A moment is never singular, exactly;
nothing on This Earth lasts, obviously.
Yet People still search to locate a focal point,
identify the axis, ground the spar tree.
Molecules have been examined down to Music;
infinite harmonies taking perceived shape,
Each element ever-changing as our senses are tuned.
Particles are waves of color, our own hand turning the kaleidoscope.

But our mind's-eye has been clouded;
Selfish fear of inconvenience escalating,
leading us all to the cliff of catastrophe.
Inching feet-forward hover over black air;  the void right there.
Regretful feet-backward discover lost ground,  toes grasped by gravity into falling gravel.
Stilled to painful awareness, but at least to finally see

Ancient Sequoia,
giants rooted in misty epochs,
wizened moss-covered faces sleepily meditating
under their own constellations turning.
We hated their shadows, felled them for the void, stole their place in the heartbroken sun.
Our vain history in tiny arrows obscures their rings of years like graffiti.
But in the hushed forest remaining, sheltering treasured few seedlings 6 inches tall,
One breath in lasts a season; one breath out purifies the years
with timeless patience for you as well.

There's no need to hurry;
wishes already happened when they are dreamed.
time was measured to distract.

A Humpback Whale arrives to calve in sanctuary’s dawn.
Still water, then her nose appearing,
then her monumental presence rising like a building;
then her entire whaleness levitating on her tail for a moment in our thin world.
Only faithful joy has that kind of power.
Then arching to fly,
and slamming, bursting, the surface for the generations to hear and feel.
She fills an ocean with her soul, a year with one song.
She is alive today, escaping slaughter
After swimming through the blood of her family spilled by our grandfather's harpoons,
Even with all the seas poisoned and starving,
Swim in the echoes of her call; she loves completely.


Keep no tally from the intangible past,
forgiving is possible.

Swimming Penguins
Birds evolved to fly in ocean.
Wings to flippers, feet stepping clumsily from water.
Yet eggs must still nest, their babies still breathe.
Safety is the very precipice of existence, on bitter ice at 60 below,
Sheltering their young clustered from blistering winds,
fasting from sustenance,
While heaven’s glorious Aurora flame silently over their winter dreams.

Extremes reveal the Sacred, but we’re confused.
Fear mistakenly chained with control; but both dissipate with acceptance.

A Serotinous Pine there,
Where winter snows soak into thirsty soil but relentless summer sun bakes motionless
Every plant a tinder held close to conflagration,
in a season's Russian roulette of forest fire.
This pine seals precious seed away from every spring’s promise,
lest burning destroys every one.
Only searing heat during torched consumption triggers the last gentle act,
At the knife’s edge of death itself,
opening cones of seeds.
Fluttering down to new life on the other side of time.
Tiny bright green amid black ashes.

This apocalypse was our contrivance, but so is the word.
Beginning of the End or End of the beginning, all the same.

So what then are we, on This Earth?
Cerebral Creatures, Storytelling Animals,
Minds created to sense spiritual constructs.
Living is the method of our creation,
Sheltering each other from inherited trials
With contrived joys and sufferings distracting each other
From the abyss both sides:
Soul freezing fearful cold of the Empty Void and consuming fire of Electric Chaos.

In the End, our sacrificing gift,  greater than ourselves,
for our children,
is God.

Don't try to move
Just Be still
You must prove
It"s your will

Just be,
Quietly
Silently
Chill

No technology
No phones
No emails
No fax

Mythology
Bones
Trails
Relax

Thoughts flow through my head
like streams upon the riverbed
Constantly haunting me
Is it a plague or am I free

Wondering what it is I truly do seek
On this Hedonistic journey for pleasure
Once I finally reach the highest peak
Will I even care if there isn't any treasure

And even if there was, how much is really ever enough?
No matter how much was there I would still feel rough
The journey is over, but at least you can buy more stuff
Many toys to play with but your hands are tightly cuffed

Look a brand new thing to crave
How much money did you save?
I"ll take that secret to my grave
As a true consumer ridden slave

Everyone wants what they just can't have
Eyeing your neighbor"s prize like a vulture
Euphemise it veal instead of saying calve
Euthanized a deal, our throw away culture

I want more more more, that's mine not yours
So blessed to have our choice of each amenity
We"ve bore ourselves into consumer ******
So stressed when all we should seek is serenity

If I were tickled by the rub of love,
A rooking girl who stole me for her side,
Broke through her straws, breaking my bandaged string,
If the red tickle as the cattle calve
Still set to scratch a laughter from my lung,
I would not fear the apple nor the flood
Nor the bad blood of spring.

Shall it be male or female? say the cells,
And drop the plum like fire from the flesh.
If I were tickled by the hatching hair,
The winging bone that sprouted in the heels,
The itch of man upon the baby's thigh,
I would not fear the gallows nor the axe
Nor the crossed sticks of war.

Shall it be male or female? say the fingers
That chalk the walls with greet girls and their men.
I would not fear the muscling-in of love
If I were tickled by the urchin hungers
Rehearsing heat upon a raw-edged nerve.
I would not fear the devil in the ****
Nor the outspoken grave.

If I were tickled by the lovers' rub
That wipes away not crow's-foot nor the lock
Of sick old manhood on the fallen jaws,
Time and the ***** and the sweethearting crib
Would leave me cold as butter for the flies
The sea of scums could drown me as it broke
Dead on the sweethearts' toes.

This world is half the devil's and my own,
Daft with the drug that's smoking in a girl
And curling round the bud that forks her eye.
An old man's shank one-marrowed with my bone,
And all the herrings smelling in the sea,
I sit and watch the worm beneath my nail
Wearing the quick away.

And that's the rub, the only rub that tickles.
The knobbly ape that swings along his ***
From damp love-darkness and the nurse's twist
Can never raise the midnight of a chuckle,
Nor when he finds a beauty in the breast
Of lover, mother, lovers, or his six
Feet in the rubbing dust.

And what's the rub? Death's feather on the nerve?
Your mouth, my love, the thistle in the kiss?
My Jack of Christ born thorny on the tree?
The words of death are dryer than his stiff,
My wordy wounds are printed with your hair.
I would be tickled by the rub that is:
Man be my metaphor.

You live on the canal,
by the little swan
that whittles the sun.
A sudden rush of clouds,
a clatter of sandals -
caprice of Dublin.

I knew of Dublin
and its grand canal
from old books tan as sandals.
I read Yeats for a swan,
Joyce for castle clouds
that yielded little sun.

But you, you were the sun!
You lit green Dublin
from within. Clouds
fled from the canals
of your eye. "Swansies."
And summer's far sandals

were today's sandals:
time shifted in the sun,
took flight like the night swan
through ancient Dublin.
You sent letters from the canal,
letters that divided clouds,

only to calve new clouds.
I've never worn sandals,
not ever, but when the canal
danced in my dreams, the sun
pierced my foot in Dublin.
You were my swan,

my elegant swansie,
killer of cloud,
conquistador of Dublin
in gladiatorial sandal,
herald and avatar of sun,
romantic of the grand canal.

Let me taste unclouded sun -  
let sandals upend the canal -
send swans by the dozen into Dublin.

Knowest thou the time when
the wild goats of the rock bring
forth? or canst thou mark when the
hinds do calve?
2 Canst thou number the months
that they fulfill? or knowest thou the
time when they bring forth?
3 They bow themselves, they
bring forth their young ones, they cast
out their sorrows.
4 Their young ones are in good
liking, they grow up with corn; they
go forth, and return not unto them.
5 Who hath sent out the wild ***
free? or who hath loosed the bands
of the wild ***?
6 Whose house I have made the
wilderness, and the barren land his
dwellings.
7 He scorneth the multitude of the
city, neither regardeth he the crying
of the driver.
8 The range of the mountains is
his pasture, and he searchest after
every green thing.
9 Will the unicorn be willing to
serve thee, or abide by thy crib?
10 Canst thou bind the unicorn
with his band in the furrow? or will
he harrow the valleys after thee?
11 Wilt thou trust him, because his
strength is great? or wilt thou leave
thy labour to him?
12 Wilt thou believe him, that he
will bring home thy seed, and gather
it into thy barn?
13 Gavest thou the goodly wings
unto the peacocks? or wings and
feathers unto the ostrich?
14 Which leaveth jer eggs in the
earth. and warmest them in dust,
15 And forgetteth that the foot
may crush them, or that the wild beast
may break them.
16 She is hardened against her
young ones, as though they were not
her's: her labour is in vain without
fear;
17 Because God hath deprived her
of wisdom, neither hath he imparted
to her understanding.
18 What time she lifteth up herself
on high, she scorneth the horse and
his rider.
19 Hast thou given the horse
strength? hast thou clothed his neck
with thunder?
20 Canst thou make him afraid as
a grasshopper? the glory of his
nostrils is terrible.
21 He paweth in the valley, and
rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on
to meet the armed men.
22 He mocketh at fear, and is not
affrighted; neither turneth he back
from the sword.
23 The quiver rattleth against him,
the glittering spear and the shield.
24 He swalloeth the ground with
fierceness and rage: neither believeth
he that it is the sound of the trumpet.
25 He saith among the trumpets,
Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar
off, the thunder of the captains, and
the shouting.
26 Doth the hawk fly by thy
wisdom, and stretch her wings toward the
south?
27 Doth the eagle mount up at thy
command, and make her nest on
high?
28 She dwelleth and abideth on
the rock, upon the crag of the rock,
and the strong place.
29 From thence she seeketh the
prey, and her eyes behold afar off.
30 Her young ones also **** up
blood: and where the slain are, there
is she.

An ode to hospitality and the magnificence
of New Zealand’s majestic South Island.*


Pale Granite massif plummets down from snowline to Kaikoura coast
Where white waves seeth in ocean rage atop the green of dark abyss,
Below subducts Pacific plate to buckle mountain mantle’s boast
Titanic forces ****** beneath the wheeling flock of sea-tern’s hiss.

Cold winds blow from seaward swell of glaciation far to south
Where blue whales hunt the clouds of krill and ply this ocean’s constant roar
Through icy currents rich and deep resourced from white Antarctic mouth
Whence icebergs blue shall calve and drift, where seeking albatross do soar.

Frosty on this Winter morn, green rolling hills caress my eye
Deep shadows creasing valley clefts, round sunlit pastures highlit, mound.
From coastal dune transitioning to snowy mountain crags on high
The splendour of it all, my friend, entrancing me in sense-surround.

Blown red tussock streams to windward, ripples in concentric waves
Ripples in the mountain’s flank surmounting to the alpine pass.
Bastion of high country shepherd, striding forth with dog he braves,
The loneliness of isolate in isolation’s clawing grasp.

Tempest in the black beech forest thrashing leafage falls like rain
Rain in sheets cascades from clifftops, waterfalls in grand parade.
Hellish clouds embrace the fiords in hellish lightening flash refrain
Fiordland in majestic style in vaulting might of storm’s charade.

Grey light in the estuary, reflections in still water stand
Of fishing boats at wharfage in a timeless moment’s instant gaze,
Riverton in midday mode as fisherman’s coarse calloused hand
Prepares to launch beyond the spit to brave the sea, to snare the crays.

Comfort in a welcome smile, welcome in a warming fire
Luxury in the steaming sting of shower water piping hot.
Blue cod baked so perfectly with pinot noir to my desire
The sanctuary of “Land’s End”, quaintly, the very best New Zealand’s got.

Marshalg
“Foxglove”, Taranaki
25 June 2015

*“Land’s End”… An exquisite find, a very English bed and breakfast hotel located, remotely, at the very tip of southern lands end at Bluff.
A delightful discovery to complement, perfectly, the utter charm and grandeur of New Zealand’s wonderland....
The magnificent South Island.

M.

Eve convinced Adam
to eat forbidden fruit
in the Garden of Eden

Helen of Troy's face
launch'd a thousand ships,
her lips instigating warfare

Sumptuous curvatures of
women's hips and bossom
lure honorable men to disgrace

How dare that trollop
where a pair of trousers
accentuating her buttocks!

The micro-hemline
corralled a wandering eye
to the elegant calve muscle

The female figure is
warmth and seduction,
yet devilish and misleading

History and myth
reaffirming sweet satisfaction,
but reeking of disaster

(The Governor has obtained the approval from England to allow Ivan to bring officially the gold to the Russian nun. Pedro and Carla started to talk in their bedroom.)

(Pedro said,)



''Your concern for life and health means more than the pleasure to have
Expensive jewelry; '' ''Can you explain the new conclusion
About our family future to me? '' '' Well, when glaciers calve,
They become slowly icebergs- nothing else but pure delusion.



(Pedro continued,)



Beatrice knows me better than you; with you I live
A lifetime of conservative thinking; '' ''make me understand
Your relationship with her, when you love and forgive.
Being catholic, you must give up your sins, at the Lord's Command.’’



(...said Carla. Pedro was seemingly not listening to her. He said,)



''I've visited New Spain to understand its reality.
I get back home to make the change; '' ''It seems that the Indian
People have changed your thinking; I predict a fatality.
It's just a different culture to be trapped in our oblivion.''




(Pedro said,)




''Life, in its essence, is guided by the same principles.''
''You could learn from the Turks as well as you have learned from
The Indians to keep your thinking invincible
At least, the Turks are civilized; I think their time will come.''




(Pedro replied,)



''The civilization is created; the Indians keep
Their unspoiled ideas far away from the vices of
The society; Turks always need their wonders on the deep
And some unique ideas coming from above



(Pedro continued,)




To change something in the evolutionary sense.
Though you have been in New Spain you couldn't concretely
Differentiate the old world from the new world and, thence
You couldn't understand Geraldine's origin; discretely




(Pedro continued,)




You cannot understand the fundamental meaning
Of the life change; this is the cause of our separation.
''I feel abandoned in our family; while educating
Our children you leave them to come back with a new conception.



(Carla continued,)




You're an individualist to fight against me; your fight
Is fierce and I feel like I'm thwarted and defeated
Until losing balance, until the devils mock my sight,
And until I can no longer resist while I need to be needed.




(Carla continued,)




That's why I got sick; '' '' Beatrice is, in fact, my life partner,
But I have to divide my time between her and our children.
It seems that my responsibility as a father
Made me turn back home and visit New Spain, which is bewildering.''




(Replied Pedro. Carla stopped talking for a few minutes, then she continued,)




''Bella said that no one can separate that oath that was made
In the Church and reinforced by a lifelong contract.
Miguel said that the marriage purpose is to get the highest grade
Of awareness to infer the consciousness abstract




(Carla continued,)




Meaning and to have a high moral identity.
The evolution of the moral conscience leads to developing
The moral identity, but we may call it, for brevity,
A concept of consciousness in the communion of feelings.’’



(Pedro said,)



''It seems that we have passed this moment, and therefore I want
To change, but in a different way from Descartes, who tried
To reconcile, using a dualistic way to get in sync,
The idealism with the materialism when they collide.



(Pedro continued,)




You have a dual concept of love and an internal
Contradiction between the spiritual love and the body
Sensibility; the pulse of your thinking depends on
Your soul moods; it should be vice versa; you love nobody.''



(...to be continued...)



Poem by Marieta Maglas

I watch her as she cries
and as she sinks to the floor
she sobs herself to sleep
reminds me, shes so much like me

of course she is,
she is my mother
But mother's love,
and care
and don't abuse their daughters

i wonder why she does
why she does just that
because she knows i hate the pain
inflicted on my calve

We are so much alike
i just noticed that
both childhoods ruined by eachother

when she was seventeen
she had me

now Im 13
pain crashing through my body

The dude wore
a desert-cammie boonie,
cut-off cargos
& chain-smoked Camels.
He was a walking billboard, too.
On his right calve,
an inked rattler
lay coiling,
buzzing,
"Don't Tread On Me"
& on his left
was etched
the *******,
spewing,
"**** Iraq!"

God, I loved him.

I splashed onto your crown,
slid through your gorgeous hair,
rolled down over your beautiful shoulder
& scrumptious blade
to your lower slender-spine,
where I pooled for a second,
before quickly disappearing
over into your sweet crack
touching your soft-petals,
cascaded to your inner thigh
& onto your muscular calve,
moved alongside your ankle
to the short distance
between your toes,
where I fell,
swirled into the drain.

In and old abandoned corn shed
Where men calve lumps of stone
Sitting in some old abandoned corner
Young Johnny sits all alone
See Johnny's wife, she left him
For some Sacramento stud
Now his tears they hit the corn shed floor
While the stones wash in his blood

In a down town whisky bar
Where the drinks will bring you down
Make you feel like you've won the fight
But there's no one else around
Sit's a beautiful woman who has no place to go
But a thousand down town men that want to take her home

But a village by the name of Palmetto
Where the lanes are named the same
Lived beautiful young Louisa
Who made my heart beat lame
And for all the worlds riches now seem worthless
Like nothing could ever rise above this
But when she stands there waiting with those shot-gun lips
My eyes they travel from her jawbone to her hips
She asks me to come in and make a sacrifice
Leave my heart on the doorstep to paradise

Soft kisses in the night, softly and with such despair in those eyes
whispers stay here with me tonight, stay with me at least until sunrise
So i carry the cross of David
For all those worshipers tonight
For all the children with no food to share
or those who've just lost sight

As we walk up those stairs i made a promise to keep her safe
Now i'm covered in her beauty but simply lost in all of her faith

The beauty of Audrey Hepburn would appear to have no parallel,
With luscious eyes and soft white skin as smooth as caramel,
From the class, and the elegance, that so few have,
Combined with the innocence of a newborn calve,
La femme parfaite,
society may say.
Although she does not make me laugh, love and stand above,
Because Audrey pales in comparison to my love.

i can't fathom the depths of the ocean
and i don't know if that's a cliche or a pun or both
but being with him made me want to watch glaciers calve
and count droplets in waterfalls
and wonder at the wonderful
but things on pedestals do what things on pedestals do
now i could throw myself off the side of a cliff on principle alone
and laugh at the bottom

Seeking asylum behind the wall and
if Jerusalem should fall
we'll head off to a desert isle.

I'm going to
file that away for a rainy day which
may be tomorrow,
who knows.

Down here in Le Havre
watching ferries calve cars
it all seems like madness to dream
for a while of soft sand and an isle
when the desert is here
within me.

I wonder to world with her board
To calve out songs that smell vile
She would bite my ears as a cord
But the love was dead as death is alter
My love can't be sold for real, she knew
Never loved me never never and ever
Living inside the white garment to ******
She pretends to admire her desire

Her heart flew in the dew with few crook.
Cup in her scent of my handsome look
Lover boy glower son of one woman
Love me when am down and drown
Not when I fly and high cloud in the sky
Call me name to tame my sway baby

the creature has noticed me. it has thousands of broken legs on its face and keeps tabs, never wasting an hour without checking in, watching my home grow bigger in the corner. i am a long bodied cellar spider, suspended, inverted beneath the guitar case, just right of the bed frame. food is scarce, but i sense we share this hunger in the humid subterranean habitat. it takes on thinness, shakes at times, makes day into night, flips pages, tele-spells, turns night into day again.

micro-fibrous dust settles on my spinnerets, a twitchy sneeze draws attention, the cruelest of details. while unraveling undaunted one pseudo-day sort of night, a pulse was released comma intent to ****. it came like resolute qualia, something my eight eyes can’t see. the plastic cave, the broken allegory, all ghastly and converging. as soon as the web gets jostled, a switch will summon my stunning epileptic display. i am ready to give it a leg, but only from the calve. it has never come this close.

My gravid eye
opens a gaze
on you,
strafes under
grayling cloud,
attaches to a memory
& bites into the
blue-green night
with cigarette teeth.

Then you leave,
skipping across
the undone
waters who calve
cities that split
like onions. Whiskey
beads on your fingers
in the wood-dark bar.

Lover, how you
braid my blood...
Your plural beauty
rests on the elbows
of Istanbul, and
in the same moment
it arrives here,
a splitting whisper
in winter's pavilion.
I crave the crisp
pear of your voice,
the sail's spurt
of your body,
the quiet galleries
of your soul.

So return quickly,
I'm lost in
the night streets
without you.