Buyers gather in tight knots around
orphaned articles seeking resurrection
shining glitteratti from wanton days
now spent and homeless, insipid

garage sale minds gather
in garage sales seeking clutter
to embody themselves with trinkets
like petulant pretty ***** wanting
magpie like shining entries and exits
and wide aplomb.

a season will burst open
when the burnished copper jar
lives its last lifetime on a new shelf
and move on to a new owner
seeking nirvana again
taking no memories with it.

Life is recycled
again and again
in these trading posts.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11610117-Flea-Market-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.oq2m1rx8.dpu­f

There are highways that lead
inside  into yourself
walk on one until your reach
a vast open space
where you have rested in wait
for everything to fall into place.

Watch for the shooting star
that comet blazing across your sky
play your numbers right
find peace in patience
share the weight of the heavy load
contemplate

in a brief moment
the implosion will cleanse
your innermost desires
and once again you will walk
into the blinding light of knowing
that, at last, you have escaped from a cage
and you have set yourself free!

Author Notes

Self-knowledge is critically important to set yourself free from all *******. The first Key to Contemplation and Peace is to know who you are and why you exist on this earth. Listen to yourself first before you listen to others.

This is the second poem in the series on Contemplation. The first one was titled: Solitude.

These poems will appear in my 8th Book: Keys to Contemplation. Comments on your understanding ow what the poem means to you are highly appreciated.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

“I like cars with big butts’ she said.
“The ones with soft interiors and big joysticks
That you hold while racing down at 70 mph
Down straight highways swerving through bylanes
And bursting into breeze and wide open spaces!”

Spent. The exhausts thunder . Throttles down and grazing
Hear the sound of engines purring?

“I like the old Mustangs” she said
“They growl back at you throttle deep,
Crunching up the pussycats
Mewing on the slow lane”

“I like tequila that’s naughty
No aftertaste, a coupla shots
A hot bonnet to warm you back
And a piston that does a six stroke
Slow ride
As we race to a finish on the salt lakes”

“ Don’t you like Mercedes?” I softly queried
“ Nah” she replied curtly.
“ But it starts with an M too?”
“Oh yeah, its got no twang in it though!”

I surrendered to the sound of giggles.
We pulled up near a parking lot
And she slid into a  vacant slot
Both **** and front touching.

Menagerie of cars parked perfectly.

I admired her driving skill.

Author Notes
Yeah, its about cars. Get your mind outta the gutter will ya?
© 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 lines were drawn in zigzag
just as energy ebbed and flowed precariously
balancing between coming and going
clocking only forward to waiting.

All the prayers cannot change the course
of the final calling
the trumpets sound in single file
as the last post plays
a melancholy tune and the brass cymbals bounce
up and down
in synchrony with the shifting lines
a drip drop slow chipping away at life
will stop soon for sure
as the tears roll down and the wailing
rises to meet the silence of forever.

As those unspoken memories
and connections into  world where
umbilical cords attached to people
are now broken
the body remains  back as the soul
dissolves into an unknown dimension.

Waits there the history of belief
you can report back
the truth or untruth
Its best to go unprepared.

Author Notes
That one last minute.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

We met on the morning when the sun waded
through the window
mopping up the nights shadows as it invaded
every corner of my working space.

I was ready to react to other poets at work on AP.
She came along with a blistering title
and abundance of words, beguiling
and packed with imagery, dark and dense,
laced with succinct and sinful metaphors
wolves and watchmen, ****** energy swirling
around in thickets and primroses
promises broken and bleeding on the threshold
of their hearts, but gone, each on their own
sun and sin  sprinkled pathways to other partners.

Only she wrote poems
He wrote her off!

Who was this stranger, tearing her heart out
on these pages, soulful and sinful, unheeding,
unashamed at being beaten and bruised
by her lovers tantrum now
migrated  to a new nest of instant *******.
She bled her words out in rhyme and rhythm
Holding on to fragments of a dream
fast fading at the edges.

I wrote her some lines of happiness
instinctively telling her to calm down
and think about what freedom meant
and where it lead  in the rocking horse world
of thin relationships.


She replied with two words
in acid structure: *******!
I never heard from her again.

The sunshine continued to invade the day.

Author Notes

True story. Old story. Love story are born and die this way. There are hundreds of poems on this site that used just those words when either gets dissed. Bad luck goes good luck comes. The sun continues to invade the day.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

Clinging hard metallic walls
with veins ******* sweetness from little
leftovers trickling down
the gorse stayed dancing between
open spaces of hell and heaven.

Death like tussle with elements
yellow blooms suckled  pollen
from air vents travelling in the streams
passing within reach
shedding its seeds into the waiting
arms of rare  tourist birds
sojourning in the skyways
of distribution and danger. The gorse
started small, spread quickly
and took over the countryside
with no one watching.

The caliphate was born
under the black hood of death
and the guns aimed at all
with scimitars of control
too late to stem
or seep the spreading venom.

Whole armies now sacrificed
on the altar of ideals.
The crusades will begin again.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

I knew him well. Ten years attached to his clinic
like a stethoscope dangling with ailments
I knew the carpet threads
The old painting on the wall
The posters on rheumatic fevers
Pains in the chest, nurses call
And the vague smell of antiseptic cream
Liberally applied over every visitors hands

I knew all those dangly instruments and probes
Designed in the middle ages
And given a stainless shine just now
Bright and sparkling.

I knew his receptionist too quite well
Her big *****, had just a button undone
But I had xray vision and a sharp brain to imagine
Tropical island and coconuts

I knew his voice, his signature
His way of asking questions
And his way of checking the big fat book
Of pills and potions that held his practice together

Every time he called my name out
In the reception area
He always said it funny:
The Gass rhymed with a donkey
And never with a glass.
( I corrected him many times)
But as old as he was his memory could not hold
my correct name for more than 3 seconds. He won.

On leaving his clinic, I always wished
The Tropical Islands goodbye-and winked
That 'just cured wink' like I knew
how to collect coconuts!
It never worked in ten years
But hope is not a medical condition. Thank you.

Author Notes
Ha ha.
Please check out ISBN 9781493137848-  my new book published last night. The Trilogy is better than all the poems I ever wrote. Unashamedly, promoting my book, currently on Amazon.Com and soon on all e-books.

Thank you.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

Good Morning



Good Afternoon



Good Evening


Wherever you are!

Author Notes

Ha ha.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 9 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11589464-Greetings-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.ty0gGsqL.dpuf

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

Spilling blood in the dead of the nights
mind
is easy.

Getting caught is the hard part.
Hate carves a language
where you wilt in its acid tongue

Enemies invade  when you least
want them to
reside in your best thought.
Parasites. Bloodsuckers.

Keep clean
the page you write your life on.
Go prepared with light
into the dark tunnel
where you love and hate.

Tomorrow
can be worse than today.

Beneath the dark foreboding heavy print there sits
a sullen moment when the worlds problems are inked
in black lined language that skittles across the page
in a hurried beat informing
all who would care to read
how the world is shaping itself to explode
in the fireplace of disagreement on such things
as land and water and elements and boundaries
and rituals of culture and creed
that caused the great divide between
location and dislocation.

The day that barter was invented the troubles
started and multiplied for all. Enough was never
but invasion of another's territory was ingrained
in the psyche of all man, irrespective.

To travel and take by force was inbuilt into the minds
fences and protection was guaranteed to all
through evolutionary dynamos of the inner
workings of a space and time that kept all people
in a society of linked cobwebs through social structures
that tightly bound them into networks.

Once the unwritten laws of social structures were tested,
it let loose the insidious desire to take
without asking what was rightfully not yours.
The birthplace of all who ascended the throne
of comfort through the discomfort of others
can be traced to this malady.

Stay within your own blessed boundary.
Stay within the headlines of decency.

Author Notes
The Territorial Imperative drives all mankind.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

The petals are plastic
the hearts oh so  sweet
the ribbons elastic
the feelings entreat
catch me a girl
in a heart shaped swirl!
I'll claim as my own
for Love to be  shown
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

aint got no home?
watz wit der smokey ayes
aint got no famly
no roof?
wur you goin, bro?

i aint got no dolla
no mo pahwuh
no momma
son gone stoopid
dotter freakin out
in der good

im broke and dun fer
gotta a spare coin?

i can sing
from me soul. yeah

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 10 days 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.

In the burning ghats where the earthly wanderer
leaves his leftovers to be singed and scarred to ashes
taking with him his soul wrapped in a white sheet
God knows where, I am with you on that final journey

In the temples where the joss sticks burned
and childless couples shaved their heads
bared their naked bodies in sacrifice for a gift of life
I am with you.

In the quiet clinical streets where test-tubes babies
are mixed and matched like cocktails
seeking world headlines, guessing at the outcome
I am with you.

In the back alleys of the brain where
dungeons of demons reside purged
from loneliness and depression. Crying
in their incompleteness
I am with you.

In the starry night where lovers meet and kiss
and cuddle and forget that tomorrow is another
day to rethink their togetherness in love. Starry eyed
I am with you

In the unsacred gaps in the scriptures where
fairy tales and impossible connections
are made, broken and burnt, often too old
to believe anymore. I am with you

On the journeys that you take
sheltered by the thousand pilgrims also
seeking the blazing light of holiness. Unknowing.
I am with you

I am with you as you walk the grass verges
of the sacrosanct temples and mosques,
the highways of information and the byways
of underprivileged children looking out for
another day of isolation in the busiest streets
of desperation.I am with you.

Even as you gird your ***** and prepare for the battle
that will help you survive in this raging metropolis
of unknown faces, names and destinations
coming from  no particular place
I am with you.

As human as I am and completely in synch with your ideas
of humanness and love and laughter
husbands wives and children and futures
I think with you.I am with you. Human as......

Nothing can separate me from your own journey
into that limit beyond the limitless
where chaos, culture or organisations
are born from the same mother of reason
I am with you in that questioning. Why?

Author Notes

A reflective poem that asks ourselves on why we are human and yet
set out on journeys that takes us different directions. We are here for a reason and what is that reason?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

No I didn't. It was all pre-planned.
I wanted to see the stars come out
on your warm accepting lips
and bring the cosmos into our meeting
and I wanted to see if you would close
your eyes in that delicate moment!
You didn't too. Now I wonder why?

I guess you wanted to see
if my universe was locked
in that same embrace and if
( only if) I would melt deliciously
into that ice-cream moment?

But when we discovered that
we were both wide-eyed in wonder
our eyes closed automatically
into an inner self
where the doors locked and keys turned
to shut us into a private cubicle
where two people melted
as one.

Author Notes
Remember this moment?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

I have walked......
I have walked in the footsteps of dinosaurs
bruised and barbecued in the minds of generals
who strode the earth in the shadows
of empty politicians, who finally said:
I follow orders.

I have been trialled at Nuremberg
and World Courts by panels of learned men
who asked all the right questions but
were debated to defeat by fishhook questions
that derailed the course of justice by cunning
and unscrupulous men who decided
I was better alive than dead
by their careful questioning. Checks?

I have been at war with my neighbours
and nieces, friends and fraternity,
families and fence builders and all the while
I stayed indoors in my mind
and familiarity not asking for
redemption or resurrection
but tranquility.

I am human. Thats all it is.
Human.

I live in an iconic space
devoid of all sound and voice
seeking an inner temple
where resides small fragments of an old self
a journey once taken
a heart once innocent and plain
unpolluted and clean childlike
metaphysical being with no wants, simple needs
no columns of materialism
a nihilistic existence.

It exists no more
as days merged into the nights
and the light of the next day bought with it
a slow and invasive society
that rendered me numb and meaningless.

I am now awash in a rapidly filling vessel
that needs to be better than I ever was
and all too soon the walls
build greater  heights and gates of enormous size
allowing no free access to no one.

I was now held a prisoner in my own  cemetery
casting about to shake out this network
of social chains  that hold me captive.

Where is the God I once spoke to directly?
Where are the angels that I knew existed?
Why did Santa Claus become commercial?
How did brother get to **** brother
and who created gigantic religious dogma
to herd people into cages of conversion?

Please set me free from this new society
and allow me to return home
to my once beautiful emptiness!
Please, please!

Author Notes

Contemplation-6.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11624947-I-live-in-an-iconic-space...-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#st­hash.4Vp6DbuR.dpuf

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.

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

At the gate  between exit and entry,
stands guard a symbol with no spears, daggers or keys
no words spoken or written, just a mindset.

If you go inwards into yourself you will pass a quiet place
where  no  emotional sentries stand guard while
you seek solace in the silence of empty spaces

This is where you pause awhile, take stock and retreat
into inner spaces where reside completeness, and repair kits
which you yourself left there as a child.

Once the mystical journey is complete
return to the world of living, healed and wholesome
leave your baggage  at the exit point
leave a tithe for the  realms, return happy and simple.
uncast yourself from the mould of materialism
and wear this new skin of spiritualism
which will clothe you in perpetual warmth-
be among the worlds whole people
a renewed person.

Author Notes

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

I reached deep into a pocket of words and assembled
you in perfect shape
eyes and lips and slender shoulder neatly placed
in exact position and then I kissed you
to breathe life back into me.

As each part moved in exact rhythm
ticking with precision I realised
that we made each other as a reflection
of a dream that was embossed with gold lettering.

Whenever the batteries ran low
I asked for your pulse and you willingly
shared power, and sprinkled it with laughter
and wonder and words of endearment
until I became so used to each single poem
in your repertoire of symbolic dialects.

Two seasons later we know
that clockwork emotions roll and tumble
with the same words that created
love between us.

Author Notes

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

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11585814-I-reached-deep-into-a-pocket.........-by-Marshall-Gass#s­thash.s4ECNwVy.dpuf

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

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 whirlpools 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, a month ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11552909-Its-the-knowing....-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.LnQVkWk4.dpu­f

Its winter here and clutching at warmth
and woollen jackets that once seemed silly
when the sun conquered the day, I recall another winter
not so long ago when the mood was mixed
up in happiness.

The lady was back from her sojourn to warmer places
and suntanned and *****
she arrived at the office in a summer swirl
with  the rest of us beaten down with low temperatures
rates hikes and interests climbing over budgets.

The swirl  lasted long all winter and regaled
by stories of men with brawn and fat wallets
we listened quietly as the tales
unfolded.
Winter set in when the wallets crumbled
and the interest rates chewed up next holiday.

We worked all winter
for a week in the sunshine of the family.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 20 days ago

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

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

listen people, profits attract milestones
bar graphs and charts of shareholders
catch no fish, only stones prevail
speak no parables of numbers
i know two fish,five loves can and will feed five thousand.

who said, the birds and the bees have 4o hour weeks
and summer holidays in the sun
six weeks of laziness and gym routines?
go fishing instead. make no fishy business of it.

i say, directors, loose garb is better than pin-stripes
tithes better than fat bank balances full of fat.
would you give an eye to your supervisor? No
so watch your manners. no point in being
the undercover boss handing out peanuts for
poor employees and ******* dollars from their cheers
and less hours on the last floor shift!

I know tv does a lot of good, but so do bibles
and psalms and rock anthems and mary magdalene.

no point in raking in money singing
jesus christ superstar!
im just two thousand fourteen years late
on this board of whingers. AC- DC/BC?

get a life man, the next train to eternity
is only here on a whistle-stop.leaf your clothes behind
and head to the first **** beach
around the bend. lucifer is red hot there. times
have changed, man. whats next on the agenda?

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 3 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11693097-Jesus-on-the-Board-of-Directors-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest­#sthash.NyZSTkRp.dpuf

To the centre of city, its a four laned highway
with cars zipping up on the southbound lanes.
I am northbound towards the sun
where it streams down watching us racing
to early morning appointments

I wonder
How many people must be watching the road with one eye
and next door drivers with the other
and the ones on the right, by instinct,
always in a hurry to grab those 3 meters of vacant
space, only to get stalled a little further up
by an old lady following
the intricate road rules of speed.

Cruising along is a survival thing
one wrong turn or twist
and the ambulance will need to scrape
the remnants of you from the road
police sirens wailing
and rubber-neckers keen to see
who was the *** that didn't learn
to survive in a race to the finish!

Thank God  I've survived
another journey to the centre
of the city
(not the earth!)
If I don't keep my attention on the road
I may be the one
being scraped off the road.

Author Notes

Happens everyday at 7am and 3pm. Each day going down or returning is a lucky day. All it will take is one small mistake.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 3 months ago

Just after the ebb and flow
of staying locked for a lifetime
in an earthly connection

comes an unknown
spectre
we can only guess

all those theories
from holy books and men
untested

we go because
we have to
your time is done

and the pulsating final
flourish
leaves behind a memory

shackled to those we love
until they too
must let go

of who we were
when we lived here.
once upon a time.

Just a sec
Ill be back.

Hold this for just a sec

Can you wait please
for just a sec

Wait a sec please
Ill get it for you

Hey what the heck?
What's happened to that
new relationship you were in
Just a sec. I'll be back.

Eternity in fragments?

Author Notes
Happen this way?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

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

Blessings. How discreet they lurk uncalled
unexpected and blossom, flower like, slow
sweet abundance, waltzing between wonder,
hope expanded wide-eyed heaven sent
settle feather like on clean sheets
of meaning. Always useful.

Thanksgiving  makes lists of lucky stars
and reasons spring from forgotten places
where we watch in amazement, as
the placement of benefits grows
adding shape to all welcoming arms.

We name them exotically. Feng Shui,
numerology, astrology, numbers and games
dice spun out of control, six sixes
whatnot.  No luck and randomness
is called as explanation. Gazing into empty tea-cups,
stones, shells, skulls and bones
shaman-like, magical lotto numbers
yet cannot see how lady luck
plays her hand. ****** into a whirlpool
of unknowns we still embellish our minds
with constant waiting.

Author Notes

Lady Luck is dressed to take your hand. Did you ever win without attributing the blessing to pure luck?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

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

I wondered where you were
at this time of night
snuggled in a dream of little babies
wrapped around yourself
and chocolate biscuits courting tea
with the waiting for  tomorrow.

I wondered what you'd be doing
alone near a fireplace
stretching your arms to the warmth
and sighing with relief
that I will be home on a late flight
to hold you close again
to carry the weight of your worries
of sleepless nights.

I wondered if you'd miss me
as much as I would crave you
my world a winter of loneliness
your time a summer of silence.

I wondered if I'd ever told you
the we were designed opposites
in age and magic numbers
yet we compensated for the difference
with our give and take..

Is it no wonder
that all the lights of Paris
would not be equal
to the one sparkle in your eye
when I finally reach home.

Author Notes

Real and happening. Another love story with lights.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 6 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11590319-late-night-call.....-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.7r9e1jSw.dp­uf

There's the whisper  of reasoning
skies eyed  for answers dripping down
each pencil pointed at that pinnacle
where the recent lecture sits
awaiting dissection into assignments
for next weeks five thousand word essays.

I marvel at this resilience to learn
to stumble upon grand new theories
of emerging technologies and the world beyond.

I ask some quiet questions
what do you want to be?

Sadly most of them want to  stalk Einstein
without working for it
Some want a ladder to the Fortune 500
others just want those two extra marks
to climb over the paddock fence of education
to a trench board, tassels and a degree
a job and free airline tickets
to strange destinations untraveled.
Only one quiet girl (with braces and a beautiful smile)
wants the assignment sheet. Others treat it like leprosy.


The day closes with her dream
intact. She will rise with the dawn.
Her brain sizzling with solutions
hair unkempt
her manners polished with progress.

I walk away each day
humbled by the same mould that
produces clones of Bill Gates. Always.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 9 days ago

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

You must know this
no matter how you get to know it
that love supersedes all other emotions
and from that well there springs a deeper yearning
that pervades everything else. Unquestionably pure.

There will be wobbles and wisdom
and deeper questions on why
this is so
but it is those exact changes that make
Love stand out and shine
as if, it just belonged to us alone.

So take this poem
as a bond of love between us
and never let it go
no matter what happens
for in this complete abandon
there is only one thing that will bind us together
forever.

Love.

Author Notes
After journeying through a thousand poems and ten thousand different ways of saying things, there is only one emotion that stands out against all others. Love.

No matter how we say it, the simplest way seems the best. Just say it with everything poetic  in you.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

Grey blue asterisks against a wet valley of hills
clutching boulders for *******
crags and crannies filled
with luscious flower bursting in bloom
summertime
solace of scenic breaks
the bus trundles around corners
through to Milford Sound
majestically beautiful in its isolation
and magnificence
the lupins soar like coloured points of ecstasy
into shades of pink purple blue
taking in the breathless landscape
as if it all owned the place
forever.

Riding back through the ice packs and awe
of blue waters and spray mists of inspiration
we sit silent and absorbed
cameras unable to take in beauty of depth
but a small window of memories
that capture our time and place
in this wilderness.

Leave it alone for the lupins.

Author Notes
A journey through Milford Sounds-World Heritage site, New Zealand.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

In every sequel to the barstool sits an evening philosopher
chugging beer and crisps dreaming of a damsel
in distress to recue and carry over the raging waters
of a lonely evening. The froth in the next glass
confirms the frenzy of waiting patiently.

I suspect beer drinkers are adept at making plans
to snare the right woman with catchy bylines
and brisk one-liners. Mostly recycled ones work well.

How easily some evade the trap and the cobweb,
sticky as it may seem to, draw the best ****** ones
into the nectar laden larder of niceties.

They have their  own connecting sentences
which, safely guarded, like intellectual property
gets them zooming into a net of naughtiness.

Author Notes
Browsing.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

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

The matrix maneuvers between
shades of grey and blue striped
waves of emotion
as we scuttle between messages
of hope and longing.

In the stillness of the night
of pure intelligence
the words return
in multi-dimensional meaning
broken down into fragments
to make sense of single word
replies.

How do we know what
was meant for what was written
when words have forked tongues
licking the air for understanding.

Love has a way of being precise
and priceless.

Author Notes

Contemplation 10. Multi-dimensional love of all things pure.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

There were these poems
hashed together in haste
insipid limp and lifeless
devoid of dare, unable to stir the mind
into frenzied ecstasy
no sparkle no lustre
no meaning to extract.
daily fluff

They were enjoyable too
***** linen on a laundry line
unpegged and nonrhythmic
unmetaphoric, unnamed
first liners
homeless words with unhappy visuals
floating in a sea of ****
just sitting on a page
dead

so many of mine are exactly like that
unwanted, homeless little beasts
cooked up in a frenzy of  haste
pompous and pretentious
lying like a cold corpse
on a concrete slab in some strange mortuary
name tag on a toe
waiting for a quick burial.

Ive decided to write better poems now
leave the fluff to be vacuumed away
and spend long hours thinking through
the magic that rises from mists
of intense thinking.

once a month
with twenty nine drafts.
no more mediocre for me.
goodbye readers
see you again next month
take care while i work up a froth.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 11 days 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

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

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

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

The years are numbered on the measurements
at your waist like a palm tree with rings
the tyres driving nowhere sane
but hugging you firmly round and round

sagging at the knees the weight
brings you down
to the next level up
as you puff your chest out
and **** your guts in
to no avail. The tyres collapse
when not properly inflated
and being unable to meet the racetrack
of a wife head-on.

The crisis looms when the *****
slumbers you to sleep early- alone.
The deep snore is not a jet engine whirring
but a dream dissipating.

Come another ten moons and thick glasses
of fruit juice and health tonics
still keep the tunic tight
as we all battle a world without walking sticks
and false everything else.

The slide from here on
is slow and steady
to a quick finish
at the doctors clinic
and mounting medications.

Soon gone.

Author Notes
Happens like this all the time.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.