Oh yes! I had plans to woo you
with roses and chocolates
and other mushy make-up
that might just rev up your fireworks
Yet I knew deep inside
it wouldn't work so well.

So jugular it was
condoms and plastic roses
knotted in shoelaces
painted and welded on a metal frame
worded: I will take you
to take me: Now!

But you laughed
and blew the condoms into balloons
and spray painted the roses in silver
and I used the shoelaces
to hang my head in creative shame!

Yet when we met on the deck of union
for the first time
the sparks lit up the nightsky
and we slept curled up around each other
like question marks

Thats how we bought tickets
to forever
Crazy?
I waited-you came!

Author Notes
Most enjoyable poem today.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

She was  smart and as clever as the piles of documents
she worked behind
cutting through the paperwork like a tornado
insistent, hissing and answering the phone
even before the second ring
how she did that was beyond me.

A million facts later
court cases. dates of judgement
clent's names, dates of birth
the moles each one had
tax history
mistress mystery
golf mastery
domestic violence history
everything. everything

skirts tight, a round behind
wiggling to wobbly eyes
she controlled the office
better than a judge with a gavel.

I was terrified of every move.
splendid woman.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

Lisping along  in the bravado nights
of banquet halls bursting with chandeliers
red carpets and butterfly maidens
serving delicacies of ordered neatness
tested in kitchens of manicured chefs
waiting in breathless expectation
of acceptance from a guest list
of the countrys best men and women

the chief gobbler looked at the lovely wife
of the chief guest
and gently slurped his birds nest soup
as the waitresses on wings flitted by
watching in delight
as his ******* showed clearly at the thoughts
raging in his bald head.

He wanted this woman?

and they all approved willingly
that someone must lose his head
to the heavyweights lust
and for the upkeep of the national pride

before he picked up his chopsticks
and gold embossed napkin
he flicked it twice
and the chief gobbler was whisked
behind a red bleeding curtain

and his wife was taken
on a candlewick bedspread
of green and gold
draped with the crescent moon
and scimitar.

ask no more questions
on where we are
or lose your tongue forever!

Author Notes
Despotic and dangerous.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

There is a silence in the air
the art of unknowing tactfully
nothing stirs outside of me
the mind rages in a fire inside
wanting to know how things are
and where you are and what you're doing

Its best to know these things
before the distance slowly pushes
you and me apart
as if it was hard to stay locked in one place

But you know me by now
I wont come around searching
I will stop looking for you.
First because I dont want to face
the unhappiness of knowing
the truth. Its best left alone to decompose in itself.

Time will heal even the distances
and long after you are gone
and I'm able to understand how easily it
all happened. We will become empty shells
without an emotional ocean around us
lying on the sands of time
waiting to be discovered
by new relationships.

That is a strange way to see this break-up
but show me a better way and I will stay.

Are you listening to the fires burning
the crackling and blazing
the hissing and whispering?

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

Its those little things so sweetly said, the firelight
captured in a moment and bringing a twilight
into sharp focus as the evening spills its wonders
on our day.

Its those things we knew that existed between us
not spoken, not proclaimed or shouted yet
the signs and symbols, gathered day by day
until we were sure we were reading the signals right.

Its the way we understood how we were inextricably
intertwined in some strange magical spell
that came upon us unexpectedly and drew
us into that same circle of knowing.

Maybe it was the voice, the words, the visuals
maybe it was the differences that found solutions
in the knowing, because it seemed built
on  a mountain of moments with memories
that spiralled us into whirlpool of love.

Even now, as we hold tight together
in this knowing we look back at the journey
we undertook in the knowing.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 11 hours ago

The air breathes silk and soft
the table is crowded with crap things to do
my mind falters in the gutters running criss-cross
the pages of poets dreaming love
where is the *** and sin and late nights
in the bottles of doom
which race through my thoughts
down to the last drop

Where is this  woman I met last week
spilling her ***** out on the table
for us to gaze upon-untouchable
because her man flexes his muscles
while he appears brain dead.

Why do I write such stuff
Why do I see with blinding eyes
Where do the words come from to express
pain and loneliness and the poverty
of patience. Who really reads these snippets

I am rambling into the night
where the shadows make walls
of visions that dance silhouettes
of memories from times ago
and the hustle bustle of beauties
that I once knew are now fragile old women
tending to grandchildren
in the dusty courtyard of life.

Even as I write an endless stream
of rivers cascading into waterfalls
of words my mind bends beautifully
this Sunday mornings sermon of hope.

Just now I heard a youngster write
of what poets and poems do.
Nothing really. It metamorphoses
the body and soul into exquisite
melancholy or madness, pain or purity
but never ever makes sense
when you want it to.

Who ever said poems should be short
with miniskirts and make-up
parading the twilights of ******
and hopelessness
unable to find clients of hope
unprepared to shock  listeners
into jumping off the cliffs of nonsense?

Thats only a snapshot
of how I work
writing endless reams
of the bad and the beautiful.

Once the night spills its stories three shots down
the wives are always *******
and 'he' the prefect one. How come?

Little did he know his drinks
were earned on the backstreets of ******
and the greasy twenty was to keep his mouth
shut the **** up. But no, he blathered and blathered
of his own inadequacy, on the home front,
and the two children he never knew
ignored his weakness
to sell crack on the doorstep of doom.

The day he went to investigate
this moral uprising in his mind
they found him filleted like a big fish
in the factory backyard where the
slabs of ice kept him frozen for a whole month.

He was shipped on a container to nowhere
frozen with the tuna.

Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a day ago

We packaged our dreams in spiked boots and razor sharp axes
willing to chip the mountain away to get to the top
of things that bothered us for a while
as we lazed in the summer sun
and wished for winters comfort
and high mountains and snow and ice and sherpas
tugging our dreams upwards
into a blue everest
where other dreams gathered
under colourful flags and photographs.

Our guides knew their goddess well
her whims and fancies
and bells tinkling as she allowed them
to climb upon her back
still tugging our dreams and us
our limited oxygen and pickaxes
and walking ropes.

Off in a line we went
holding on tactfully to our practised steps
and foot by foot we planned to conquer
the mountain of our ambitions
and write ourselves into the record books
as adventurers of conquests.

The goddess gently sneezed
and a gap in the long line of climbers
disappeared forever.
caught in the fist of avalanche fury
our dreams became dust.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

In the infinite zero gravity of nothingness
comes a symmetrical cylindrical formation
alpha and omega baptised
circumferences spirally downwards
into abyss
breaching cataclysms of illusion
reducing giants into mirages of magical
creatures harvesting the mind
and all its hallucinations of depth and dreams.

Once in a while the outer skin
is breached and broken
and the telescope seeks inward resilience
as the topsy turvy weightless objects
roll and tumble
in precise formations
cascading through tunnels
of energetic figurines
appearing and disappearing
seamlessly into reality and out of it.

So it is with us
creatures trapped
in prisms of dimensional space
unable to comprehend
metaphysical existence within a sphere
of a simple lifespan.

we move from point to point
mere dots of insipid reason
ruled by simplicity.

Author Notes
The binary digits are just 1 and 0. Zero is nothing and 1 complements it and gives it value. All of the digital world revolves around this mathematical understanding. Without the 1 or the 0 the entire world becomes a useless unexplained theory ( or so I think).

The matrix revolves around this simple theorem. There is a nothingness and there is a 1 or an I ! Within this context , all of the action takes place. You cannot have just the I because you have to have the 0 to make sense of reality.

I see this as a philosophical spiritual understanding of existence and compare this equation of Everything/Nothing, On/Off, This/That, Alpha/Omega,Beginning/Ending as different understanding of the basic theory of existence.

My poem plays on the the infallibility of the 1 and the 0 together. Metaphorized as a spiralling staircase descending into nothingness it goes up and down at the same time in a perpetuating cyclical, cylindrical form. Infinity does the same thing.

We are all 1s ( I's) and the 0 or O completes us a 10.

We are the Matrix.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

I understood her symbolisms and archway
of words and visuals that lit a dull day
with fiery sparks of language
written in fluid motions of poetic emotion.

Whichever way I turned she appeared
to stand right there in reason,
her spirit reaching out for my friendship
snuggling closer to the comfort of knowing
where freedom and safety abound.

It will be some time before she returns
to her mechanical life
dreaming of the 6th commandment
and its shattered images
spilling from the fragmented and broken
promises that we made to different partners
in a different time.

We met on an internet highway
straddling two continents
but drawn to each other
by the sheer magnetism of poetry and passion
expressed on the pages of  love
with new meanings.

When we part, we will take with us
a fresh new memory bank
of rhymes, rhythms, reasons and romance
to lock away in a vault that has no key.
No one will know what  this love meant
to us who crossed the great divide
for that one meeting in secrecy.

Author Notes
A recollection of  secret love.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Spacious splendour trapped in an airless cage
my mind bends in the undercurrents of rage
What was it I last heard spoken in the fragments of peace
Jason escapes the Argonauts-The Fleece?

Draped across his shoulders still dripping warmish blood
Noah and his cranky yacht-floating in the flood
Did Jesus really turn the loaves and fishes into food
Or did he mesmerise the masses to make it sound so good?

The 'whispers' that I speak of are outside human thought
Like pearls so locked in shells that divers bravely fought
Once it breaks the surface, the bargaining then begins
Vanity a thirst, unable to conquer sins

These whispers that I speak of, are quiet in a storm
They won't support the Thunder or any peaceful calm
They are just words so placed in har-mony
They may mean so little-but more than you can see!
Author Notes

Yeah. That's it. All symbolism encased in oyster shells. You have to dig deep to find out what I mean? If you do find out, write me a comment. Its okay if its a nasty one. I'm used to brickbats. Evolutionary processes have made me develop a thick skin! Thanks

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Forever. Come with an insight
burrowing deep beneath the psyche
stable and strong with rich meaning
its purpose tenfold.

Those which decay do not
hold court in my thinking.
Vanquished, they disappear. Permanently.

I keep the ones that stand out
like delicate pieces of art,
petals and lips and symbols
imbued with poetic life
strong.

I see them all the time
the ones that do not understand
what life sparks mean
to an eagle encircling
a rugged terrain
with crisp prey time  movement.

Within all the *** pourri
of mush and moonbeams
rises one that spreads wings
and flies with eagles
leaving kitchen hands
to clean tables.

I could name a hundred sacred poets
who have shared me with  imagination
and a thousand more
who have refused to ride the thermals
safely tucked in comfort zones
of silly comments.

Blaze the world.
Break you bonds
in the blood of knowing more!

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Alpha Omega
I am
in the nothingness seething
invisible matter yet to decode

Take each symbol
decode understand
what meaning there may be
in eternity

'the space between the stars
breathing like a pounding heart'
The seven symbols
sparked across continents of fire

I am
Here.

Author Notes
'the space between the stars
breathing like a pounding heart'-taken from Maya Islas-Cuban Poet. Profoundly beautiful poems on the Book Of Revelations.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Dark seed
embedded in winters clutch
rinsed clear in
the dark ritual of rain
will burst out and bloom
kissed by sun and satin warmth.
Spring will grasp the meaning of wonder
and flourish for just enough time
before summer pushes for place again.

Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Clambering and clawing
Grasping hooks, crannies
a crown of thorns
flowering purple red blood
bright fluorescent

she wore her designer nails
to the summer ball
strapless and holding up
her rounded dignity
spoken in a plunging neckline

She flowered
was deflowered
that twilight under a silver orb
whispering ocean fronts

dropped off at her starlight home
sealed that memory
with a bougainvillea kiss
of immense sensuality
and down the drive
thinking how beautiful she was
in making memories.

years later
I still remember the look
of that velvet sky
and the nails that scoured
a language on my back.

Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Crew cut kiss curl stood
above the goose steeping generals
with empty heads and olive green
jackets
dangling aluminium  war medals
for shooting ducks across the border
flying over Seoul

“Nfeuirok2fmdfiwe384194u3ujriwejm"
crew-cut kiss curl yelled.
“I told you 091874874814729”
( his swedish education was now showing!)

The train pulled out of pyongyang
with two thousand dead
that fed the famine. Only the driver
was alive clutching a loaf of bread.

stacked with cardboard cutout missiles
atop 1920s tanks and
painted with bloodred honesty
the entire nation goose stepped
to crew cuts orders.

He was as nutty as a fruitcake
but nobody laughed when he loaded
his only nuclear missile to bring down
the last remaining duck heading to Siberia.

Ha ha!

Author Notes
This is not a joke. Or is it?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Light a fire, set the stage aflame
go through loops, rings of glass
dont worry if you scrape your ***
But please dont do this at home!

Swing on the trees,
Dance with the bees
Straddle an ape, with his face agape
But please don't this at home!

Throw me that dagger
Cut out the swagger
Walk on tight rope
Unbalance the Pope
But please dont do this at home!

Show off your ****
And those dangly bits
Cover up sin, tuck it all in
But please dont do this at home!

The Birds and the Bees
Have their own trees
With ritual dances and sing song romances
But please dont do this at home!

Im sorry to say
That this is the way
To stay out of stress
And any old mess
But please dont do this at home!

Author Notes
Ha ha!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Burn. Burn. In the firelight of dawn when the sun sets aflame
those of us who awake to the clamor of day
unfinished tasks still holding up a traffic jam of events
on a scale unprecedented. Mind-blowing.

Work. Work. To break the list down into manageable machinations
Hoping that one by one the tasks will take flight
The page will be blessed with red  bloodied execution
and the ****** taken, will settle into substantial maturity.

Try. Try. New tasks germinate and populate the columns
and there is never enough time to juggle between starting
and finishing all those noble intentions. They crowd me out
pushing for space in an already jammed tight list of things to do.

I try to get on top of it but it wont surrender to my flirting,
and pampering and pushing, dressing and *******
and will not yield to my best one-liners.
Tasks come with a stern face and stare back at you
if you dare do something else instead.

The battle of boldness continues day in and day out
and I move on into sunnier climes where the beach
beckons more than another day at the desk
plodding through plots and summaries and shaping characters
line after line.

Sometimes I wonder what internal turbo charged engine
drives me to keep going-without looking back
at all those unfinished, abandoned tasks that never
helped in taking me forward.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Skirting through the hundreds of pages
with poets squishing eternal love
crushing stray moonbeams
you arose like a whirlwind, spiralling
broken dreams of life
filled the pages with laughter's echo
refreshing as  a  warm velvet wordgame.

I was enamored of this style
this big eyed beauty that dared
scale unimaginable heights
of flirtatious sentences
beckoned the eagle in its skirting.

Sometimes most wanted
hidden under layers of unknowns
yet we dared to breach the bond of anonymity
to find impeccable treasures
awaiting discovery

Blooms now
a union of immediate searching
to discover the hidden histories
underneath the façade.
We peel layer by layer
in no hurry
to reach the core of the sun.

Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

The bristles on the boulevard clicked and clopped
splattered into flat rain drops
sped to join bodies with other playmates
now rushing to the rivulet gathering
into a big bang of floodwater
which nobody watched
with physics and formulas.

The pin-striped drops that caused
a rising revolution, spears dangling
for brief seconds in  a war cry of splosh-splashes
finally raced to lower ground
to bring down the dam and city
and invade peoples front porches
and backyards
armed with mud and silt
and strawberry colored slime.
The night was camouflaged
with raindrops on the roof
all with the same intention.

Children went to sleep
as parents drank whisky and prayed
for such a thunderous night
of rhythmic staccato symphonies.
Tomorrow the rain would recede
and the fields would be fertilized
down to the roots. Or so they thought.

The flood crept up to their toes
and emptied the refrigerator
of its half-eaten sandwiches. The carpets
soaked up the spilling sauce
and ironically the windows locked
tight to keep out the rain!

As the floods subsided
the newspaper got their headlines:
ONCE IN FORTY YEARS!
it shouted for a dollar and twenty
Everyone read the papers
on how the  neighbors got caught.
Cruel *******
always poking into other peoples business.

Two days later the sun returned
to cause a heat wave.

And everyone prayed for rain!.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Spark kissed tinder
burst into flames
As men gathered in tight knots
Stitched up a street riot

Wood warmed and glowed
Militant revolution minds
The embers hummed with ashes
As city streets burned

Tyres and tubes were rolled
home brew guzzled
Fuelled the fires further
more streets burned

Water cannons hissed
As men aflame with anger
Lit fireplaces up alleyways
With burning brain torches

Taking the political fireplaces
To the palace of no return.
As soon as the government
Dissolved into a carpet bombing
puddle

The big bear
licked  its paws.

Author Notes

The Revolution continues after a lapse of two months.  Most politics start around a fireplace fuelled by alcohol and hate. Once lit the fireplace chatter
moves into the street and spread rapidly.

The  Bear anticipates a breakdown of law and order and amasses its troops along the border.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Like love
the river bends with a mind of its own
brutally, beautifully
slowly disdainfully, in no hurry to go places,
everything must succumb, no compromises,
no ifs and buts
and all else must stand aside
as the Grand Canyon mind
cuts its swathe through the hardest of emotions
and divides the great expanse
into rivulets of meaning

So it is with those  we love
we move grains of sand
out of reach and slice through the toughest
facades to express this desire
to belong to  the ocean
breaking into waves at the end
of its wandering

And yet in
these are rivers of love
people reside on the outside
looking in
at this constant connection.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 4 days ago

We've had those silly quarrels
swear words and senseless arguments
one-up-man-ship wins'
those holier than thou attitudes,
yet we moved forward in the same direction
not turning back to see the detritus
the wads of pain and bad mantras
that littered the roadway behind us.

Life was good
The problems made it better
because we worked together
for solutions.

Now you want to walk away for good?

Don't walk away.
listen instead
the silence will envelope you
in sadness after I am gone.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 days ago

No matter, the road you have taken and stars  counted
the journey still vibrates with your energetic laughter
splendid expression of hope companion.

You never  give up in defeat,  calm
you search out those moments, that will light up the rainbow
with a new shade of colour between deep blue and dark red
unraveling the ribbon of meaning.

Your dreams have magnified  in your collection of esoteric symbols
saying, seeing a hope future, power in the present and mapwork of
magic special people.What a concrete structure you stand between!
Rushmore looking back, the Rockies of the 90's and the art of
writers and poets coursing relentlessly through search engines of learning.

You must have danced on the doorstep
of  Woodstock turf of Freedom and jangled in Jimi Hendrix,
Santana Soul as you sailed through the years of magic
mushrooms and Castenada rolling hills in Ixtlan?  I cannot tell you
where your spirit was drenched and your body beautified
with eyes of opaque  violet emeralds looking through me as
a passerby on a slow train to nowhere?

I will wait at the next station to clip your ticket,
pull the whistle
stay back on this one last journey
to write the notes of the novel
that will embed this urgent understanding
in permanence.

I will wait.....

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a day ago

Just as you sauntered into the fog filled replica
of an acid night where the trumpet blared
in a shrieking cacophony of foot tapping jazz
I too will grasp the metal heads of magic
and wait for you, tickets in hand
to a journey of ecstasy in Rockland

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Lips and kiss don't rhyme
but neither does love and hate
Sorrow and pain seem elegant
and together accept their fate

Love and laughter have elegance
a waltzy unified dance
an embrace of happy togetherness
not left to anyones chance

Meetings and partings are similar
they stand in opposite twirl
It takes but a little adjustment
to keep it all in a swirl

Whatever the reason or rhyme may be
Two people are waltzing and free
One must be careful to keep to the tune
for the other to swing in with me!

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

We met again after thirty five years
in a flash recognition of names and faces
and we planned to meet that one more time
to fill a vacuum of questions and answers.

It was a joyous moment as you ran
up the ramp at Toronto Airport
to circle me with your arms and hold on
as if never to let go again. Your husband watched.

When alone I held your hand, dreamed again
remembered all those times, we looked
but never spoke-yet knowing that somehow
we knew each other more than just looking.
I was too shy then, to reach out  and touch you.

Now with two grown kids, five continents apart
a world whizzed past us and my own son standing
at my side, I just wanted to say: I loved you
then in silence but I love you now  in words

Although  we live in different destinies
we are yet connected by some strange
knowing.

When I leave now I will wave goodbye
to you and your husband
taking with me a memory
that had four decades  to grow.

No one will understand what it feels like
to leave the best part of you behind.

It is no coincidence that we met again
on Thanksgiving Day.

Author Notes

True. Absolutely true.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Where have you gone today,
my only love?
the weather weeps its tears
and wears a dull grey overcoat
waiting to bring a deluge
of floods into my  already
chill  autumn of the just vanishing
warmth of your sunshine.

I check my phone every few minutes
but you have not opened the windows
to  let the best rays of your  sunshine
silence my searching with you presence.

I will wait here
watching through the mist
of the stained glass emotion
of your absence
until you send me a signal
that we are still connected
soulmates.

Author Notes

Did I just write those lines? I'm still at the window waiting for the window cleaner to bring the snow down upon my watching!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a day ago

Crows fly straight
home, as they say
One wobbles why.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 days ago

The mystery deepens with slow steps
down the drive to that green mystery box
that holds the secrets of the universe within its grasp.
Besides the bills that need attention
invitations to church services
'fresh cuts'  from  butcher going down
products  the clothing store  discounts
power bills powering me up
water bills wetting me down
local rags headlining unknown street corners
filled with rage and graffiti
police searching for crims
(not on my street-No)
preachers discounting heaven for a tithe
car license rebirth
warrant remake
local  school financial support
what else is new?

I've recently installed another box next
standing beside green box
flip all of the above next box
for recycling.

I only keep the one
which says in small print
No ******* collections on Labour Day.

Author Notes
Do you have the same problem and solution
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 5 months ago

Mask and metal mould as one
We lock into permanence
Take from me the blood and ******* you  deserve
And I will cherish rust and polish
we both can shine!

Author Notes
An exchange of body and soul to the bitter end.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 5 months ago

The black ribbon licks
through towering mountains
and deep succulent valleys
rushing past rows and rows
of cornfields and crevices
reaching into strange places
'honey salted'- ecstasies
to lips ripe and ready
at the top end of town
welcoming.

The same road  rips around
comes or goes
whichever takes your fancy.Anyone get it

NO STOPPING

for miles and miles
even to saunter off
and picnic with passersby

strangers stare
with secretive glances
as we pass each other on the four laned
handshake
to know that we
once took this road
to somewhere.

Author Notes
Anyone get it? Would be nice to know.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Straddled by a luscious peach
encased in a robust pelvic girdle embrace
the eye dances a slow sensual waltz
step by step reasoning the gossamer finery of petals
balancing in the beauty unsure
of what it really means.

Therein lies the misstery
and kisstory
of sensual persuasions drawn delicately
from an angular birds eye view
of the black iris beauty
incandescently glowing welcome.

How did the artist get her work
drawn so accurately
but from a mirror reflection
posing herself, lights shining
and aroused at the pearl like petals
opening and closing
at every stroke
of a hard brush and bristle.

Well done my beauty.
You have defied my aesthetic thinking
into visual poetic explaining.

Well done

Author Notes

"Black Iris" - by Georgina O Keefe.


The way this delicate Iris is drawn it immediately takes me into wondering how it got its lights and shadows and rich purple-black heads with such clarity. Were there lights reflecting off walls, candlelight dinners and sparkling wines beside the painting?  As art it is outstanding, but as a perception it draws me into the lighter  side of understanding it.

Most enjoyable trying to gauge its deeper meanings.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Today it was cold and blustery and the wind chime
was busy with the same crisp notes tinkling away
unsure of which tube to twang first, but it did sound good.

My dog Petals curved up like a huge comma
rolled his soft eyes in his head. She watched me
walk around, just shifting his eyes following my movements.

She knew I was thinking serious, but not about dogs
but something more like cosmic nothingness and
our own existence in this genetic soup.

Dogs know when we get loopy. They whine and whine
telling us to STOP IT and go vacuum the floors instead.
We usually don't understand pet philosophy. Some do though.

After writing a whole new chapter of my new book
It was time to let the grey matter rewind back into reality
and just doodle around thinking silly thoughts.

Several poems in todays reading were truly uplifting:
Imprint ( by Catniss), for one, was superbly crafted
in symbolic language that soared way above the ordinary.

I wrote drafts for several poems but crunched up the paperwork
and aimed for the paper bin- four misses, one in!
Next I read some poems by Mary Szybist:Incarnadine
and loved the exactness of the wording.

Finally, I sat down to write this poem and discovered
it wasn't turning out the way I wanted it to read
and said: Heck! thats the best I can do today!

I looked at Petals, she wagged her tail just this much
and so after that approval I decided to publish it.
Dogs understand us better than wind chimes?

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

The green willow grasses
splendid symmetries
lurks the unknown number
spatial dimensions of intelligence
bonds of chemical attraction
where we met at the cross-roads of age.

Welcome to my world
where your eyes can feast or falter
at the impenetrable gaze of knowing
when we collide in coalition
of  strange dialogues.

I ask you a simple question
How come you see far beyond
the intricacies of words
and into the reaches of my thoughts
as I circle around your sun of loveliness
like a planet in motion in this pristine universe
where you rest-calm and controlled.

Dispel all fear of who we are
and step forward into that velvet night
bring your starlight with you.
We will share the dream forever
in the visuals in what we can write.

Author Notes
Notes to a special friend.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Even as the blabbering ivory fingers
releases the rhythmic pulses of passion
stressing soulful melodies
of bygone one night stands
my pulse still reaches for that one song
that scatters my imagination into the void
of waiting for your electric touch.

I too will wait for you in Rockland.

Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

The crisp and crafted sounds of the singers rasp
and dazzle with its spiralling tremolos and subtle
sensual silences will bind us in a bond where
the music will fuse its way into our own
symphony and we will walk away from the crowded
bar into a quiet corner of our lives
taking Rockland into our visual and verbal gallery.

Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Spring
There is synchrony in all things
Nature nurtures
Balances beauty to the beholder
Focus as you follow the footsteps of spring
Its dew, its rain, its meaning
And drops nestle against the joyous tears
Of leaves and lilies, sparkling bright
As the rains recede and flowers burst in bloom
Abundance everywhere
Spend a moment in this enchanting dream
You are a guest to eternity
Replenish yourself

As

Summer brings with it, oven heat
To bake and burn the beauty
Into bronzed ecstasy
As you saunter in the gardens
Shaded by giant trees that shield you
From wilting too
Yet how do these flowers never fade until time
Takes it toll and seeds nestled within petals
Are ripe and ready for the bees and birds,
And the grass stays green for the beast
To carry on in the living and giving

Soon

Autumn

Will take its share of painters colours
And dance and song drum the revelry
Of warm amber nights
And sunkissed fruit and flower
Still standing in the shadow of sun
Awaiting winter
With its icy fingers and crystal voices.
The hunter emerges from the wine clad wonder
Of rolling seasons
To stock and taste the fruit and berry
For winters wanting.  Life works differently.
Moods change to subtle melody
And the wanting of inner warmth
As the air descends into the flute
Of feathery notes
To tingle with winters chill

Then

Winter walks in gently
Unhurried and slow
First the farm yard bristles and burrows in
The fences reach for paddings of snow and icicle
And trees decorate themselves in costumes of white
Wearing narrow scarves of draping crystal
Bejewelled in the dance of snow and ice
And staying outside on the paddocks watching
Smoke spirals from long chimneys
Yellow windows of lights
Casting delicate traces on the courtyard
Of memories
And hot vapoury soups of broth and brine
As winter digs in deep
straddles the countryside
With its chill conversation
The silence stays for awhile

There stirs
A seed clutching its heart deep in its chest
Beneath the snow but sending its tentacles
Up through the warming ground
Soaked in nutritional brew
And reaching for the sun again
As Spring opens the blanket of snow
And steps aside for the bud to bloom again.

Natures music sounds again
Resplendent in its giving.
Author Notes

Vivaldi's music is deeply absorbing. The Four Seasons in particular move in a seamless way, drawing sustenance from the entire composition in a gentle way without changing tone and texture abruptly. The music keeps you engaged right throughout in a timeless way.
This poem tries to re-engineer how seamless the seasons are and how cyclical the entire composition is. Nature has a much qualified Maestro conducting this orchestra!
Life itself takes a similar journey and the seasons have enormous impact on how we perceive it.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Behind the wide-eyed chiselled face
The wings I couldn't see
The words she spoke were wisdom
Devoid of vanity

I liked the way she laughed and wondered
At every nuance  made
The way she studied every sentence
My senses full pervade

I looked out for her notes
And happy morning quotes
Wondering if her day was blest
Her nights were  satin prest?

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

We don’t know whether we are connected
to heaven or hell
yet we can move effortlessly
between these two domains
taking with us those bits and pieces
that can re-create passions in the vault
of our memories. All we need to do is put
the jagged pieces alongside the disputed ones
and ***** over the past mistakes
with fresh earth, the green grass of forgiveness.

And even before we know it
we will have climbed the stairway
to heaven where waits long passionate memories
tactfully chained to the other end
spiralling to hell.

Its really upto us
to race upwards
or slide down the stairwell
in this wonderful balancing act.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

The separation was no more than continents of Circe
Apollo and Atlantis hidden under veils
of age and vintage, years of waiting for the wine
to mellow and hum in vineyard romances of lustre
creeping to the sunshine of our fulfillment.

I waited patiently for you to come
over the twilight horizon of
your young  wide-eyed wonder
and my sunset  soaked stories
told under the stars of cosmic connections
so finely threaded in that loom
where angels weaved the fabric
for our future.

Today you stand here
still questioning how this happened.
I don't have the pages torn out
from that mystical book
which drew me and you to  a point
where we locked our minds and bodies
in a final embrace
wrapped around in that crystal ball
through which we heard each others
calling.

You are, my only true Love!
you bring the filaments that glow
in the light of our knowing
that this will never end.

Author Notes

A love story entangled with the stars!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 23 hours ago

Why was it that I searched for symbols in  every line
looking deeper than the surface for fragments of you
scattered diamond like in the dust of words?

Why was it so easy to understand the platforms you stood on
and stayed calm and quiet as I climbed the stairways
to your heartbeat seeking its warmth?

What was it in the artworks that you painted that I could see
splendid universes of meaning, jiving through the brush strokes
of knowing and colours of contemplations
that soared above the ordinary?

What was it in the waiting for your letters and calls
and the racing adrenaline of knowing it was you
calling out to me, in an equally excited tone
about a summers sun, a long bus ride, a beautiful
moment in the night sky and a feeling of togetherness
that engulfed us in a vortex of unstoppable energies
as we circled around in the sacred
awaiting a new resurrection?

Why are my questions one verse long
and your answers so short?

We must be soulmates
baked together in the same fiery furnace
that burns within us at such a searing
flame of understanding.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Ok-God, I've landed here 3 suitcases
full of charred memories
nights in the ***** house, late night revelries,
poems soaked in syrup, roses that never got delivered
woman that kicked my
donkey to thy kingdom come
gfs that became ex-gfs over the weekend
all those naughty books and movies stacked high
and an old pen that wrote English Literature
full of lies.

I followed your words
thankfully only the 75, they said, you said.
Once I knew the other millions were written by mean men
in beards and with two mistresses each
out the window the books went
and real life in the real world of real
people began. Oh, its been fun!

Imagine Sir,
just before that last tequila
squirming at the bottom of the bottle
I was dancing with this bombshell
and it exploded in my face:
Go to hell! she hissed, fangs out and wobbling
So here I am master with the only baggage I have
and one slim green gideons bible
never, never, ever opened.

Nobody, nobody ever told me, sir
you yourself had
4 suitcases of the same stuff.

'Welcome home, son, take the back row please
there are others with larger suitcases upfront.
Don't ever go back and tell 'em
heaven is made of these people.
Enjoy your stay!'

Author Notes

Have just been to the devils workshop!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a day ago

I once lived in a paper jungle
conquered by post-it notes
and formulas for living
that didn't make sense.

Soon the paper tigers
came out of hiding
with memos and memorandums
growling fiercely at my recalcitrant
behaviour, until I quit and carried
my dreams into the wide open spaces
where predators were few and far between
with less incisors to cut you
into shreds of broken being.

I look back sadly
at those who did not take the escape routes
but stayed instead
locked in these cages of comfort
of malnourishment
living lives of quiet defeat.

The jungle is overgrown now.

Author Notes

Recalling some old memories.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 11 days ago

I could have stapled your heart
on the right hand corner of   this page
written you abundant verses
or smoldered in absolute rage

Instead I wrote you a poem
recalling those abstract days
when we were young and foolish
and unsure of  so many ways

Today I sit here and  wonder
the things I sorely missed
the page fills rapidly yonder
from first time  we ever kissed.

Those dreams will never repeat
Those days  will never return
Together we shared and we parted
Our memories left out to burn

Just today I picked up a letter
Written in delicate hand
Of things we promised and said
Some silly, but mostly so grand.

I know that castles are built
From  simple innocent  fare
Time stamped and stored in a vault
Only you and I ever share.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 12 days ago

Spell binding tick tock
words in animation slowed down to drip
drop- candy coloured emotion
hello is it you?
yes it is
your accent is strange! ha ha!

Please put the phone against
your heart
I want to hear the universe of your love
engulf me in its embrace

ok ok. im driving
let me pull up
here you go
kaboom kaboom kaboom........
(petals falling into place
the mind dances a dream)

can you hear it?
can you hear it?

yes I can
it beats the same as mine

Are you crazy
man of magic?
Wow!

love you to bits and bits and bits.....

Author Notes

This little anecdote cannot be explained any other way. Magical moments like this happen ever so often. We just have to be there to know it and relish it. I could write an entire novel based on this one split second moment. Its hard to describe, yet it happened this way!

I guess, poets are constantly sifting chaff from the grain.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 18 days ago

The wind whistles past the songs delicate trumpet haze
sizzling between words of wonder, awed at love
and its any splendored languages, cruise control
step down hard, the pulse races, I reach for your hand.

Oh my God, your hair is free and floating in the liquid light
of this great summer day
Are your eyes always blue? They sparkle deeper today.

Your hand is warm and griping tight. Message?
Yes. I slow down, pull over, park.
Hands around you I pull you closer to the kiss
Hmmmmm. Cannot let you go now!

What is it in the way you look dreamy
snuggle  in this sequence?
There must be a much deeper connection
with our lives entangled in some distant past?
That's the mystery that baffles us!

We kiss again and drive into a future
of unknown territories.

Stay with me Love.

The trumpet tones down into dulcet soul.

What are you thinking?

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 20 days ago

Both seamless in their searching
the inside and outside
my mind is bitter and bold
should I or should I not?
perpetually.

Seamless it only seems
Vegan or Bogan
this decision rages
milk or cocktails tonight
Is she shapely and ****
or sad and drooping
the curtain of watching shuts
abruptly
the mind sizzles with answers
nobody watches

Should I go now or stay
should I write now or tomorrow
should I enter or not? what

Should I call or not
Chocolates or frocklettes
dinner or dancing
is he/she -man or woman?
whats this?
why am I always in indecision
at war within myself.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 22 days ago

Miss Shaped
With that hourglass  figure
shifting sand from one orb to the other
She knew her time
was ripe.
Walking into the alleyways of wilderness swamps
where lurked men of all contortions of mind and body
She met her match
in mister muscle.

Not a nerve twitched in her entire
body when he flexed his biceps
and wooed her with no words.

The years of steroids had tied his tongue
into strips of knots
and crosses unable to stop
pumping iron.

Miss Shaped loved this muscular
feast of a man.

The years rolled by
for misshaped

mr muscle had no iron in his heart
only triceps biceps
he left when too many wildebeest
chased his moll.
Author Notes

Just a crafty play on words with several different meanings. The poem will dull you into deception. Say what you will to break it apart.

It took time to assemble

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 24 days ago

It was early days when I first started writing
with countless mistakes and moments of haste-
afraid even to disclose why I did that.

An accidental discovery by Dad
and the grin on his scholarly face
set me free  from this ******* of words.

Soon the brown paper bags
and napkins became
castles of creativity
and my nights became ticketless travels
to faraway places
where roads  connected  no communities
or pilgrims of patience.

At twenty I was sixty
and now at the far end I'm twenty again
-everything in reverse.

The poetic soup that simmered in my head
is only now being served in paper cups
with a sprinkling of  salt and pepper reality.

This was a fun journey all along.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 6 days ago