Trophies for last place,
And a Holiday for every weekend.
A taste of this and that...
OF Italy and Ireland and Asia and Germany
and every township in the county,
and 3 collective Miles of
Portable Toilets,
Strategically Positioned
throughout each event.
cause there is going to be a Lot of ****...

Hooray for whatever we are celebrating this weekend.
Whichever one of the 30 different Woodstocks
Or week long Music Festivals
That exist only so
the Hippest of Hipsters
can congratulate each other
on how Indie they are.

Ya know, it's happy hour somewhere...
Why not party
All Day, Everyday?
Devalue the weekend
Like we have thanksgiving
And New Years.
A Five Kay For the Common Cold,
And We'll even give trophies for last place.
Cause we're all winners here.
and we're all hungry.
And What represents your heritage better than
Pizza or sauerkraut or General Tso's
And endless flowing barrels of refreshing, Ice cold, Domestically brewed and Nationally brand recognized Alcoholic Beverages?

IT's The Great Dumb Down, Charlie Brown!!!
A symptom of the Universe
If there ever was one.
Mass anesthesia to keep us all content
With our collective mediocrities,
our Forfeit Potential,
Our Day Job that doesn't pay very well,
But kind has benefits.
So we stay on.
In fear of nothing better.
It makes feel important.
Like Wheel of Fortune makes us feel smart.
(Wow, you can spell?!)...
Dwindling returns in a world of Beige and Pastels
And the Muted Grays of limestone concrete.
We Accept less and we Get less and we accept less and we Get less
And On And on and on,
till we hit that lowest common cultural denominator,
where your race is what food you eat,
And we all qualify for the special Olympics.

Domestically the cat and dog
Are streets above the rest
But wild alligators
Have put this theory to the test.
Panting hippopotami
Run faster than a mule
And a camel humps his water
Through the desert like a fool.
Bandicoots are ugly,
Chipmonks pretty cute,
And the squirrel steals his nuts
And hides them in the ground as loot.
Tigers are voracious
But beautiful as sin,
They have  coats of cruel colours
With two burning eyes within.
Elephants spectacular,
Blue whales even more
But my favourite little goldfish
Really shows them all the door.



Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
4th January 2009

Some people say love is the most extravagant feeling in the world

People in bad situations would probably disagree

People domestically abused, and everyone unconcerned

They really hope one day they can just be free

But can they?

No hope, no help, nobody to guide them out

The feelings of, anger, sorrow and, betray

Even when out of these situations there is still doubt

I hope the pain goes away, but that’s something I simply can’t control

You can't rule me like a ******* gaming console

You stole everything from me

My, laughter, love and smile

Things I won't have back for a long while

4/30/17

A cheetah speckled woman
With long curly red hair
Invited me to a bean shaped cushion
In her studio apartment.
her keys jingled in the closing door
Sealing us, a hot red room.

"Love is creepy"
She says, sinking into
Her candy apple bean shaped cushion

I am a watcher.
When We met, She was in her natual habitat.
A coat tail of men,
I admired how oblivious they were
to being faceless goons.
watched her direct them
like an ***** desperate orchestra.
My back against a wall,
Smoking a cigarette.

Now, I'm in this studio apartment
Again, I am a ******.
She tells me stories
Of bad tinder dates
as I survey the strung up Christmas lights
Posters of Marilyn monroe.
Teenage quotes of aspiration.
"Be unapologeticly you"

She smiles at my ignorance to her body.
I am not ignorant by any means
Only respectful
I notice her smirk at me swing around
Leaning into shelves of pottery and art supplies.
flying around with a clipped wing.

"Will I be a poem?" She asks.
"You're right. Love is creepy."

I pull wine out of my bag and place it on the counter, put Chicken and vegetables in the fridge.
She turns on Netflix and asks
"whaddaya wanna watch?"
"bird documentaries"
i say,
an effort to incite her own decision.
domestically,
A bird documentary starts to play.
I gloss over a smirk at my failure
We share wine meditating to the sounds of
Bad Voiceovers and chirping

We are the card dealers of moments
hourglass columns
sand falling where art should be carved.
fractures of timelessness stacked like
Jenga blocks
each sip of wine a ritualistic dymensia
blackjack tables with no dealer
just a bartender

We watch an owl puke up mouse bones
"Owls are Creepy."
We agree.
witness to me, is indulgence
silk strings pull my heart towards exhibitionists
When she changes to A pink robe
Textured to compliment my heart strings
the singsong of birds chirping.
provides an exotic baseline for her sway.

I stare at her body.
"My love is creepy" I say
pressing thumbs to divets in her hips
I am slave on her shadows
My hands trace contours
follow my worship eyes
"I like the attention" she says

In the morning
drafty eyes part

whisper From swirling pink elephant dazes
smiling at me.
the soft moans of her night
the reason I started dealing cards.
an addiction to that moment.
the reason I turn the hourglass.
the wide green foggy eyes
Watching me stare back.
stretching like a cat
who plays with the bird
brings it to it's master as a gift
limp and submissive,
Perhaps she is the bird.
Sunken to the curves of the bed.
a limp beautiful body
the most honest and intentionless fracture
love is creepy.
I am a watcher
ask only that you exist.
Existing is equally as creepy.
we have fingers
thoughts
consequences.
So why not stare at a part you want to keep?
Why not write it down for others to fly?
so many beautiful things are never seen
Oppurtunity wasted for fear of being creepy
Fear of love.
fear of cats
Fear of birds
when I stare I capture
When I write, you stare
love is creepy.
we are creepy.
birds are creepy
be my creepy love bird.
peace dove
fly with me, if for a moment.
and stare down at everything while we can see it
I want to see everything with you
For now I see you in everything.
Photoshop you into my dreams
Imaginary
Love is for the birds anyway.

“Have you been to the Melrose café?
I heard they have the best lunch there”

“I always go downtown for coffee
helps you avoid the goons
and the smell of trash coming in through the door”

Francis St.
The neighborhood with the crooked spine streets, the intolerable hunchback it was in the armpit of Korea-town.
The snake stealth slither you acquired to get to the 7/11 down the street without your teeth being pulled out by a gun. In the 80’s the back wall of that convenience store was littered with
no-do gooders, the typical teenage gangster with ironic ****** white shirts and a mouthful of *****. An army with no motive.
Buzzards learning how to haunt instead of hunt.
In the afternoons it was speculated that they melted into the hot cement, an intimidating presence that smoked marijuana and made their cars jump.
With fear?
warmth?
happiness?
Who’s to say.
But times have changed. The hungry graffiti on the wall became the emblem of what had been, and what had survived. It was no longer us vs. them, it was me vs. you.
There’s a hostility that sinks into the earth and made the children more aggressive in playgrounds that endorsed healthy living; a melting *** reserved only for the diversely attacked and passive aggressive scrutinized bunch.
I lived on that street in the peach palm, salmon slapped building where I witnessed a domestically abused woman with a shattered nose smear her blood across the windowpane of the front door while I checked for the mail. Her hair was bleached and it hung dead on her scalp like sun rays that had gotten seasonal depression. Her face was a gauzy mess of a nosebleed. I felt for that woman the same way I felt for the slugs that people threw salt at. A sadistic addiction for soft things; There were bruises where there shouldn’t have been and I felt like the imperfections on the wall looking but unable to be seen. And I wondered if she could see me. She crouched on the corner of the steps and waited. I didn’t know what for. I could hear sirens, I could hear footprints of her abuser coming closer and picking her up like a rag doll. Opening the door and disappearing into the night with the sound of high heels slowly going mute. I stayed there until the blood dried. The next day the stain was gone and I wondered about all the other blemishes around the building and if they had the same disgust to them. Were the discolorations on the carpet of the hallways just violent memories?
I could smell the poverty inside that apartment. It clung to me like it held on to anyone.
I was guilty of it creeping into the beds of my nails while I tried in futility to wash it off.
Despite all the books I read, all the times I refused to step out of my room in fear of experiencing too much I was not saved from observing a lot of things. There was a cathedral church a couple blocks away that you could see outside the living room window and when the sun set. It almost felt like the presence of god looming just beyond, always assuring me that yes, I had not been abandoned but it wasn’t abandonment I worried about but about becoming what was inevitably seeping into the tap water, into the people with the olive skin that can’t unlatch their own cages.
Of becoming the shadow of a civilization that revels in the darkness.
I wanted to be a pageant queen on television with the pink lipstick instead of a statistic on the news of most likely dropping out of school and hiding in the crevice of welfare.
I wanted the palm trees without the choke-hold. I wanted the cool California weather without the open fires on July 4th, the firework setting flames to nearby homes telling me that this was the hell that came with freedom. The American dream was served in the oven and why won’t you accommodate to these standards you ask me and I don’t know how to reply.
While other kids played in their backyards and learned how to ride bikes, I learned how to survive, how to walk the streets without being murdered. These are good skills that transfer into college resumes.
So the roots of trees would come out of the ground like fists and demand reparations, they would sneak into the pavement and break car windows with the intention of stealing radios that they sold for a good penny. They carried knives and cackled at the neighborhood watch because all eyes were on them and yet nothing changed but I want to change, I want to change you chant.
Nothing will be the same since I lived in Francis st.
Named after the saint with the smugness in his smile and the gluttony blistering out of his dress.
Will you comfort me in my hours of need oh gracious one?
will you drink these sins like Catholics drink Jesus' blood on Sunday morning?
Is this blasphemy a reason to instill death between the hours of 2 and 4:30?
I’m always chasing on my knees for the knowledge that is taken away from the destitute culture that the ghettos become. I wanted to go back to the mud and dig all those lives that crossed mine and tell them that they could run after their intelligence. Save them from the quicksand. That one doesn’t have to be shot at a party for being raised by criminals. That cars that drive slow at night don't always have bad intentions.

But if I do, I’m afraid I’ll sink


I’ll sink

Who does it hurt?
Domestically,
North Dakota, the worst,
But New Mexico also,
Just to bring it home to me,
Here on the high mesa
That is Northern New Mexico,
At one time The Northern Viceroy,
Empire Americana,
His Majesty Philip I,
King of Spain’s
Duke of Earl Moment--
Felipe’s 16th Century
That was Europe.
But I digress.

Dropping oil prices have to,
Must impact the Arab Oil-
Producing World in a most
Un-delightful way.
Perhaps it’s time to
Put the screws to our
Islamic brethren?
The Powers that be—
Our pals at the World Economic Forum,
The Nabobs of WEF,
Getting together again at Davos or
Some other insanely affluent playground,
This time deciding
These barbaric decapitations
Have gone quite far enough.

After all the rage is run dry
And the rockets are set aside
The girl's not coming home
She ran water back and forth
'Cross the great lands on battlefield
She's seen horrors
That put grown men to sleep
She's nursed wounds that endlessly seep
But after the war out here
The girl's not coming home
She's not stopping or slowing
She's going to make a break for it
Because no amount of hellfire
Compares to what goes on
Behind domestically closed doors
The girl's not coming home
She's no valuables worth dropping in for
Because as soon as she enters
The threshold of the front door
It's another go round of fate worse death
And ****** all because
The girl's not coming home
She's learned from that mistake
Sometimes the one you marry
Isn't the one you loved all those years ago
Before **** went south and he backhanded your mouth
When the bottle made him rough
And you don't wanna play
Darling
The girl's not coming home
One time too many 'round that track
Lucky she has no kids
She'd leave them just the same
It ain't no way to live
In the twenty-firsf century
So everyone
The girl's not coming home

Why is that people only care about **** culture, when it actually happens to their daughters, to their sisters, to their brothers, to their mothers, fathers or even their grandfathers and grandmothers?
Why do we ignore when others have been ***** or domestically abused?
Or why do we change the channel when it’s discussed on the news?
We do have hold these covert rules and hush any fools that try to break these rules?
Why can’t we give our children the tools to better watch out or deal with these ghouls?
Why is it an inappropriate topic to discuss in schools.
They say not to make a mountain out of mole hills?
‘So, just pretend it didn’t happen and just stomach it along with some pills.’
Just what the doctor prescribed, yet no matter how many pills we take we feel dead inside.
For we can’t hide from this monster, maybe that’s why a lot choose suicide.
It’s not just a phase or a mental illness yet that’s how we choose to cut the pie.
Yet if we saw beyond the surface, maybe we would see other reasons why?
Why this happens.
Why it’s important and should no longer be ignored.
Why it continues.
Why it’s more complex than we think and the many factors that lead to this.
And lastly why we need to love and support those through it.

Hi, I'm a strong believer the media is important.
But I cannot associate myself with the news that it's reportin'.
Domestically, we see one side, not enough is imported.
And if I speak out, there's a fear I get deported,

but I'm living far away from where I was born.
It's too hard at this time to really call that place my home.
Other nations are more accepting and they're half as diverse.
I can't help but think that the roles should be reversed.
Not mine, but some peoples ancestors traveled across the sea
Searching for a new life to rid themselves of heresy.
Now they won't let you board a plane if you've got hairy cheeks,
Or a wrap on your head. They'll give up your seat.

I didn't create the problem. I'm still in my teens.
What went wrong in the past that infected us with greed.
I find it hard to believe that there was just a 'bad seed'.
I'm made by what I feel, what I hear, and what I see.

Now it's my job, and the rest of my generation's,
to sniff out the problems. Find where people were mistaken.
Some issues may be right in front of our nose.
Sometimes we don't realize how deep this stuff goes.
We often don't understand how the darkness grows.
As much as we study, no one really knows.

As a young person, I'm still stuck writing poetry
because no one who matters would listen to my prose.

Your soft lips
A wet caress
Tinged with sweet mint and cigarettes
And something faintly spiced
The softness of your hands on my hips
Your stomach and chest pressed against mine
Breathing into each other
Your heartbeat the only sound I can hear
Domestically in love

Ah, this is the taste of champions
Inhaling cigarette smoke
Over a thin, delicate film
Of mucus and blood

Grinning and paralysed
Lying on an unmade bed
Domestically set for two
Left for one, left cold and alone

The sting of coffee shudders and shakes
Brings me back, back here, back home
This place where I never really left
But I never really want to fully face

Mirrors have always shone in the darkness for me
As examples of what could have been, and now, my bleakness
Sway side to side, this opus and requiem
Wasted notes, wasted eulogy, wasted time

Go ahead, scream this isn't poetry,
This is my sign, my view, the realiness,
Piece that every been written,
Go ahead, scream this isn't poetry,
That you're angry and offended,
Go ahead and scream colours and life matters,
That humanity is a race under God,
Go ahead and scream that your right and am wrong,
But look around, take a good look,
And you see that all below,
Is nothing but a disease,

Black Lives, No,
White Lives, No,
Blue Lives, No,
Asians, Korean Lives, Still No,
Purple, Yellow, Red Lives, No,
Animals Lives No,
Unborn and Children Lives, No,
Trans lives matter, No,
Gay lives matter, no.
Alien lives matter, No,
No Lives Matters at all,
Why do we need to divide life,
To make humans matter,
Women, men, children, animals, domestically battered,
Women, men, children suicidal and blood splattered,
Animals hunted for fun, still blood splattered,
Animals killed for food, human chain and food on platter,
Still yet, we are still taking each others, animals and children lives, screaming life matters,
Clearly, when the world gone crazy and nothing really matters.

Socia Media,
FaceBook, Twitter and YouTube,
NEWS,,,
BBC, Fox, CCN, Australian News,
Promoting hate and No lives Matters.
Fact checking truths and facts,
Banning those who is academically speaking the right acts,
Promoting false love, facts and peace, all upon on lies,
Reporting our mistakes and stories on how or when we die.
Creating cyber/online bullying, just look at the internet reaction,
To Johnny Depp and Amber Heard Domestic Abuse Case,
Justice for Johnny while Amber receives Death threats,
Forgetting that the same happened to Caroline Flack in a Domestic Violence case,
Caroline Commited Suicide via Distress of Media and Social media attacks,
The whole world found out and hashtagged "be kind" and stop online abuse and bullying, let talk about mental health.
But now that gone out of the window, be kind is not the statement,
Out of the window goes the let stop online abuse and bullying,
Hoping another celebrity suffers mentally and commits suicide,
If Amber stories turn to suicide,
Then you all have "Assisted Homicide" title.
Don't show remorse, don't write "R.I.P Amber Heard",
If you were part of the creation that lead to that.

This is not humanity,
This is ironic and a joke,
This is not a race,
Under God,
This is a race,
Under Evil, Luicifer,
Demanding change,
Not showing change,
Screaming be kind,
But showing Bullying signs,
This is not humanity,
This is a disease.