I’m in love with all that I've seen
And all that I’ve yet to see
Memories flow inside of me
That I’ve yet to memorize--
The only thing I can do is
memorize the thought of them
in hope that some day they will
become future memories.

And for the words from my mouth

I held them still

I learned to never let them go

from the leash that was my tongue.

Even if they would allow me to capture you

in the lasso of vocabulary

with my intertwined words combined.

The chase can last forever

but a captured bird dies soon.

So will you let me chase you,

while I hold my words?

Benches are wooden or plastic or metal but they allow for a connection, a meeting place for two people who somehow become connected and intertwined and woven, like the branches of trees; they grow on each other, something blooms between them and sprouts and you believe that you cannot live without the other person, they are your sunlight and your water and that soft bird that perches on your shoulder, they see your history, the rings of your trunk, all the years you spent wishing and hoping for that one person and then:

you meet on this bench, a piece of hand-crafted wood, in a park downtown, and you talk and you laugh and you make each other smile and you sit without talking and the silence is good... but then clouds form and the silence is unbearable and you feel like you want to explode and break and smash if the silence continues so you whisper and then talk and then yell and the heat brings you closer, you retrace all of those places, you look back on the map of your connection and remember all the landmarks that you saw and lived through together and it is as if no space existed as if your hearts grew and swelled for each other and brought you back and you lie and embrace and breathe again together and it's comfortable

but then you turn, he turns back, on it all, everything, and you try and search his face, look again on that map and try to remember, you make yourself remember but he sees another path near this bench, near you but not with you, and decides to walk down it and you want him to take your hand and ask you to go but you know deep, deep down that he won't, that he can't, so you try and you say those deadly, poisonous words, those three words that change everything whether you want it to or not
and he looks at you
and he sees you

but he can't take you with him
so he gets up and lifts one foot in front of the other and
he walks away from you.

Locked within expressions
In this little girl’s smile
Are nuances of wonderment
Destined to compile,
All the mystery of womanhood,
The guile of the breed,
The allure of her ***
And the promise of seed.
Her love for her mother,
Her joy for her dad,
Her path to tomorrow
Be it happy or sad,
The tears and the joyfulness
Stretched out before..
There’s the dog at the hearth
And the cat at the door.
And the beautiful sunsets
Those blue eyes will see
And the love of her life
Who’ll get down on his knee,
The scent of the lavender
Fresh from the fields
And the lakeside laburnum
Which subtly yields.
The colours of love
And the texture of fire
When the threads of her life
Turn to passion’s desire.
The moment of truth
When she turns to her mom
And her face wears the smile
And her arms bear….a son.
Oh the world turns in circles
Of shades of soft hue
And time waits for no soul,
Especially you,
And the babes of today
Become mothers of yore
And the great lesson learned
Is.... keep open the door.*



Uncle Marshal
With wonderment at the beauty in a little girl’s secret smile.
Auckland
12 October 2012



© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

The most beautiful flower

Within a field of growing weeds and brown leaves

It seems to take up all the light

besides all the dead and despair around it

Its petals are moist and the colors seem to change
to whatever they need to protect themselves from.

But, the blossom is too beautiful. 

Too consumingly appealing to whomever laid their eyes on it.

The sun’s rays were getting jealous and did no longer
want to shine on the pleasing leaves -
or on the strong roots or its inviting colors -
as they took away their shine and

were now filled with contempt.
Most of all the rays were jealous of what the flower could do.

Embezzle. Inspire and create. Dazzle.

It dazzled me.
The flower could not only extract happiness from its surroundings but it also gave.

It gave love. Love and comfort and happiness, friendship and enjoyment.
It gave a way for men to see through the bad and look at the good.

It tasted so sweet.



The flower fought, spurting out at some cautious moment
but it could not win

For it needed the rays gentle touch to grow and to

Exist.
Long after men spoke of the waste.

How such a beauty had perished,

And its power was no longer there to greet them like an old friend.

It was now only a myth,

One that no one really could remember

as it felt like a dimly lit memory,
one that played a yet unknown role in whatever faith there is to come.
It was not the beauty that men remembered now.

Only the waste.

As the good leaves no scars, and is scarcely treasured how it should.

But oh the waste. They spoke.
Such a waste.

Sometimes when I lay in bed at night.
I listen to my hearts gentle beat.

But when you lay next to me.
My heart quicken's.

Is it that 'I am frighten of you.
Or is it that love lives in the heart.

Deep
Charged storms awakens all that is you,  contracting
Iris intrinsically forces you into the ambiance,  spearing
Strands of hair electrified,  gasping
For the moment,  seized
Your breath
Short

There is no boat that can carry you there;
No wings that are able to fly you there.
Your feet will stumble before they bring you.

The door is forgotten & easily mistaken.
Alas, it is forsaken;
Multitudes pass.