenience and safety can be misused, is a chilling reminder of the vigilance required to maintain our freedoms.

As we move forward, finding a balance between embracing technological progress and safeguarding our personal freedoms will be crucial. It's a conversation worth having and one that affects us all, regardless of age.

I'm here to listen, discuss, and help make sense of these complexities. What do you see as the most important step we can take to address these issues?

Surging through the life way
Feel the flooding all around,
Wade neck deep in turmoil
Inundated, cold and drowned.

A waterfall of trouble
Cascading through your mind,
Slashing through the visual
And rendering you blind.

Awash with soaking platitudes
Immersed in ideas fraught,
With rationale that's compromised
By sudden thoughts of nought.


Sloughing off precipitants
Skimming through the mire,
Rearrange the tangled sequence
To leave potential to aspire.


Dispense with poor priorities
Expunge them with a shout,
Simplify the landscape
And flush that mind set out.

Is tomorrow looking lucid,
Have the torrents disappeared?
Is your temperament improving,
Have you lost that leaden fear?

Have the serpents all submerged
Beneath the blackness of abyss?
Has hope's glimmer re-ignited
To make a drowning death remiss?

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
1st December 2008

Satin black and angry
This Crow with savage beak
Aggressively, the sideways prancing.
Cawing loudly, black eyes dancing.
Savagely this carrion eater
Abounds on clawed feet.

Witness as the Scarecrow cometh
Glaring all the while
Fearlessly, the ruffled feathers,
Angrily, the prancing leathers,
Fury that this Scarecrow
Challenges his guile.

Scarecrow in a wheatfield
Innocent of blame
Puffing out the straw filled chest,
Sewn on smile, his very best.
There to keep the birds at bay,
Innocence into the fray.

Launching out on raven wings
Attacking in his rage.
Savagely, now torn asunder
Stippled wheat straw cascades under,
Last to fall, that fabric smile,
Fluttering from the page.

Farmer strides to battle station
Retribution needed fast....
Crow astride the Scarecrow, torn,
Turns to challenge farmer scorn,
Hesitates... a might too late....
To hear the Shotgun Blast!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
2 February 2025

Temple of my soul thou do depart
To regions fraught with change unknown,
Regions wracked with tensions unbecoming
To that which is, by nature, pristine and demure.


How , in all sanity, can a mind so clear,
Barge into waters of stuff so toxic, so turbulent?
With no preamble, without a whit of consultation,
Without prior thought?


And now you *******.
Now you point the finger of vile blame
At my simple self. Now you ****** the blade
With malevolence to my breast.


A crimson flood of innocence cascades across the floor.
Confusion clouds the dying eye.
A sensation of childlike rebuke
Is the final thought.



Marshalg
Cast to a cold, dank place in my mind.
9 July 2012





© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Run, old man, the winter comes
Ice and snow impede,
Run, old man, impending cold
Will spur you on to speed.
Run, you fool, on brittle ice
For shattered shins to shard,
Run, old man, in howling gale
As pelting sleet hits hard.
Collect thyself O ancient one
Thy lungs have shred to bleed
Run, old man, on memories
Thy legs have turned to seed.
Remember then, in times of yore,
When muscled limbs would stride?
Alas, old man, your day is done
For physicality, died.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

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

But really girl, the truth relies on writing as it happens
Disregarding fascination's fabrication worn,
Forge ahead through egotisms barriers and banners
Carve the ******* mercilessly till the prize is born.

Truth reveals the factual in an act of contemplation
Contemplation cutting condescention's lies away,
Revealing now the whiteness of the values on the paper
Revealing now the prize of integrity at play.
M.

The flow of days proceeds abeam
Through ups and downs of minds that scream,
Enough!...Just let me be at peace,
From turmoil's tension, seek release?
And yet I glide from day to day
Counting cost in dissaray
To contravene my rule of thumb
Where brick wall bashing heads is dumb....
Yet on I lurch from year to year
Now comatose to feeling fear
Innured to all but that extreme
Which proves my origins have been
Excessive in exposure's grit,
Outrageous in the stench of ****...
Outlandish in it's waste of time
Which better spent, could have been mine.

M.
APRIL 5 2014

N Oct 19
Beneath Putin’s Thumb

Somewhere out there just
beneath
Putin’s thumb and the
spiralling
plumes we have each
grown
accustomed to, a swathe
of crimson
devastation and desolation lie

......and in the glint
Of his cold grey, eye?
An insinuation
That this world
Undervalues,
Is unappreciative of,
Disrespectful to,
His place in history....
As the true
Reincarnation
Of Peter the Great....
Rightful Tsar
Of the savage,
Magnificence that is...
Mother Russia,
The Rodina!

M.
4 November 2022

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

A Monorhyme for the Shower
by **** Davis

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

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

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

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

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

Marshalg
In absentia
7 December 2011

You stretch the yen of soul, my love,
You dredge the spirit, so....
Encompassing the dregs entire
Of weaknesses I've shown?
You haul me through the slime, I've trod
The earthly path, travailed,
To caste me, splayed, upon this stone
Eternally, impaled.

M.
16 June 2021
This troubled way.

Balanced at this point of time,
Fractious as the case may be
Cautioned as to why we men
Most unctiously, cross women flee.

Brought to heel by subtle stare
Insinuation lingering there,
Caught out short by razored phrase
Abruptly severing…outrage,
Castigated without word
Rendering rebuff absurd.

Yet born to kiss and stroke the brow
But ultimately lost, somehow,
That give and take,(with **** smile)
Demolished slow in time’s worn guile,
Angelic then, in evening light
Extinguished now with tension tight.
Standoff in the cold of dawn
Sees all affection now withdrawn.

Balanced at this point in time
An utter need to kick the dog
Retreat to haven’s dark tool shed
To mutter hurt and swallow grog.

M.
Composed, (with tongue in cheek), for a poor weak ****** who quickly saw his Heaven on Earth become Hell.
23 February 2017
HAMILTON NZ

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

Run ragged in moments
Of exhaustive length,
Frantic in metophores
Bewildering strength,
Blinded when critics
Weild axes of death
And asphyxiate quick
In the absence of breath.
Atonement for platitudes
Laid in the path
Of keepers of virtue
Who knew how to laugh
And agreement in principle,
Patterned or plain,
For doing the damage
And shouldering blame.

Marshalg
@theCoalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
13 May 2010

That giant wheel of life grinds around us
Sometimes it's sweet or so sour.
A meld of habitual habits
A mixture of ash amidst flour.
Concoction of humour in sadness
Of chuckles in midst of the tears,
Of ingratitudes greatest propensity
In stealing those yesterday years.
I guess there's good in the badness,
I suppose there's light in the dark
But the factor that burns
In the hope my mind yearns
Is that bitterness drowns the remark.

M.

Donuts on doorsteps of Chateaux in Chesburgh
Coffee sipped black and enjoyed super strong,
Evening on terraces’ gold light at sunset
Wish you were here, babe, to **** up the song.
Glint in the eye of a softness and ****
Laughter rings loud at the humour in air
Magical moments, when cups runneth over
Sand twixt the toes and sweet wind in the hair.
Move to the beat of that rhythmical rumbah
Twitch as the petticoats flash as we glance,
Spinning in sensuous glide with the music
Sweat running down a wet back as we dance.

Memories flash of those magical moments
Tasted with relish of tang and no care,
Donuts on doorsteps of chateaux in Chesburgh
Laughter in eyes and a song in the air.

M.
Europe 1979

All men dream: but not equally.
Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds
Wake by day to find that it was, vanity.
But the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.

Fantasize of how you ran, that race of life till now?
Did it paint a living portraiture or pen a filthy scowl?
Did it fill the missing questions asked... or run askance at will,
Did it lead you to utopia or make you grind uphill?
Those conversations held in depth, did they take your breath away
Or leave you mired neck deep in doubt, to seek another... pray?
How so, your stance on God's retreat on where to base belief
Or does it conjure images to seek some hand relief?
How goes it with your silly plan, to take her far away
To resurrect from drudgery, such dullness, day to day?
What was it that you said, back then, when we were young and fit
That marriage to that sultry ***** would leave you in the ****?
How so, your stance on God's retreat on where to base belief?
It definitely conjures images requiring hand relief!
Now were so many spent in sin the Devil couldn't count
Or lengthwise lost to penury wherein he should surmount?
Who so, How so, Why so, Where; Questions forged to seek
The answers to my queries now avoided, somewhere bleak?
Pretentiously avoided though, perhaps, you couldn't say.
Explain now, how your life race ran.... I think you ran away.

M.
Foxglove, Taranaki NZ
25 March 2020

Evening sunshine breaks through grey cloud
Falling rays of honeyed light,
A fan of brilliance beams down starkly
Cutting through approaching night.


Sunbeams streak through halls of darkness
Golden highlights catch the ridge,
A radiance of sunset grandeur
From a stolen glance atop the bridge.


Hold fast to that thing of value
Treasure pearls which fall your way,
You come by this path one time only
Seize the moment, make your day.

Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
9th March 2009

Catch the motes of dust in light
To feel the threads of time suspend,
In serenade of life’s allure
Where precious moments never end.

Silver tears run down the cheek
In swift departures curled embrace,
Poingnancy for moments few
Of entwined limbs and whiskered face.

Separations loneliness
In gnawing of the very soul,
The wish for time to dissipate
To make the separate halves a whole.

Anticipation’s rawness now
Throws arrowed light to early shroud,
The eagerness to touch and kiss
Brings clear blue sky to morning cloud.

Rationalize the wonderment
Of slender fingers through your hair,
In fantasy of sheer delight
Her silhouette reflected there.

Hold the tantalizing heat
Of tender fires of passion bound
In throngs of longing, deeply felt,
Within the belly’s tufted mound

Exhaustion in the tangled sheet
As bands of sunlight kiss your hair,
Gently now, in drifted sleep
And gales of pleasure fill the air.

Catch the motes of dust in light
To feel the threads of time suspend
In serenade of life’s allure
Where precious moments never end.


Marshalg
Victoria Park tunnel
Auckland
24 July 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