The slow stream meanders through the densest undergrowth
finding its way through folly and brush and barriers
until at last it reaches a sea of understanding
where the waves crash and burn
tumble and roll in ecstatic freedom.

So do our lives, liberated from tense *******
of social chains placed upon us
by tradition. We were born free
others wanted us locked in rituals
and rants prescribed
that  satisfied their swollen egos
and their own insecurities in the chain
of progress.

Breaking out is not easy
but one must bulldoze through the miasma
to reach the thin light beckoning you
to leave your baggage behind
on an overcrowded platform
where the trains have just whistled past.

A long time ago, my mind was ablaze
in the jungle of dissent and I roamed the world
seeking the liked and unliked ideologies
to a better way to leave a mark of this fabric
of patterned prose and poetry.

Am I yet free? I don't know.
Tempt me with the taste of freedom.

Author Notes

Freedom has many shades.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Walking through the desert of loneliness
wading through sands of solitude
stay upright against a burning sun
for oases spring unexpectedly
offering fresh water and dates
for your destiny. Be brave and replenished.

Watch out for rattlesnakes rats and
scorpions-creatures of the cold night
that sense your feeble steps
and win you over with their vast predatory skills
magic in their mouths
blood mixed with venom and soft words.
Their skills have crystallised
over millions of years
hunting for the lost and lonely wanderer.

Stay strong at the waters edge
where lurk people with crocodile skin
clawed feet and long forked tongues
to **** your sapping spirit
to garnish their own feasting. Stay strong.

At the outer circles
when you crawl out from your loneliness
reach out for the ones that stood
scimitars drawn and headhigh
to scythe through  the wraggle of followers-on
who journeyed a step behind your
mountains of misery, wanting you to fall
under dunes of destruction.

At the journeys end look back at the stars
that sparkled in the nighttime of your dreams
and navigated you through  the pathways of pain
to a welcoming circle of friends.

Kia kaha. Stay strong forever
You are now a child of the universe.

Author Notes

Loneliness is the most fearful of all human emotion. Everyone gets caught in this desert storm once or twice in their lives. It is a painful place and the thousands of poems on this site is a testimony to what destruction it causes.


Yet there is hope to those who seek it. One step at a time you can reach that oasis where the water is blue and the date palms replenish your wounded spirit. Look out for the doomsayers. Theres lots of them around.


The final outcome is a journey back home.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

nature in nature out
frozen in rooms of pink
castles ignored
fairies without fairy dust
spring cleaning prophets
take down memories
faded wrinkled corners
hugging each other
sealing secrets
aligned to symmetries
choices untaken
disciplines forced
age has no reason
take down from pastels
store in archives
remember.

wall flowers?
us reaching across cultures
to embrace newness
tomorrows happiness
taken today.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11694338-Wallpaper-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.TW8o0AaA.dpuf

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.

It’s a dull woollen grey sweater day
Where the birds too have withdrawn their song
and tucked their wings in for winters chill fingers
that will reach out and capture their whistling tunes.
Dropping pleasantries on the big city boulevards
Hidden from prying eyes, windows shut tight
like mouths with no words left.

Winter comes suddenly.
With no pamphlets announcing a matinee
show of ballet beauties or bronzed horsemen
riding in the sultry sun on careless beachfront.
That shuffle sand and people into shady nooks
and under trees.
Winter does the opposite.

Each evening from now winter will keep the refrigerator door
open for chilled soups  to warm up to toasted breads
to bring a summer inside ourselves with its comfort.

Of course the weathermen will wander of course
talking up storms and snowfalls, ice and wind sleet
and temperature drops to keep the moods down
locked and lifeless, now waiting for summer to come around.

The garden will go limp with excuses
shedding its autumn floral displays
and standing bare and naked before
the mirror of winters reflection.

As each day passes, the mood will dampen down
and slink into caves of warm pockets.
We go from room to room
aimlessly looking out the snowy mountains
Wearing their white  skull caps like chinese market gardeners
waiting to harvest
the last fading greenery around.
Soon the snow will
capture the mountain ranges
and spread its feathery fishnet sheets
all the way down to the valleys.

This is it. The conquest of windchill against a blazing summer
Is complete. Down at the door level of temperatures
it feels unique to be so isolated and lonely.

The sun does come out but it acts s subdued and
lukewarm- not basking, not bright,
just staying for a short while each
day and leaving even before dusk comes rapidly,
never overstaying the welcome.
Author Notes

The seasons now change in New Zealand. Only yesterday it was summer filled with so many pleasant activities. Autumn has its own language of colours, but winter rolls in and rocks, drawing us into ourselves and planning for next summer. It is a warm winter now.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

The alleyway was dark and dusty
plastic wrappers clinging to corners
of depression , escape trapped by wind shifts
swirling in the tunnels of hope,
desperate drips from broken pipes
beating a soulful click, click
breaking into puddles of slime.

He lay there motionless
unmoved by the activity around him
devoid of all sound and sense
asleep in his gutter of dreams
still
eyes shut.

Asleep he was unmoving
Christ himself
crucified on the cross
of an alcoholic society.

His only resurrection
a few drinks away. .......

Author Notes

AA?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

The storm on the eastern  coast will descend
into a grey day bringing showers
and thunderstorms
filling your picnic basket as you go about
finding shelter under trees and shrubs
gone on holiday to the south of france.

bring your brollies
raincoats and gumboots just in case
you day darkens into a cyclone
and your lover leaves you
abandoned with the sunrise
emerging in your life

take care as you meander through
the floods as the gates open
and your emotions spill out
in poetic metaphors
all over the page
******* readers into the whirlpool
of hidden symbols and mechanisms
that can choke you out

as you watch the weather swish by
without you noticing.

never be deceived by the weathermans wares
at times he may play god
with your days diary entries
but all he can do really
is work like a fortune-teller
using guesswork as a device.

Author Notes
One giant metaphor for what happens in your life if you believe in the weatherman!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

filigree fibres
networks neurons
splitting hairs
pumping digital maniacs
across countless spheres
connecting wise and wanton
split second messaging

we live in the eternity
of  answers
we have forgotten how to sharpen pencils
fold paper
communicate
face to face

all inwards
we create islands of loneliness
the minds mantra
to isolation weirdness

hello people
hear me?

Author Notes

Optional
© 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

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 will take our fires
to light the stars
and paint the horizons
with its flames of red

and from the ashes
we will rise again and again
with phoenix wings
to soar the heavens
searching for the real meaning
of love.

We will take our fires
to the icy polar winds
if we ever feel the chill
of not knowing
what love means.

we will take our fires....

Author Notes

Simple and adorable, trying to create imagery opposing each other.
Indian Poets did a great job of poems like this.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 18 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11569677-We-will-take-our-fires...-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.TJvWEH­7g.dpuf

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

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

As delicate as doom the imagination flutters
in a closed space where strange aliens
hobbits and men with muscular women
inhabit caves with endless tunnels
travelling from one end to the other.  
Stop I must in this vaporous realm
unable to struggle free, trapped

Who am I that waits for the eternal
longing to come full cycle, take me into
its open arms and surround me
in delicate gossamer finery
silk brocade and lace, vague eyes,
strong faces. blue venom
bursting as I scamper into the undergrowth

unafraid of demons and spirits
evil or splendorous  beings, cascading
through the nightmares of knowing
that every journey must meet Olympus
and Greek gods like Minotaur's
carry the golden fleece to us mere mortals
escaping the claustrophobia
social norms
even as we tumble into the dead
end of a never ending roadway of rules.

Author Notes

Abstract and inescapable. At times it feels like this when you cannot do what you really want to do. Escape.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

We are here in a secluded circle
listening to the tone of tension
in others poems fraught with livid lines
laying thin layers of onion skin emotions
on love hate and energetic romps
of madness
electric stimulation
of the mind bending magic
words as brittle as bone
laid in technical verses
so sensitively sweet to the ears
tuning fork.

We applaud gently
afraid to be left out
even if not fully comprehended
of the verses so read.

Whatever keeps us stuck
like magnets to ritual bloodshed
as flesh and blood coerce
these rites of passage. We are slaves
to convention.

Even as I defy the dance
of technical wizardry
my mind frazzles at the meaning
that some modern poetry
exhibits
and numbs me into silence.

I clap hollow.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 29 days ago

Whatever it is
that you have in you
its as magical as pulling a rabbit
out of  a hat and have the audience gasping.

That's what is special about you
you are able to squeeze comfortably
in and out of small situations
with the ease of baton waving
and you are able to swirl through rings of fire
swing on the trapeze of problems
and settle like a feather on the funniest
laughter of the day.

You are magical
no doubt, otherwise how could you
stay up so late at night
wide awake at the cooking range
making delicious food
for late evening guests.

I am happy to be a side show
as you go around  doing
what you do best
just being a mother
and always threatening
to pack me into the dogs kennel
if I ever go astray.

That's what I like about your tricks
they have won awards from everyone.
But I get to take the magician to bed
with my own type of magic!
Author Notes

Oh Yeah! What'll I get for this?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

you cant stop the rain from falling
too many drops
you cant stop freedom from unchaining itself
too many links

you cant stop the road from extending
into the sunset
its too connected
you cant stop dreaming of free flight
locked in a cage

you cant wear red
in a sea of blue because
you will stick out
you can hope for greener grass
walking in a desert
you can count your blessings
when you have little
you cant count your blessing when you have
too much. The difference will not be noticed.

you can be free
inside yourself
and you can be free
alone.

I know that much.

I've tested all these cans
and cannots!

Author Notes

Contemplation 7. Freedom
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

you on a continent climbed
into the hollow of a sacred tree.
me
on an island climbed into your continent of symbols
together we found the Black Eagle
and apple juicies
clock towers striking 5.10pm
roads leading out of ice box cages
into the wild yonder where
meteors lit the sky with meaning
and shooting stars sprinkled
stardust on our words

I offered you that kiss
and cuddled you back!

There was nothing else I could  do
when trapped in destiny,
but sync with your heartbeat
and write you 57 poems
explaining the meaning of love
and  oceans of distance.

Even as time ticks
we will crawl into a tepee
and cherish these moments
of separation.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 6 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11588370-you-on-a-continent-climbed.....-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.­8ajbLeUM.dpuf

this was it, the sideways glace with criminal intent
tax dodger, millionaire with  make-up
slyly fleecing sheep off poor citizens backs
living within wind and rage on a mountain top retreat
glass chandeliers, wool carpets,  ivory wall hangings
smoking cubans, smirking has-beens
'who are they but grovelers in the grime
of social disgrace'. The lord.

no, i'm not i countered, shrinking in my walrus skin,
of shades of brown and chameleon
i didn't do it. I was just there buying groceries
for a weekend soup.

take him away, he is a liar, his face says so
his words are smooth as ***** glass
inserted in a conscious effort to fool us.....

five years will teach him temperance
make him see routine, file his taxes,
place him in a cell with accountants,( the cells are full of "em)
lock him up in tax forms
place him in a poverty trap
let him learn not to get rich by his wits
wits are for whites only.
skin colour is everything now. ha ha.

case closed.
throw away the key.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 19 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11670069-Your-honor......-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.TB0bh83­H.dpuf

The sparks flew the moment I read your poems
and the way you split everything
into bits of laughter. It was a quaint kind of giggle
that spilled out each time you got nervous
about some thing metaphor or something
assonance. It was a pleasure to see you jump into
a group and suddenly take flight with bejewelled
words and images that soared across the page
in perfect poetic nuance.

Within a short burst of time, your inner voice
spoke splendid verses and symbols and soon
the poems took on a shape and simmer
that drew me into the deeper insights of your mind.
It was amazing what understood from the sheer
gossamer finery of your perceptions and the desire
to break free into the world of writers and poets.

Now I watch you grow, as tall and beautiful
as your writing and I'm taken aback
at how easily you can verse any emotion,
no matter how different it may be.

All of these creative impulses
must have been stored inside of you
awaiting somebody to unlock the latches
to your creativity
and set you free?

Author Notes

This poetess was reserved when I first  observed her writing a long time ago. The words were so purely artistic, but written with unsure steps in the direction to take. It is remarkable how quickly she took flight in a free world and how splendidly she writes now.
There must be hundreds of similar writers who would like to step out and soar high above mundane stuff?

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 7 hours 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