The deepest understanding  between lovers
stands majestically above the deepest abyss
as if, unbreakable and pure in its unreachable,
unbreakable bond.

Whatever melts this emotion together
was forged in a hotter furnace than ever found
that only two people can understand.

Rising above the highest tide
soaring above tornadoes and typhoons
and cruising along points of paradise
available only to the two of them.

How serene it feels to know
that your own reflection mirrors
in the other person and their every nuance
is written into your own poems
adding the rhyme and rhythm
for your own journey together.

Author Notes
Feel like this at times?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

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

Even if the season of lust blankets loneliness in a tight wrap
smothering those fragile emotions in the winter months
of a lifetime of cyclical wants and needs
waiting for the summer to send its life giving mantras
deep into the ****** soil of waiting,
the hibiscus waits ready to grasp the first finger of sun drenching
warmth to burst out into beauty
above ground and spread its dense green leaves
with crimson flower and trumpet shape
into the minds eye of acceptance.

Soon the valley changes hue as altogether
the trees spring to life shedding their softness
into every nook and corner, crabbing into crannies
and leaping wings of delight into welcome air.

The hibiscus will soon take ownership
of the entire valley bringing to the forefront
our own wanderlust.

Author Notes
Changeover between summer and sunshine.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

musical walls of throbbing
meaning
makeshift footsteps
escaping tendons
lashing tongues
notes of splendour
****** in my trombone-chills

whats the wizardry
in those piano fingers
belting blues
rainbow ecstasies
oozing ****** gyrations
three minute *******
splitting night into slivers
for tomorrows takings

lets dance
jam together
touch each others souls
with promise.

© 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

impeccable artwork
splayed red anger
diffused dangerously
imminent explosion

take down your temper
ice it in silence
spread change
draw conclusions
inherent haste

find tranquility
in people places
abstract soliloquy
ethereal furnace

split skin  burnt moments
wanderer waking
in a strange place

stars foretell
insipid futures
we are destined
for another ice age?

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11770244-zodiac-misfired.....-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.DX0­ajG0s.dpuf

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

The Creator looked at the elephant and said:
I made you big so you could be gentle
To the mouse he said: I made you small
so you could walk tall
But over millions of years you two could exchange
places and one become the other.

I know I shoved the lot of you in an Ark
Because Noah was being a pesk asking for rain
when his washing machine ran dry
So I had to fill the oceans to stop that old man
from complaining all the time. Besides I needed the bark
from the trees of the Ark to make me  a small tug boat
to carry some DNA samples of my own, in case,
the lion ate the cow, the tiger chewed on the cat
and the fox tricked the rest with his cunning ways
You see, my friends, there was no grass, or snakes
or bird cages, or trees for the monkeys to swing on.

I thought of many things before I gave the building plans
to Noah and his sons. Only one was a builder the rest
were bums, who never held a hammer or learned how to
tie two bits of trees together, leave alone building
an ark to hold the worlds whole creation.Thankfully
there were no real estate agents pushing the price up
or bankers charging interest. The mafia thought of charging
an entrance fee for each pair, but before they could do that the rains came pelting down and the tickets got washed away in the storm.

So you see the Ark was a joint venture between
The Americans and Chinese and Indians
because they were willing to multiply quicker
than the rest once Mt Sinai rose up to meet the
oak leviathan from underneath.

And so my dear elephants and mouse
and fox and snake and bird and
lion and tiger. Noah and his wonderful Ark
was a script written well ahead so that Russell Crowe could get
a part playing Noah in a computer generated extravaganza
where only the actors and actresses who could afford
to pay a price to be in it - were involved.

The rest of mankind be ******.

Author Notes

Quirky.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

I will stand in the shadow of the sun which burns a scar
on the back of people who like
to shift in the shadows of the night
and  blame everybody for giving them a homeland
for their excuses.

I will stand where the teargas
melts my eyes and the batons write their scars
on my coloured skin
because I asked for bread.

I will stand in the light and hum
my soulful music that echoes off
the walls of pop charts and make
everybody dance because they do not
understand my words.

I will stand in the pools of streetlights
and sell my body, my baby, my beauty-
because nobody cared
to ask  me a human question on want.

I will stand before God
and question why he taught me
the language of  worship
amd wisdom to know the difference
between skin and colour  and asking
and read the book he has to offer
that says the truth in so many pages.

I will stand alone.
I will stand alone.

Author Notes
?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

the clutter of words taking wing
beneath the wide arms  of dense green oak.

the deciphering symbols now begin
as  parts of the mystery fall into place

one by one,  each piece reflects in a mirror
so similar to what I held up to catch the sky
and reason, fragments that collided in mystical shape
and formed into spirals seeking fresh answers

the dreams that haunted our togetherness for so long
and I languished in every stroke  of your poetic pen

now falls the silver cross and the lining in these clouds
that have twisted and turned me inside out

yet I've built a crucible of hope from endless hyperstrings
and pieces of magnificent beauty that I first saw

in your writing and significantly  stayed magnetised
by the unfolding of your life into my own searching.

I will stand here forever, watching, even as the sun dances
into  dark of night and my feelings grow a new pathway.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11580728-DreamCatcher...-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.3aDaqvOh­.dpuf

The sound was switched off
to my  imagination
but you sauntered in that cascade silk of light
with sure steps,touching this,
tousling your hair, touching that
resplendent. Seductive in the setting.

You knew I was watching the sun dance
through the shadows
causing your smile
and mischief to glow brighter.

It was when you leaned over the balcony
my pulse raced with fear
and my heart stopped racing anymore.

Its only when you switched the sound back on
did I realise
your heart was also beating
between 'the agony and the ecstasy'
of the distance between us.

I take a  step forward.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 3 days ago

The setting sun has a way
of creeping up on you
with cherry red coloured dreams
nights as naughty as little gnomes
flitting about in escapades
of soft silk lusts.

Once the night embraces you
with its cloak of stars
velvet summer laziness
and tomorrows never there

its time to take the fullness of today
into the emptiness of tomorrow
and slip into that twilight zone
where all the magic materializes
on why we love these special spring days.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

In the darkness that dispels all hope
we fumble with meaningless insight.
What we said does not relate to what we want
and yet we embrace  boundaries to punish ourselves
with unnecessary hells. Languishing in the thought
that silence will answer these loud questions.

We love because we are created to love
unconditionally.We hate because we don't understand
what vast oceans of meaning lie in love.
Silence may answer  the ascetics
monastic and contemplatives but
rarely an equation for relationships.

When its grey it rains tears of knowing
where we belong and to whom we belong
in the worlds whole people. Love binds us all
in this understanding fabric of contemplation.

Yet in the darkness we find solitude
and hope in the isolation of reason.
The silence between the drumbeats
announces the rhythm of the song.

We walk in silence
yet celebrate without it.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 19 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11566249-Grey-Skies-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.8dgLQUr8.dpuf

the church bells peeled a rhythmic ringing
tinnitus
sending us listeners racing back
into a guilty crime like daze.
the mass begins in twenty painful moments

better rush in the rustle of sunday wear
bible bolstered underarm
front pew glances at the priest
who had a back view glare at late comers.

Mama said the sins of your fathers
will visit if you
miss a mass
canned hellfire will get you
and st peter will tick mark your presence
after communion.

I listened

when I stopped
God became god
and the church bells peeled
the same way

only the new pizzas came
with canned chilli peppers!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

Banked up against a terraced mountainside
photogenic pristine rows
of blasting green
rows of manicured waterways
with two buffaloes treading ballet-like
between squelching mud and green shoots
the paddy fields stayed buoyant
all season through.

Come harvesting time
and thrashing the sunburied ripe
tendrils of husk and seed
along threshing traffic wheels
the husk sought divorce from
the long tongued long grained
wives -and parted ways.

Soon the pudding spent its silky smooth sexiness
on a plate of punchy aromatic costumes
that invaded the senses and palate
in sensual smoothness. Oh my!

Ricebowl pudding
of the worlds staple.

Author Notes
Gluttony beckons just now!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

In the bowl where beauty lies
enriching its in its glow
remains an enigma that drives
deep shadows to the surface

we don't see everything we want
to see or show , analyse, own or disown
we may fail to seek all the answers
a torrid past, a broken heart
a blistered and bruised ego
something fragile, festering fuming underneath
the facade , creating a silhouette skin,
cosmetic exterior, mannequin interior
a patchwork quilt of emotions
restless, unready, growing.

we take what we see
in complete trust, faith beatified
drawn into the magnetic depths
seeking the pole star
sailing unkempt oceans
raging against the silhouette
that clearly conquered
the magnificence of the moment.

Love has no shadows
just a glowing light.

Author Notes

The journey to love.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

we were made for love
searching in the littlest corners for every message
seeking solace even in the silence
sighing when the words spill out on viber
or whatsapp, sweet words that mean so much
and yet we have oceans roaring between us
closing the distances, and mountain ranges
and majestic trees and deep green valleys
and cobalt skies and turquoise silks
of language that spell complex meaning
and little, little things that mean heartbeats
like monarch butterflies gracing to the winds caress
and a hundred thousand songs that each time we listen to
means new passion.

thats what love is
and we were made for it
the may december meeting
that never seems to fade away
and how i treasure those few minutes
in a day which lights up the lamp of  our knowing.

we were made for love
there is no other explanation
on why this works so well.

if we ever found different journeys
imagine what a wasteland it would create
for either of us.

we were made for love......

Author Notes

its true.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 9 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11581979-we-were-made-for-love...-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.PTzQwhm­t.dpuf

We did not ask for agreements or signatures
even a due diligence, check out each others
entrails, internet outcomes, criminal records
social security numbers
marriage licenses, children's ages, moles
on our mountains of doubt
even a fingerprint on a bare breast
phone numbers, mates and mistresses
drinking and smoking habits
salad preferences, vegan, bogan or  whatever.

We did, however, listen to that heartbeat
the words we spoke, the pictures we drew
finished, the colours that we painted
between rainbows
and the children we dreamed
who would look like you and me
if ever born
and how smart they would be
and as naughty as those little titters
of laughter, that cleared every checkbox.
on this shopping list for a mate!

We knew that this partnership existed
there was nothing we could do
to unbreak this bond that grew
from a tiny little seed
into this one big giant momentum
of togetherness.

That's a worthwhile partnership
several levels above commercial simplicity.

Author Notes

The romance continues.......
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month 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

Lining up batteries of anti-aircraft anti-everything
all anti- something this and that
distribution centre for psychological pressure
backed by radio, TV presidents staring straight
newspapers, journals and dialogues around
flash round tables on the whys how’s and who’s
sneaky microphone hidden in flower pots,
long distance listening devices. Telephones tapped
wives tapped, senior diplomats and doormats tapped
wives tapped on shoulders
whispered to: watch out for Joe blogs he has a roving eye.
see me tonight, after dinner.

The russians have warship A into Zone B
the chinese have shifted anti-missile up
the mountains near tibet, near nepal
near taiwan, near  the hormuz straits
into africa, zimbabwe, fiji, and northern china
who cares. Tomorrow they will shift out again.
the pressure is building in the ukraine, turkey is on fire
The north koreans have no power
as seen from satelllites
The president has run of tomato sauce so he has asked
for a shipload from us of a
ship it with some spies dressed as tomatoes

god its killing me
these acupuncture points
three more needles please!

Author Notes
Relentless. ( an wacky I s'pose). Think about it all.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

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

The embers blushed before the caressing eyes
of my new lover reaching out to snuggle against
the flickering light of welcoming warmth
naked and close
the room smelt of subtle wood chips and ash
roasted coffee beans and aftershave lotion
sexuality.

She was radiant in her skin tone
so exposed to accentuated curves
carving the fireside flame
into a furnace of wantonness. Uninhibited.

The snow outside cocooned the cabin
into a nest of togetherness.

I found here basking on a bar stool
eyes cast deep in thought on a gin and tonic
contemplation of dejection.

" He found another woman"
" Oh yeah, I just found my own woman!"
We giggled into the glass.
"Take me home to the mountains
of your mind and share with me your
meteoric rise to a metaphoric magical kingdom
where poets live and dream!'
" I have a furnace waiting for you"
" Lets go !"
Very short introduction to ecstasy.

Two days later
I dropped her off mid-city
near a replica of the Statue of Liberty
in a shopping window full of
picture postcards.

I had enough stored in the memory bank
to write a whole new dash of fireplace poems.

Two people lurk in everyone
the star and the scar
born from building high citadels of power
and cascading into smithereens
when the switch is tripped.
Maybe the voltage ran low
or the circuit breaker was poorly constructed?
I dont know.

I operate on a three phase armour
of emotional stabilisers
that spark and twitch when overheated
with too much energy. But I return
with black faced integrity
collars up and smoking
to fight on another electrifying moment.

'Thats life' I hear
the rollercoaster ride
built into the system
going around in circles
always facing the sunrise
and sunset. We scream and tumble
into the guts of the incline
the switch and roll of events
swerving around corners
holding on ******* knuckled
until it finishes its rumble
and we walk out wobbly and vomity
until the better side takes over.
The darker side recedes
into an unknown pocket.

Author Notes

Thanks to Cinderley13 who wrote about Catfish and Lydia and Lyda and made me wonder what the hell was being alluded to? It now makes a bit more sense.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

Pharmacist with the funny face
I’m not sure how the lines were etched
and set in place across a severe brow
like storms had raged and winters chill
had set the frozen expression
into an acid dipped contour.

Each time I went with a prescription
to collect remedies for a cough and cold
a limp here
a sore there
some racing bp charts
an erring heart muscle.
His face remained stoic.

His face alone would frighten me
as pale as death he looked at me
over the rimmed glasses
and just that one second longer
than necessary.

My guilt soared. I felt like an addict
come into store to fetch
a high kick of something
suspicion hidden under the GPs scrawl.

I dared to look back
flushing red at his store.
It became a battle of the blush.

Twice I won
And never went back for a whole six months
Is he the guy that protects our streets
from the throaty lozenge
that may contain crack *******
hidden in its entrails? I dont know
but I always felt he had a secret sleeve
from where he pulled out those potions!

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

Around a big glass table reflecting chandeliers
suits, oxford knotted ties, long tongues gathered
to move an anti-aircraft division across the western border
straddling two different opinions.

at dusk under the silk of darkness
the satellites zoomed in on the convoy
of green dressed camouflaged trucks,
Slinking down the back roads
under infra-red eyes six hundred kms
across the mountains
to take up new positions.

At dawn the satellites spoke to each other
and defied opinions made at the round table.
The longest tongue now hanging out
in sheer delight at operation well done, like steak!

Without discussion the satellites ordered the trucks
back to where they came from!

When the war began the anti-aircraft guns
were ready and waiting for the enemy
in the wrong location.

A flock of geese migrating from Canada to Kazakhstan
were met with missiles attracted by the metal tags
researchers had strapped around their ankles.

As the feathers settled into the waiting valley
two satellites in outer space
laughed at each others games
And switched off.

numbers and cost crunching figures
she stood quietly calculating shelf spaces
calorie content
fat overdrive, taste sensation
and slowly but surely automatic fingers
ticked off the cents and savings
and chocolate biscuit treats.

pushing her trolley to checkout
she knew well
where indulgence took over sacrifice
where synthetic fizz was tastier
than real fruit syrup
and how supermarket shelves
connived with the devil.

home again
she balanced the books well
served plentiful dinners
kept the *** boiling
kicked *** out of roast lamb leftovers
yet chalked up a secret piggy bank
empire in a biscuit tin under the couch.

Author Notes

ordinary people? think again.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

All he could see were numbers
that reached out and grabbed taxes
and takes, invoices and expenditures.
He could not see explanations of delight
that little mistake I made with fringe benefits,
those royalties that never came.
In the end his only concern was to pay the taxes
to build the roads, skyways and airports
where he would travel and stay.

I wondered how he slept at night
cocooned in numbers
just 1-9 with a hefty zero
that made the difference between rich and poor

I wondered how he could survive on numbers
no cucumbers, sunshine salads, beach beauties,
high waves of reckless living, low tides of penniless nights
and endless days of counting little many times over.

He said to me once: Save every cent,
fortify yourself against depression and
natural disasters, don't spend lavishly
there's a price to pay
cut up your credit card. Live austerely.

Oh yeah?. That same day I got an extra CC,
a nice Merc, some good looking sunglasses
(to shield my eyes from the accountants glare)
and a cruise to the Mediterranean
where the blue waters beckoned.

The accountant visited the GP
twice more than me that year.
I'm still working the fat off at the gym.
( I suspect petty poets do the same thing all the time?)
Author Notes

Anyone know this guy?

Check this Novel out!

The Chrysanthemum Trilogy: Transition
Marshall E Gass
ISBN 9781493137848

I named her after nature
she came wobbling to me
from behind a flower vase
petals clinging to her soft fur.

No other name would have suited
this little bouncy pet
better than 'petals'

she just wanted that name
all for herself.
an extra biscuit for you today.

Author Notes

My Labrador  named herself.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 12 days ago

behind the glass door things happen
to stay behind the glass door
until things have happened.

don't ever stick your hand
into the magic happening
or else a bubbly bone will remain.

dont even try putting a golf ball
in to cook
or an egg
because only egg heads do that.

behind the glass door
water droplets use vibrators
and get superhot
you are not supposed to watch
but you do anyway.

don't get zapped
when you are not looking.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 8 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11591413-microwave-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.0iCzdTmh.dpuf

ten men fishing
on auckland wharf
all with thin fibreglass rods
just that exact distance
(made in china)
all watching each others baits
bobbing in the silver sheen
no one watching his own sinker
bobbing

one twitches down the line
a reel swishes
reeling in
nine men watching intently now

20 cm struggling catch
not much, so back it goes.
a bronze whaler
slinking slowly
under twenty pairs of dangling feet
decides
the distance was too much
to crunch a man for snack

quietly slinks
to the opposite shore
where she senses
feet splashing on a shallow beach.

primitive.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 3 months ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11438556-the-fishermen-on-the-wharf-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.HWKsl­wYM.dpuf

just as delicate as piano keys making music
the black plastic tickles
the whites embossed
something lit up like Christmas trees
joyous in their duties

the keyboard strokes dictate
what our fingers cannot do
we are trapped in this entourage
sending, receiving, erasing data
flows like -like little lava streams
racing faster with two fingered urgency

such novel
ideas written in word-processed perfection
poems of technological wonders
endless streams
collecting into rivers of words
until at least the verbal sea
explodes  reason to this keyboard
of  entries alpha-numeric
patient progress.
Who is watching us as we work?

Author Notes

simple object-technological gateway.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

You were made in March when the groundhogs sensed shadows
and the wine chilled itself in its glassy embrace
I was on whisky, watching late nights, and oh
The wires crossed and we did too near the fireplace

Winter shut the windows with its icy blast
and my rhythm quickened at Scene 4
where the door opened and the lady emerged
in a birthday suit and settled on the floor.

The cat scan showed your wiggly bits in May
and Momma smiled  about the vortex of the man I made
growing plump and rich in a warmer climate inside
For nine long months the case of scotch disappeared

as you grew stronger and bulged out beautifully.
You were born in December when the  lights went on
and Momma cuddled you chillfully!
In Jan you went to Nan. My impulses returned.

Feb came around rather quickly. A year gone
and a son born unblamed of the winter chill
or lusting whisky and late nights surging
outside/ inside wherever. I didn't name you
Jack Frost Junior for nothing.
There's a story behind every name, son!

Author Notes
Ha ha Ha.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

The weight of the wisdom we seek eludes
us as we stagger into dark dens of knowledge
suffused and selected, stored in gigantic libraries
of the mind by those
who know
yet wont divulge the details to those
who wait
arms outstretched
for the yearning.

In between lie wannabes
who seek the sun of comments
to glorify themselves as a birth right
unwilling to accept the acid pen
or pain of knowing how falsehoods
lie like wounds exposed to inspection.

Writing poetry in plain language is better
than compromised with complexity.
Just the words and visuals singing on the same note
should suffice to stir the minds magic
to ecstasy.

The crush of wisdom dispels us from climbing
over the boundaries of decency
to sizzle a comment with depressing ease.
You can hear the ego deflate and flatten
akin to a robust balloon descending
to earth like a flightless fancy
with no wingpower.

Not every poem straddles and sparks
in sheer finery
Lots and lots of them refuse to take off
and surrender to the minds star burst
of meaning.

In a days reading maybe
of a hundred, just one line would light up
a dark sky like a comet racing across the page
leaving behind its fairy dust
for us to ponder upon. One diamond
in the dust of lifeless energies
is worth mining for!

sushi?
no
combination fried rice?
no
nasi goreng?
no
casserole?
no
shepherds pie?
no
are we getting closer?
maybe
tacos? that must be it?
no
yep. i think i know
shrimps, hot dogs and buffalo wings?
nope. too far away
curry?
closer!
jalapenos, habaneros, chilli?
yep. as hot
but tastes and temperaments
from all mixed.

food channel addict, chef?
nope.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11608284-all-mixed-up-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.Syfk2KZn.dp­uf

Snaking through the cities roads into highways
that connect people from all suburbs
to a central spinal cord of lanes that
take you up and away from slum to slum.

The upmarket stores are full of bright lights
and little else that is elegant
its a cosmetic upbringing, mirage that
rises over the city's mist and clogs up the minds
magic as it swerves and rustles up the
the energies of other super cities
where commerce and hard labour have
equally sculpted a life of crime and distance.

Watch out for the airport which swings
in between the mountain of rubble
and municipal mania and parthenium ****
what finds every possible nook and cranny
to manifest itself. The politicians mumble and jumble
their way through manifestos and gimmicks
that endorse themselves as saviours of greed.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

The streets were paved with hawkers
Flamboyant sunshades
two dollar sunglasses discounted from
twenty thousand pesos.

I couldn’t walk past the conversation of skytowers
Underwear hanging precariously
Off high ledges where it was hard to read
The designer labels

A man with a small monkey
Was reading fortunes
With an ape like face
He certainly saw the future!

A delicious woman with pushed up
***** beckoned me away from boredom
I walked into a valley of sinister looks
For looking away.

At night the sky shed its diamonds
On the sidewalks of ecstasy
And the digital signage
torched the front of buildings
With blue and red flames bursting
Invitations to your wallet

I carried a six pack Lion
Home to watch the night sky
Dance till dawn with necklaces
Of neon.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 7 days ago

I love apples
round and ready
especially Red Delicious
with a crunchy coziness
that surpasses all other
taste and textures.

I don't understand
how they can keep them
in a cool store for long periods
especially when they are so hot
to handle.

I always loved apples
waxed and round
red pointed and pretty

of course you know the old saying
an apple a day keeps the doctor away
now imagine two apples a day!

Apples for me anyway.
Author Notes

OK. Don't throw stones anymore, throw apples!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

I could see plainly, that it was a gold embossed invitation
to taste the struggle to escape from the *******
of marriage and grown up kids
and years in a sanctuary of vows controlled
by possessiveness and pain.

Yes, I wanted to kiss you too
but that would mean I would have to slip
out of this armour of similar façades
and run through all the same vows
that turned pages in my throbbing head:
infidelity this, infidelity that
and: remember we have partners!

Yet I was first to reach across  these fragile
explanations and swing my arms
around your neck to draw your closer
to my pounding heart and pulse. The desire
broke every rule and shattered the
6th commandment into fragments of memory.

Just this once our eyes closed and lips locked
and we quietly left all our attachments and excuses
at the doorstep of destiny
and wondered what kind of chemistry
breaks us free from  all the things
we swore should not happen
but did happen. Next ?

Author Notes

No further explanations.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 3 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11595922-Lipstick-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.jdXzuyFs.dpuf

The machine can only tell the truth
spit receipts( sometimes out on the street)
calculate how much your worth
and make you blush
if your bank account is below expectations.

Each time I stand before the Master
punching secret numbers
searching my memory bank for the last figures
I left behind
I am apprehensive and afraid
the ATM may punch back at me.

There is a long Q at the back of me
and the people that know their value
often shuffle the most.
Its us poor guys that must endure the pain
of exposure.

One of these days I going to tell
the teller in the ATM that my value
is more than just dollars and sense!
Thank you. I'm out of the q now with
twenty bucks. Phew!
Author Notes

These days I am writing poems of ordinary things. Bus Tickets, ATMs, Cellphones, Railway Tracks, Mr and Mrs Ordinary and all things that keep us attached to life and living. There's more around us than what we care to notice.

As a past time, I sit on a street bench and watch people as they go about their daily lives. The odd one deserves a poem. Thank you.

My last series covered Revolutions and Power. This series will cover Ordinary.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

power rises in the production
deep in intangible factories
churning digestive juices into valuable
spittle
extracted through death in a warm bowl
battling with tweezers and collected
in spools to make silken wonders

for this you lived on leaves
gorged on mulberry
to vanish in a pillowcase
silkscarf, maybe a tie
poor thing whoever discovered
your intestinal value

give up your secrets
gut wrenching rainbows of delight.
man knows how to breed you for himself
somehow.

Author Notes

silk production happens this way.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 5 days ago

a stray row of marigolds
defied autumns call
straggled along a fence
leading to a gate
where a burlesque woman
spoke gently to a cow.

the brazen marigold patch
clung cleverly to the winds shadow
and stayed put
until sons in seeds matured
and laughing at the woman
fenced in by the cow

split its pods
and withered as winter clutched
the surrounding grass verge
and neatly stapled fence
posts at internals
as sturdy as the seasons

the seeds burrowed deep
and waited for spring to pull
the tender hearts from the earth
learned from its parents.

spring will have a bigger clutch
of marigolds this coming sunshine.

Author Notes

so is life. clinging desperately to the fateful fence, braving all distractions.
the young and restless will inherit the earth.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 10 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11582732-marigolds-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.nLO2q91g.dpuf

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

Swamp Tigers

No matter the monsoon rains that swished the tall grass
In the rivers journey downstream through
tea bushes on a symmetrical hill where
baskets dangled on nun  dressed heads
collecting  two buds and a burst of beauty
for tea bags.

Hidden in the dense foliage
Semtec strapped to her belly
She walked from bush to bush unafraid.
She had died many times before.

When gathered around counting tables
Her mind tripped as a childs cry found her heart
and she pulled the umbilical cord  to a bomb trigger.
and the muffled sound escaped
as the fifty mothers melted in the searing heat
and the factory flattened against the hillside
burning roasting tea and flesh together.

Deep in the jungle the Tiger growled
a low menace (of rejoicing?)

Other tamil tigers stalked the night in camouflage
jackets, strapping  other  mothers
to the savage sword of an enemy side.
Lost forever in the mayhem.

Author Notes
Its all over now. It happened once before the revolution faded against brutality.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

Tyres and fires burning
circles of rubber
Rolled down  black tongued roads
Heading to  city centre
Where  others meet
To greet the mighty ruler
With sword and soldiers dressed
In fibreglass shields, green helmets
truncheons with spikes backed water cannons
snipers on rooftops searching for vipers
to drill bullet holes

The tyres rolled in and rounded in a circle
Cutting off escape routes and
Dividing believers and  non-believers
Piled high, pulled tight with pitchfork  patience

The leaders orders more tyres.
Anything from cars, buses and bicycles
that could hold up the  chains of freedom.
Last desperate attempt - not to escape but die
In the ring of fire -soon lit
Underneath the tyres
Which created bursting black flames and bluegrey smoke
Rising above the rants of leaders and shooters
and crackling. Sparks that dulled the day
And lit the night with sparklers of power.

The paratroopers soon retreated into barracks
and the rioters took hold of the city keys,
And over broken glass and burnt buildings
settled in for the long haul to freedom.

The pawns moved on the chess board
  knights moved in the night,
The queen was cornered
and checkmate came when the hollow president
flew  the palace with his coterie of
ear chewers and shoe polishers!

The tyres burned slowly
the fires  burned down slowly.
Freedom came at dawn on the 21 st day
when the rubber factory churned out again
many new models of tyres with tougher treads.

The circle begins again today.
Author Notes

The Revolution continues. All common day gadgets that could burn and blister the new agenda is rolled down the road into the city centre where the
protesters gather to set fire to ambitious policies, unpopular with the people.

The fires from tyres will rage all night and day.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

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 fear of being alone causes the explosion of strange
sensations to surface from the deep
denizens of an inner cauldron where
settles a sense of imperfect calm.

Deceptive volcanoes of anger
also lie dormant for centuries
waiting to blow star flung.

Just when the conquests of years of thinking
through the destruction
you arrive at a tsunami song
that needs tuning.

Some  more bruised bodies
scattered minds
with pieces lined up in perfection.

Walk on into the blistering night
unafraid of solitude.

Cruising between the haze of knowing and unknowing
sits a large vacuum of infinite questions
why am I here? what am I doing?
Where is the next stop to get off this journey?

And so on,
until the answers return in resplendent shape
colour and size, confronting you
with its incessant reminder
that Q's and A's don't always
have connections.

I am but a seed in one great pod
waiting to be thrown into the winds reach
to sail on a summers day
into infinite earth, buried deep until
I rise again in the arms of spring
To bud and blossom in the knowing
of life.

Take heed
at who I am
around me.

Within walls the humdrum echoes
footsteps magnify into monsters
so do journeys untaken, unplanned.
Step by step conquest is mastered
in real motion forward
mountains climbed
distances measured with hard muscle
counted in steps -one by one.

Nothing impossible
to the journeyman

No yardsticks to measure success
even God is a step closer.
Meditate dreams in sequence
until nirvana nears
at the journeys end
and reincarnations materialise
step by step.

Walking on the wild side
lengthens the shadows of darkness
until we fail to see the light
that will lead us back to the beginning
to the first step from where we started.

Step by step
in rhythm with the heartbeat
we all work through life
and onwards into eternity.

Author Notes

Step by Step. ' He who wants to walk the whole world must take his first step'
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

Forever racing down the highways
of madness in the mind
I scuttle and scare at the engines roar
tossing the needle into overdrive
red bursting at the seams of gravity.

Fully entrenched in  the fast lane
I swerve to avoid articulated trucks
filled with layers of reason on why
I should humble myself in this societies
black hole of boundless depravity.

Given the delicious curve of the racetrack
and the one hundred reasons for delectable
togetherness, I shift to a slow rhythmic pulsating finish
savouring every moment I spent in your clockwork
seduction.

Fuelled and fantasy driven  I polish
and promote my car with all its grunts and bruises
and speeding tickets, near misses
and conquests as a dangerous drivers
logbook of mysteries and miseries.

This model is old and antique
but oils well and grunts its way to stardom.
Price tag-negotiable!

Author Notes
Is this a anything like a fancy car?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

Bruised and beaten in the salt swamped oceans
burnt to crackled skin, unbarked, floating
highways in the waters racing, warm
blanket of currents, tossed in the tide
of reaching places, far off shores
infested by man -eating sharks
piranha fish,  electric eels, the boat of misery
finds its channel to freedom
on some strange islet that leads
to unkempt land.

Not wanted in their own country
scratching for existence
watching nirvana on Channel 52
each scampers in the dead of night
to find a home in other unwanted countries
abandoned on the beach of mercy.

The war on poverty will rage
around polished tables of policies
and the rich will get richer
while the poor get  children.

We are driftwood dressed in a society
with new bark-like skins.

Author Notes

immigrants.Watch as the world disintegrates into driftwood.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago