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Marshal Gebbie  Oct 2009
Zanzibar
Marshal Gebbie Oct 2009
The stink of fish on earthen streets
A hot wind blows from ochre hills
Black faces shine with brilliant teeth
Street market ***** doth cure all ills.
Redness in her plaited hair
Rhythm in her steady tread
A harmony of balance, she carries
Water jars on her head.
A market girl is singing
As she sits among bananas
The drama in her music
Is as dusty as the street,
It fills the air with magic
As it lilts above street chatter
In the atmosphere of Africa
Where new and ancient meet.


The goat boy herds his docile flock
Through camel trains and bales
The steamer tethered at the dock
Announces that she sails
With billowed steam and mournful wail
It echoes through the town
And the planter and his agent
Bargain with a harried frown.
The bleating of the goat herd
And the stench of fish and dung
Is as ordinary as Africa
In the searing mid day sun.


Zanzibar is spices, Zanzibar is Stone.
Club Zanzibar is whiskey on the rocks
Consumed alone
Or shared upon the balcony
In the shadow of a palm
With the turquoise Indian ocean
Reaching out beyond the arm.
Do you see the dhows are sailing?
Do you see the fishing nets?
Do you hear the oarsmen chanting?
Did you see black muscle flex?
Have you watched the dripping sweat
Cascade on alabaster brow?
Have you inhaled the scent of Africa
And allowed it to allow?



Colobus monkeys in the treetops
Narrow lanes in the bazaar
Dull white walls adorn stone buildings
And the rupee is by far
The favorite tenure of the Island
Since the days when slaves were sold
By Arab camel caravaners
Who traded coin for young black gold.
East and west collide in concert
Africa and Asia blend
The Sultan's mix of race and spice
In Zanzibar, beyond lands end.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
3rd June 2008
- From Watching the Ripples Radiate
eileen mcgreevy Apr 2010
My very best friend died today,
Just this morning, he passed away.
He was as loyal as can be,
And was always there for the family.
So, *****, my friend, i will miss you,
And so will all those who knew you.
Of you, god will surely take care,
Running with the angels up there.
So be free *****, and run with grace,
For you my friend, we can never ever replace.....
This piece was written by Christopher Glynn John Smith, for me and my dog, who sadly died this morning 30 April 2010 in his sleep at the age of 15. Thankyou Chris. I love you
phil roberts Jan 2016
We come as we please
And we leave on the breeze
Away........

Distance
As an image of warm blue air
The ***** man denies seditious writhings
Coming in proud bursts of creation
Irrespective of soil or culture
Bursting thirsting creation
Heathen fertility
Haphazard geography
Lust of life beyond life

Screaming gadgetry can cowards make
Tight cages can our spirits break
But love is broad and clean
Fickle and immortal
The soil from whence we came
Without permit or permission
With honour and with relish
The ***** man denies nothing
Not one word at all

And on and on
The fairground moves on
Away

                    By Phil Roberts
Stopped into a back roads diner
Somewhere just off Carolina
Highway thirty three
Sign said "open", I went in
Pushed the RC handle made of tin
Not a soul around that I could see

Waitress came out from the back
Name plate said her name was "Jack"
I'm glad I came in
Ordered up some milk and pie
This waitress sure did catch my eye
Pushing that RC ad made of tin

Told her that I was passing through
Not staying long, had things to do
Smiling, she  said "You'll stay"
I said I'' need a place to rest
She named one place...the best
Out by the bay

There's not much to do round here
We only serve three kinds of beer
and the Carolina Zoom Zoom
we make in the back room
It goes down as smooth as ever
Turn your insides straight to leather
That Carolina Zoom Zoom
we make in the back room


"Jack" sat down and asked my story
told her, "lots of pressure, lots of worry"
Don't worry ***, it'll go
I asked her how she could just say that
Took off my coat and then my ball hat
Just how was she to know

She said "I read people when they're here"
Some folks stay, some disappear
You'll be here a while
She said "you're driving time is over"
"I think you'll end up, as the new owner"
"Of this place"...with a smile

I said "there's no people here to sell to"
"What the heck would I do"
owning this with no one here at all
She laughed and said "I am agreeing"
But you are looking but not seeing
Money's made behind the yonder wall

There's not much to do round here
We only serve three kinds of beer
and the Carolina Zoom Zoom
we make in the back room
It goes down as smooth as ever
Turn your insides straight to leather
That Carolina Zoom Zoom
we make in the back room

She said it was a truck stop diner
That sold the best ***** in all Carolina
Carolina zoom zoom in the back
Recipe's been here for ages
Brewed real slow, distilled in stages
Always forty jugs out on the rack

We've sold to Robert Johnson and Bocephus
You may choose to not believe this
I wouldn't lie about that fact
The diner never makes much money
But, the back room, there's the honey
sure as i know I'm called Jack

She said she lived in an old trailer
That she traded with a sailor
For a case five   years ago
Moved it back on up the hill
There she could watch on the still
If I bought, she'd have to go

I thought a while, made two offers
Money to fill up her coffers
And she had to stay
She smiled, asked me if I'm certain
Did I mean it, or was I just flirtin'
I told her I was set to pay

There's not much to do round here
We only serve three kinds of beer
and the Carolina Zoom Zoom
we make in the back room
It goes down as smooth as ever
Turn your insides straight to leather
That Carolina Zoom Zoom
we make in the back room

I've been the owner fifteen years
I changed my life, by changing gears
Jack is still with me
Thank god I stopped in to this diner
Back in the back roads off Carolina
Highway thiry three
Mary Gay Kearns  Feb 2018
Women.
Mary Gay Kearns Feb 2018
Lady you stand at the end
Where entrance meets daylight
Under the red brick archway
Between the buildings,
A white cap hides your hair
And the Dutch costume
Is of yesterday.
Silhouetted in geometry
Your profile senses thought
Far out in the distance
Where hopes and dreams reside.
You are as ancient as humanity
Womenkind contemplating
Their singularity,
Waiting for time
To eclipse this solitude.

Love Mary

From Pieter De ***** The Courtyard Painting
National Gallery London.
16 lines
Stephen E Yocum Nov 2013
From afar I knew her at school,
We talked once or twice,
She was a beauty you see.
Having a boyfriend elsewhere.

Came our Senior All Night Party,
Planned out all very cool.
After an afternoon Graduation,
Our entire class of several hundred
Embarked on a private train,
Eight passenger cars,
An Engine and caboose.
All Just for our use.

As a class officer I was in the entry car,
Handing out handshakes to the guys,
And goodbye kisses to the girls,
(One last chance to flirt.)

Until she, the leggy blond came along.
That kiss was not fleeting, not congratulatory,
If was mutually passionate and assuredly sincere.
It took my breath away, she tasted of lipstick
And honey, sweet as can be.

Minutes later we found ourselves
In a compartment, mostly alone,  
Stayed there though out the,
90 mile train excursion,
Discovering each other as
Young Lovers should.
Nothing seedy,
Nothing inappropriate,
Just kissing until our lips hurt,
And I felt like I might explode.
This beautiful long legged girl,
And I, fogging the windows up,
All Fireworks and night flares,
Like a steamy magic act on the rails.
Other people came and went,
But we hardly took notice of them.
Lost in a little world of our own.

We reached Oakland,
Departed the train,
Went aboard a three level,
Red Line Cruse Boat
And sailed away.
Two bands, music,
And just a little *****,
High on kisses, Royal Crown,
Jack Denials’ Black Label.              
All night on the Bay water,
A little dancing too, as I recall.

Then back at the Pier by six.
Breakfast and return train trip.
Somewhere along the way,
We lost track of each other,
Too many people,
All moving and shoving,
Friends pulling us in different direction,
Too tired to protest I guess.
I found a place to fall asleep and did.
And just like that it was over.

The next day and for years,
It all seemed like a dream.
How does that happen?
What had we both been feeling
For those four school years,
But had never expressed,
To ourselves or each other,
That put us together on that journey,
Of Steel Tracks and Water Adrift?

During those years,
What passions had we stifled,
All for lack of opportunity?
Both dating other people,
Busy moving blindly through adolescents,
As kids will do, with no real clue.   

After the train ride,
That ship on the Bay,
It was off to college,
And new friends with which to play,
Events and time took over, and
We both went our own ways.

For the first time, since that night,
I saw her some weeks ago.
And she still looks the same.
It’s been many years,
But she has not changed.
Lovely as ever and still my friend.
Both of us laughed as we talked,
Fondly recalled that night on the train.
She now a widow and me on my own.

Living 600 miles apart,
We email back and forth,
Pen Pals we tell ourselves,
And each other.

What was I thinking?
Back in those days.
How did I let her get away?
I suppose “Stuff” and something,
Called Life merely got in the way.

Now every day,
The first thing I do,
After I let out the dogs,
And brew a cup of Joe,
Is open my Email files,
To see if she is there.
So pleased when she is,
A little sad when she’s not.
For CJ my friend.
phil roberts Feb 2016
We come as we please
And we leave on the breeze
Away........

Distance
As an image of warm blue air
The ***** man denies seditious writhings
Coming in proud bursts of creation
Irrespective of soil or culture
Bursting thirsting creation
Heathen fertility
Haphazard geography
Lust of life beyond life

Screaming gadgetry can cowards make
Tight cages can our spirits break
But love is broad and clean
Fickle and immortal
The soil from whence we came
Without permit or permission
With honour and with relish
The ***** man denies nothing
Not one word at all

And on and on
The fairground moves on
Away

                    By Phil Roberts
not new but apt
Lilith Meredith Apr 2013
Over the clamor of the generators
The incessant roar like a hungry crowd
Your voice is lost
Dying over the sands
Wavering, beaten by Atlantic waves.
I can't hear your whisper
Over the din of foreign motors
Over the persistent pounding of
Pratt & Whitneys.
Your hellos are lost to me,
You have to scream
Over the home-bound rotator wailing
I can't hear you in the cabin
The distance is so great between
Your side of the bed
And mine
Raise your voice over the void
I've been calling to you for years
But the continued return of echos
Seem like your distant shadow
Is a mirage
You have to scream
CK Baker Jul 2019
there’s a semblance
of order
in the pink eye
of the street man
(that messianic soul
caught deep
in the binary)
glancing on
with rose colored glasses
and magical spoons

skimming whimsically
(and cocksure)
dancing on the
crab grass
with his
home grown *****
and cheroot
lost in a dialogue
(complete with
wink and jest)
embracing
the day with
spontaneity and cheer

grinning profoundly
(an incomprehensible grin!)
covering a nicked
and scarred
ear to ear
summer drought
or winter rain
are indifferent
in this mind
(culling on his own terms
with a honed discretion)

pundits would say
that he spoke
in a broken crow
or nigerian slang
(but only he knows
that eloquence)

cloaked, and head steady
behind whispers
of tavener
(he had always
said they were enough)
he gets on
with the rosary
to find
comfort lost
phil roberts Nov 2016
We come as we please
And we leave on the breeze
Away........

Distance
As an image of warm blue air
The ***** man denies seditious writhings
Coming in proud bursts of creation
Irrespective of soil or culture
Bursting thirsting creation
Heathen fertility
Haphazard geography
Lust of life beyond life

Screaming gadgetry can cowards make
Tight cages can our spirits break
But love is broad and clean
Fickle and immortal
The soil from whence we came
Without permit or permission
With honour and with relish
The ***** man denies nothing
Not one word at all

And on and on
The fairground moves on
Away

                    By Phil Roberts
Actually, I'm only half gypsy.....just the restless half :)
Ronald P Chavez Oct 2010
An old cowboy who was ruggedly cute
Was bedding down his best friend’s wife
Having the time of his life
Drowned in rot gut *****

Mistakenly thought his wrangler buddy didn’t give a hoot
Until the sudden moment his ex-best friend began to shoot
But he was in luck with uncommon fate
When St. Peter let him in the gate

Knowing he was just a crazy old cowboy coot
Drinking heavenly whisky straight out of his boot
First published in Time of Triumph.  www.timeoftriumph.net

— The End —