A coarse, yellow coat with dark spot aplenty
Lean as a greyhound with limb long and lengthy,
Faster than hare from a cold standing start
Impossibly glimpsed in tall grasses that part.
Crystaline jewels in two huge hazel eyes
With the svelt of a feline’s cold killing surprise,
Explosively quick with an elegant gait
And a murderous jaw full of canines that wait
For a fleeing gazelle or a springbok at speed
Then a launch that would emulate bullet, when freed.
Incredibly smooth with a fast loping stride
That would tax any racehorse an envious ride,
Snapping manouvers to left and to right
That mirror a quarry’s evasions of flight.
A blur in a frantic explosion of dust
Then the life blood erupts, splashing red as the rust.

Heaving great flanks after thrill of the chase
Wide open muzzle and gore on the face,
Guarding the game till the kittens locate
Then the spoils of the chase will make portions dictate.*


Marshalg
Serengetti Plain
Central Africa
30 November 2012

I can't stop writing this poetry,
Because all I think of is poetry.
Phrases repeat temselves spontaniously.
Like trains coming continuously
Rhyme and metre extravagantly
Burst into flames explosively.
Twas I who consulted psychiatry.
OCD he said repeatedly.
OCD I thought repeatedly.

Then I broke free
From
Rhyme and.  Metre

And any rules really!!!

**** it?

Flower

Sunshine in the rain
Relax bro

Be open and throw **** all over the place
                    But do it with grace.

your eyes
            are
          so explosively
   captivating
                    i feel like i
   float in space
                 every time
      your blue
                    and
                          my green
               collide,
    creating a new earth.

I want to
compress my mouth
onto your luscious lips,
have you feel
the hardness of my tongue,
spreading you,
swirling you
with good clean fun,
until
you're done
with me,
explosively.

Turquoise in the morning light
The treetops are alive
With the myriad of birdsong
As the swirling mists arrive
And the shaft of brilliant sunshine
Penetrates the greenish gloom
To illuminate the craggy ridge
In a honeyed, golden bloom.

The rabbits head for burrows
Retreating from the night,
A flock of teal, in unison,
Explosively take flight,
There’s a freshness in the morning air
A tingle to the skin
And the twinkle in the blue eyes
Lets a secret smile begin.

Autumn in the country glade
The russets and the gold,
The song of early crickets
In the leafy knoll takes hold,
There’s a brilliance in the crispness
In the piles of windblown leaves
And the healthy crunch of underfoot
Invokes a sense of ease.

The peacefulness is calming
The solace in the sound
Of the distant song of blackbird
In the tall oaks that surround
And the velvet feel of morning
Thrills the mind to warmly hum
To the glory of occasion
In the warmth of Autumn sun.

Marshalg
Beneath the reds and golds of Autumn leafage.
14 May 2012


© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

In Stardust,
Is where can hopes be born,
But also, where a star has died, violently, explosively, shining out light so brilliant it would roar if it hit the atmosphere, illuminate it,
It is hot, alike the purgatory with a sweet look to gaze at if you observe the planetary nebulae by a far, far distance of course,
The dreams of the nova remnant, spread across space, left is but a small piece of dense matter, pulsating light cast by it's fast spin,
It is but a pulsar, or rather this old lady could be called one of the many lighthouses of our beloved widely beautiful universe,
Shining brilliantly even after death, isn't that what we all desire ?
If sadness clouds your judgement and you have nowhere to run,
And if you feel lonely in a starlit sky, worrying about the past long gone, losing yourself to your recurring, cruel thoughts,
Just remember, that you too, once were part of a bright, shining star which once too used to brighten up the dark, cold night for one else.

~ Umi

I have fallen into the snare of love; whether or not I wish it, I must love; and strugglingly, whether or not my heart desires to taste it, I have to go through it. I have tried, certainly, with beads of weird sweat, to crawl along its muddy channel; a muddy channel adorned only with tears and grievousness, but still I have failed to pass it. I have failed to pass my heart onto it, my poor little heart; and relieve it with comfort love might just ever have.

How I once desired to call thee, hath now ceremoniously gone; my stomach flips and churns itself like a whirling streak of poor butter being invaded by endless chains of ***** charms. My heart is plain, bleak, and can only whisper to me the pain it feels; my heart has beats still, but neither air nor breath. Its air has been radiantly tossed away; and superseded by a chance of madness it had always averted--at least before the very incident took place. It is now, thus, pale and has no shimmer nor glitter on its surface; its tale is as bare as a thin wintry raspberry branch might be. Ah, Immortal, my Friday morning; my Saturday evening; my Sunday afternoon. Immortal; with his faded grey hat strolling comfortably alongside a smiling me; our love was growing mutually on a warm Saturday morning. I told thereof, some minuscule bits of anecdote-like poetry; and his laugh afterwards warmed up all the butterflies that had hitherto laid down lazily around the grounds on their coloured stomachs. Immortal with his arduous bag hoisted onto his sturdy shoulders; and greeted me softly, with a rough morning voice; as he padded down the stairs--smelling like honey and trees and a flying bumblebee. Immortal with his love settling onto his voice; his shaky lips as he uttered a verse he remembered from a novel he had (unsuccessfully) tried to read. Immortal with his reddish lips, and innocent brownish glances--as he walked down the stairs. Immortal with my love encircling every swing of his steps; Immortal with my little heart within him. Immortal my dearest darling; his treasures were always brown--at least twice a week, and the smell of his perfumed blossom-like shampoo clinging all too gently onto the way down his white neck, and waist.

Immortal in his black garments in last year's cold weather; and with a witty smile so meaningful that he was once like a candle to my darkened heart. Immortal and his bored face that always entertained my heart; and his anxiety about immaculate workloads that made everything but funnier than they already were. Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal; my very own Immortal. Though thou might be Immortal no more, in thy mind; thou really art still my Immortal in every sense; and I can still but feel thy presence even from a very far distance. Immortal, thou art my blood; my jugular veins, and the definition of my very heartbeat! Immortal, how I am a fool to have confessed this; thou might remember me no more; but for thou knoweth--thou art my prince still, of whom I feel the humblest streak of pride; and for whom I shall still wipe my showering tears. Ah, Immortal! One day I had just emerged from my room with a jug of warm water, and a flavour of strange poetry in my literary mind; and my Immortal greeted me with a stamp of melancholy smile as he always does when he retreats from work. He looked tired but not submissive; he had a rain of spirit still--for the remaining ingress and egress of the raucous Monday evening. I was, indeed, explosively exhausted from my head all the way to my feet--and a lurid chat with him slowly melted my stern visage and restored its gleams. Ah, Immortal; my lover, my shiny petal; the missing wing of my eastern soul; my European moon. He is from Sofia; as how its chaotic--yet elaborative auras always danced around his face. The charms of Sofia were even better scented in his breath; he was always prophetic about the skies and the red-skinned suns of the summer. He thoughtfully suggested that I write of 'em; he breathed his relief and exhaustion only into my hands, how he trusted me and depended himself on me like a selfish little lad! On other occasions laughed with a pair of red cheeks--is aromatic and handsome my lover, indeed he is! My poor, poor lover; for the world hath now defined its triumph over him; and thus its terrifically evil proses his very regions. Ah, my darling, if only still-I could save, save, and save thee! Ah, 'em--doth thou, by any chance, hold any remembrance of 'em still? Our blessed, blessed offspring--and they but shall be nurtured and overjoyed and delightfully pampered, as the very special fruits of our love. The love that both of our souls enjoy; the love that our sides agree on. Your fatherliness is in our son; and just as how I am, our daughter shall enlighten our home with her poems; ah, dear, dear little giggles t'at would be ours, and verily ours only! Ah, Immortal, if only thou but knew--how panoramic my wifely love would be!

Immortal, my darling; my purplish sun; my picturesque sky; my starlet dream. Even the oceans across our splendid earth are not vacant, and innocent, as thy eyes; thy words are like a calming river whose odour once shrieked gently onto my ears. Every breath thou maketh is my poem; and thus in every single poem, or verse I write--there dwells a vast bulk of thy charms. Thou art alive still--in my lungs; in my humorous soul; thou art the eve to my nights; the leaf to my mornings. Even the only leaf that shall stay firm when autumn finally arrives. But unfortunately shall it arrives with dire terms; for shall it have revenge--due to its savagely desperate needs for reclaiming its once lost freedom. Ah, its freedom, that was consumed away by the compounded fires of the summer. Then, still there shall be no-one to replace thee, even about the adequate hills and valleys outside; I could find thee not this jubilant afternoon. Oh, how unceremonious! And how malicious my love is, for thee! And our song is, for thou knoweth, resembles the one echoing in yon marvelous Raphaelite painting; my hair sings of your love; just as my poetry speaks of thy bounteousness. Thou art not Him; but still--thou art more bountiful to my heart, than to all our frail counterparts may seem!

And by this I am still your little girl; I shall play with my bike and congratulate thee on crafting off the last bits of my poetry. Like in a nursery once, though I doth remember it thoroughly not; I played with my dolls and later created a bride and groom out of them; I shall perhaps play with them again and make the remembrance of our now astray marriage, this time, their illusionary sanctuary. Ah, Immortal, this love might be virtual--and thus not by any chance effectual; but do remember, in thy severed heart, that it was once real; and that it was, long ago, deeply heartfelt and actual. Immortal, the king of my moon; the very last spark of my charms, I hope thou wilt know one day--how I selflessly loved--and love thee still, purely and artistically, just as how I loveth His other creations and my beautiful poetry; and that I shall still supplicate that you be the first, and last mate in my arms-- for my love is sacred, humid, and eternal; and I want thee thus, to be my only immortal.

I love thee; and thee only, querida. Obicham te, obicham te, obicham te.

We reside in a circus tent
strung with Goldilock's curls

Blood-red rose petals drizzle
from flesh-tinted ceiling drapes,
floating over
bodies reborn.

Blood-red rose
petals the color
of a lion's heart that beats
rhythmically,
imprisoned in the ivory-white
cartilage of a rib-cage
close to cracking,
threatening
an untamed liberation.

Who has enough audacity
to draw so near
to trust his head
between unpredictable jaws
or
tinseled with moths
to dance
illuminated by street-lights,
like snow that never falls.

Now she is laughing
with ethereal camaraderie
at the physicality
of Earth reality
illuminating
how limited vision is
before the lights start flashing

human and star dissolve
as explosively
irreversible chemical reactions

The ringmaster,
tossing Saturn's turn,
a voice like wind-chimes
an honest sparkle in his eye,
welcomes one to roam
where hearts dance freely
in ever-lasting starlit flame,

Concluding:

As long as we thank love for feeling
we'll never fall again.

“you shall carry my bones up from here” (Genesis50:25)
yea Little nymph of numbers has six teeth each with ******-chic epiphanies
protrusion of epiphyses thirsty for a fresh bonejuice deathblast
stringy strung theoroized skelecoded out arieal fractal sonix
lix hits antigravity dreambeats chew on infra-red-infractures
to explosively burn constellations out into dust bowls all heavily cranio-******
up with a soul narrowed down to a skelleconex technoillogical prototype
a freshly teased nanoNymph_2.0 osteo-tissue paper thin prototype
designed to bemuse, amuse and be a muse to forgotten infinite epiphanies
endlessly download digitisternums, clavicles whatever desired by the cranio- ******-
enough to risk phantom organic pain in time to playback biofeedback turnt up to deathblast
It’s the artificial cardiaudio arteries show featuring manibrium marrow leakage from infra—red-infractures
and six skinny feminine femora to sing blackened covers of diva demeter love sonix
diamond data mapped thick with smokey persephone bloodkiss shadow sonix
peruse the meanderings of the nanoNymp2.0 a double(triple) pianissimo prototype
fragile: prone to falling (ie) misunderstanding sharp blades pulled from infra-red-infractures
***** bonebuzzed off nothingness nectar numb drunken epiphanies
triangulated ossification between 1st 2nd and 3rd eyes lead up to deathblast
fossilized iconoclastic forethought will achieve status of cranio-******
this poem has no need to lobotomize fetal craniotomies; it’s all cranio-******
betwixt BANG BANG banging is clatter clix scatter bone-dance sonix
electricity sings in the key of major deathblast
crack open a bone on a nanoNymph skelleconex system and a replacement will be sent of the latest prototype
well calculated little nanoNymph’s all programmed  to know as why approached one, X approached ∞ -of cracked open epiphanies
triangle shaped fire, ▲shaped heart, equilateral to a dead sea, sacred geometric infraRed-infractures
biowired endless visions of these infraRed-infractures
Anthrenusverbasci (carpet beetles) eat away at bleached bone clean cranio-******
vertebrae of the Ouroboros eating itself epiphanies
grinding jaws brittle scurvy romantic-suicide die sonix
son of nyx an erubus have mercy installation psychopomp prototype
bring on one more broken septum to end =sempiternal deathblast
“bone of my bones” (genesis2:23) indeed; bring on an ablazed deathblast
fragmented spiraled and inside out infraRed-infractures
every one ends up broken, every bone of every prototype
smashed open coronal suture in everyone cranio-******
thanatos shadow between eros supraorbital sonix
godless and wandering without but epiphanies
soulless nanoNymph burns into dusty nothingness of a prototype
and the emptiness of silence is the deathblast sonix
some exposed spine litter vallies of dry bone epiphanies

some days, his eyes are full with angst
his arms down his sides, with his fists as closed as his ears
and all I want to say is I know how it is
to be so angry you don't know where to go
because the whole world lights you up like a dry stick of explosives,
how it is to have your feelings being so big they start to feel
like extensions of your limbs,
waving uncontrollably
and all you can do to avoid their friction from setting you on fire
is either to cut them off or keep your arms down your sides

but I step aside, because he can no longer take in my words
his six year old eyes are filled with the nothingness of
an anger so big and unlabeled
but someday, I will tell him and he will understand
I will tell him that even though my blood is not in his veins,
I will cleanse it from soot and silt,
I will be his human shield from this world
I will tear kingdoms apart and slay every last creeper
just to help him level up

and I will uncontrollably, explosively and unconditionally
love him

//

vissa dagar är hans ögon fyllda med ångest
hans armar längs sidorna, med nävar lika hårt stängda som hans öron

och allt jag vill säga är att jag vet hur det är
att vara så arg att du inte vet vars du ska ta vägen,
för hela världen får en att tända som en torr bunt sprängämnen,
hur det är att ha känslor så stora att de börjar kännas
som förlängningar av dina egna armar och ben,
okontrollerbart viftande
och allt du kan göra för att förhindra att deras friktion tänder eld på dig
är att antingen hugga av dem eller hålla armarna längs sidorna

men jag går undan, för han kan inte ta in mina ord längre
hans sexåriga ögon fyllda med ingentinget
av en ilska så stor och oettikerad ilska

men någon dag ska jag berätta för honom och han ska förstå
jag ska berätta för honom att även fast mitt blod inte flyter genom hans artärer,
ska jag rensa det från smuts och sot,
jag ska vara hans mänskliga sköld från den här världen
jag ska slita kungariken itu och döda varenda creeper
bara för att hjälpa honom att levla upp

och jag ska okontrollerbart, explosivt och villkorslöst
älska honom

My love, my love these shaky Isles
Abandoned in the vast blue seas,
Born in Mesozoic times
When sedimentary oozes ease.
From far Antarctic mountainsides
To windblown dust from Austral plain
They lay in layers thick and deep
Beneath the Tasman Sea's domain.

A thousand million years of ******
Of plate tectonic shear and drift,
Mid oceanic larva seep
Determines continental shift.
Deep magmatic plumes arise
From down within the planet's core
To burst asunder from the crust
As mountain God's volcanic lore.

Ash and larva from the vent
In pyroclastic feirce display,
Obliterate the cold blue sky
Explosively in massive way.
Rooster tails of feiry ash
And bread crust bombs cascade about
Vulcan roars his rage to all
In violent, vast, volcanic route.

Ignimbrite flows from the vent
In sheets a hundred meters deep
The incandescence, from on high,
Would, watching Angels, cause to weep.
Like quicksilver, it cloaks the land
To cover all in burning flow,
To last a million years as sheets
Of sharded rock where 'ere you go.

So the land was born of fire
And bent and twisted by the force
Of upthrust from the great, beneath
And earthquakes felt throughout, of course.
Earthquakes of unearthly fear
Wrack foundation's very base,
Sudden as the artic gale
Unpredictable to face.

So the shaky Isles were born
Here to lie in ocean's vast,
Clad in forest lush and green
Snowclad mountains, rivers fast.
Well kept cities, well kept towns
Population proud and clean,
Beauty all around is felt
Perched atop creation's dream.

So the Shaky Isles exist
Perfect in their place in time,
Perched atop subducting plates
Perched in ignorance sublime.
What's around the corner now?
Who's concerned, who really cares
For Kiwis make the best of now...
The rest remains as chance declares.

Marshalg
Celebrating a love affair with my beautiful New Zealand.
31 August 2012

him.
the fire that was once burning so explosively
giving up days after ratchet days to kindle it
him.
It let off so much warmth in my heart
kept me cozy on days of doubt
him.
was unselfish
caring to all
him.
could easily be gone
if I didn't tend it just right
him.*
flaring in extraordinary ways
looked like a devil in an angel kind of way
him.
him.
reminds me of a fire.

Starlings fly in silver sky
Bullfinch in the dry grass sings,
Emerald teal in tandem fly
Explosively on phosphor wings.
Miracles are in the air
Golden sun in evening glow,
Marigolds of orange flair,
With lavender, in patchwork grow.

Sap is flowing in the wood
bursting buds of olive greens,
Winter flees as winter should
Whilst bubbling brook transform to streams
Miracles are in the air
Colour rich in reddish hues,
Greens of fresh lime , aqua flair
Spring arrives in vivid views.

Silk striations lace the sky
With molten, mackerel clouds of gold,
Evening chill for you and I
Suggest we snuggle close to hold.
Miracles are in the air
A Moonrise breaks horizon’s door,
Hugely round with craters bare
We laugh with joy and seek for more.

Tantalizing night upon us
Stars ignite the heaven's fire,
Black as pitch with jewelled Adonis
Hot white pinpoints of desire.
Miracles are in the air
Passion in the blood doth boil,
Moonlight through her silver hair
Exquisite as blue fire on oil.


Marshalg
@thebach
29 August 2011

I trace your outline
alone in the dark,
imagine
your sweet
feminine form
lying beside me,
every part of me
is on fire,
you burn
the same desire.

We move melodic,
locked in unison to
the beat of Kashmir.
I feel your temperature rise
as I move behind &
between your thighs.
Your closed eyes
speaks volumes,
it's the sweetest music
to my ears.

Strange, how
my fiery-imagination
leads to such
a succulent conclusion.
I free flow
molten lava
explosively into you,
images of me grasping
your thick hair
as you sigh
with mutual satisfaction.
I am drenched in
the dreams I have of you.

I wonder why everyone can't just
flat-out, God-blessed, love each other-
freely, purely, and explosively-
why are some people allowed to hold hands on the street
and others must keep it in the privacy of their homes
some bodies must be hidden and others can be exposed
some kisses must be kept secret from those who love you the most
some heartbeats must happen outside of your own house
some moments cannot exist in the presence of others
and some lovers can only love a certain type of other lovers.
Why is it that I must be fearful in a group of people
that they can see my brainwaves and know what I am feeling
and that it would be dangerous if they knew?
Why must it be this way that I have to be in the vast minority
and that the chances of me finding someone to love is
minuscule and difficult; everyone is at a different stage regarding
my certain type of love, and it carries a baggage straight people don't have
it carries a complication, a heartbreaking rope of knots and pain and confusion
and 'do I even feel this way' because you have been taught that you shouldn't
and 'why isn't there straight pride' and 'just don't shove it down my throat'
these type of misunderstandings create this impossible disharmony
'stop queering the straights' 'oh so you're basically a lesbian'
no. I am not a lesbian- please stop classifying me and while you're at it,
please stop acting differently around me because you're scared I'm into you
chances are, I'm not. Please stop asking me why it's necessary for me to come out and say it,
its because every single other person, me included, is assumed to be straight,
and makes comments about dating boys and just boys and it's this eternal 'no ****'
and my own parents want me to bear children and it's part of me, okay?
It's me and it's my self expression and it isn't shoving it down your throat
I just want to know that I can still be completely me and still be completely loved,
that's all, that's why I have to say it out loud,
because it carries with it a kind of suffocation that builds and builds
because everything around you pushes you down and tears at your foundation
and when you finally say it, there's a pain that's gone that you know will never hurt again
but it will always sting, little daggers when your friends won't get quite
as close as they used to and your mom gives you different looks in public
or I am constantly misunderstood and misperceived and it's scary, it's
a scary world for us, it's a scary world for us, it's a scary world for us
and it will be that way until we speak loud enough that we are heard.

In the right place
At the right time
On the right day
In the northwest sky
You can see star girl
You can't always see her
But she's there
Oh, she's there
People admire Stargirl from far away
But no one sees Stargirl
They see 10,000 lights
All suspended up in the sky
No one sees the 10,000 ***** of gas burning
They burn explosively emitting blasts of passion
But no one sees those
No, one sees her fire
They see Stargirl
Shining in the sky
But not her fire
Oh, not her fire
They see Stargirl
Perched upon a constellation
They see her perch
But what they don’t see is how precarious it truly is
They don’t see the immense amount of weight
The weight she balances
It’s as if, if she moved
The world would come crashing down around her
They see the planets the constellations and the stars
They see the glitz and the glam
The pretty things
What they don’t see is the void she floats in.
Nobody asks about the pressure
Only she, remembers the excruciating pressure.
Because all stars shatter
Before they show their true colors.
She can only hope
That one day somebody will look
With their mind
Not their eyes
And see all of her
Not just the parts that shine

The whole pain
Precipitated from the night sky
In the morning rain
Chiding me for love exposed
Now lying wasted in the drenched soil
Uncared and little

How I love?
A question that needs answer
Only to those who don't
And it etches like
A newly acquired scab
I just don’t know
How?

What I know
Is this feeling in me
Growing explosively silent by each space
You put in between
It brought me down on my knees
Feeling the greatness that was
To smallness that is
Now

Meanwhile the Rain
Continue lashing my car windows
Feels like high speed punishment cell
And
Love lashes within
Whipping up a storm

And I call you up
And say "how lovely is the weather
Around,
Wake Up"

Friends, enemies, angels, demons, and Gods alike:
I have but a simple request of thee: (however redundant it may well be)
forget not to drink Water!

For
't'is an acid in basic environments
and a base in acidic environments;
't'is comprised of two of the most explosively energetic elements
and 't'is the foundation upon which many systems operate
and 't'is the medium through which many systems facilitate.

'T'is pure crystalline goodness
for these, our crystalline bodies;
and, I find, the chances are
't'will only be of benefit to thee
to drink some more of it!

So, my advice is:
do it: drink it deep
if, indeed, ye can.
For,
thou art fortunate
if such be the case
and it's straight-up ******' irreverent
to ignore such an extreme gift.

When it is there,
't'is there for thee;
't'will nourish thee.

Give thanks to it
as well as for it.

Hydrate,
it feels great.
It can be a cure-all
for even the worst moods.

Some mint, some lemon,
maybe some solid water polyhedrons,
should ye encounter such need
for diminished thermal states.

Though, warm water is absorbed more readily.

The moral here is merely
to respect what thy Body needs,
both mentally and physically:
't'is thy vessel;
't'is owed thy respect:
't'is what gives thee Time,
and it is good to give back.

she will cradle her head
in patchwork hands
and her
lips crack and out
spills words
explosively.

tears trace peculiar
tracks down
porcelain cheekbones
that jut out
much too harshly
under the dying stars.

cold moonbeams
dance over her hips
and
light upon
the desperation
in her eyes.

invisible bruises are painted
onto her
soul
and when she
smiles
you can almost see them.

a cigarette pressed to
dry cracking lips
will be all she wants
when she
is slowly
slipping.

she will never
breathe a word of
the betrayal
she felt
when her own body
failed.

and when her skin is
paper-white
you will press
trembling kisses to the
backs of her hands
and cry.

I

if I yelled into a walkie talkie,
would you melt, or burn,
blaring noise
glaring sun,
glaze the windows, someone!

                 II

fade away and radiate,
move the people dis-populate,
we may all glow,
there are leaks, they know,
but that is not all
they are going to build
an icy wall to STOP thoseleaksnow,
some one strong willed
                                      is taking charge of those positive and negatives
                                                       ­                        keep an i on atom, physically speaking.

         III


shake, shake
roll the water
shake shake
roll the dice
shake shake
what happens
in the kitchen
where it is hot
and you bang
plates together
the do break, explosively
this time, no
tsunami, so sue me
but it was a six point one
when we get a nine what then?


           IV
they have politics,
they have unrest,
they have strife,
put the ad in
the paper, some
one misunderstood, vehement
denials, sabres rattling cementing
bad relations blame the propagandist
bad formula blame the chemist
bad politics cost elections
bad people take lives
that are not theirs to erase, displace
or otherwise disgrace, I know we will
never know what has gone on,
but it really comes down to ONE,
all it takes is one to die,
and it - whatever the point is
is wrong,
all it takes is a million refugees,
not one in power will listen if we
say   STOP                    please,
think of the creative talent who have died,
think of the number of times you have lied,
think of the geniuses unable to breath through their face,
oh wait, if you did think, in the first place,

you still would have done it anyway,
because that is who you are, makin' people wear sarin, eau de ... deathly
                                                silence is a grave filled with the cries
                                                of the innocents
                                                chaos is a grave filled with violent
                                                death with intent
                                                lashing out first and with such force
                                                is a grave filled with numbers of
                                                the lost, who now are no more
                                                the cost is too dear to bear
                                                except with sadness, and mourning
                                                but there is no time there is danger
                                                          ­                              and warring
                                                         ­                                                   while the world dithers uncertain,
close the blinds
draw the curtain,
cover your ears,
we are doing something
here, umm, there.

Her name sounds a lot like my prayers.
I know she can’t hear them,
But God pays attention to the things that make us happy.

When she looks into the sky to marvel at stars,
She has no idea that every star is staring back at her.
They shine brightly because she brings out the best in us.

Her smile has never solved any problems.
It makes every problem an opportunity.
Like how love can finally set you free.

If we were together, time would stop.
Father Time would fumble his watch faster than he dropped his jaw.
If we were together, the world would break.
Mother Nature would be explosively jealous of her beauty.

My heart was accustomed to living in pieces.
I don’t bother with doctors because they can’t cure soul-mate separation.
When she came along she didn’t try to change me.
Piece by piece, she put me back together.

She told me she feels empty when we aren’t talking.
As if my words are raindrops that make a difference in the ocean of her soul.
I commit all of her words to memory.
As if I could nail myself to every T, and be closer to making a memorable sacrifice.

If I spent my entire life try to deserve her,
I might save enough to glance at her smile.

In case I die tonight, I want you to be my last thought.
My last word deserves to be your name, whispered on
My last breath, only audible for God to hear.
Death might be waiting patiently for me.
There is nothing else I can imagine dying for

Bottle caps, broken glass,
dried chewing gum from persons passed,
and you.
You-there.
Obliterated.

Condemned to die
by thoughtless giants:
passers-by with no alliance
to rain, nor sun,
nor earth or its creatures smaller than their thumb.

Your brothers lie about you
and cousins lie around;
awareness reaching only feeling--
feeling only reaching now
and unforgiving ground.

Scattered masses who dared
to run from home
to find the rain--
to feel the air
so moist it could
sustain a life--
just once. Just one time.

To dream that a child of the earth
could feel the light,
the freedom within thinner space
before, again, within the ground to be encased.

To play like children often do,
those wet-shoed, runny nosed few.
To thrive without surviving--

But this is the price you pay
to live so explosively before dying.

I wish that I could see
through your eyes the dream
that makes it worth it
to yield to fate in exchange
for a dance beneath the open sky.

Or do you know?
I'm sure you do.
I like to imagine I would,
if I were you

Do you realize your mistake?
Before the sun, your life will take?

And if, again you had the choice,
would you still emerge from earth's embrace for skys rejoice?

I'd like to think you would.

You.
Ceased-to-be, but still are;
near to home, and somehow far;
lost from earth but found by me,
crushed and trampled.
Immobile,
but free.

Here there lies bottle caps and broken glass,
dried chewing gum from persons passed:
Things I would not touch if asked,

and then you.
You-there.
Obliterated.

and I never thought I could fathom
distance
distance is the space between your brain and heart that entraps all of your secrets webbed between
distance
distance is the gaping hole of your mouth when I first told you that I loved you
distance
distance is what rips our hearts to shredded material as they try to reach each other but they simply cannot
and I never thought I would fathom distance
distance is the air time that my tears have before they decide to land explosively on my pillow every night
distance enables the heart to yearn

I have never known love.
I have never been held by somebody who said
“We fit together”.
There has never been another
And that is fine.
I can’t live up to someone’s standards
And I can’t give more than I can take.
Of my heart to only one.
There isn't a part of me
That I can let ache
Because I need him by me.
I can’t give up drinking, and messing myself up,
Until I am tangled and bent.
It is my art, and it is an instinct
To remain convoluted and tormented.
It’s not a burden I can lay on someone without guilt.
Everyone is shallow to some extent,
And unless he is beautiful superficially,
I won’t be able to step out holding his hand.
Walk, head held high,
Telling the crowd that yes, he is mine
And I am his.
There are parts of me I love,
Slender ankles, fragile eyes,
But too many that I hate.
So it is impossible to believe someone
Who tells me that I am deadly
Beautiful,
Until those parts are blotted out, fixed.
I will continue to have to deal with anorexia and depression,
States that will always threaten to asphyxiate me
And I understand these are things that most people can’t understand.
This sort of continual struggle
Which I let creep beneath my thoughts
Every single ******* day.
Parts of me that are locked away,
Quietly pushed to the furthest corners
Under the bed
Shamefully.
There are dreams of coffee in the morning,
Cigarettes after ***,
Fingers down my back,
And falling asleep on his lap.
But I am unsure of what to say, and how to act
So he won’t have feelings of being oppressed or worse
Unloved.
I swing between extremes,
And there is no in between.
I live explosively, and that’s not something
Easily accepted.
Terrified of all these rules and warnings
And reining back,
I would rather be alone.

life is death is life again, blisters crawl across the skin, the story of a scar’s origin.  on the losing ***** of our next big win - gambling your heart like it’s got a twin.  fall becomes a sense that’s deafening as the particles that make up empty bottles are lessening.

when a star dies, gold is born - a partial explanation for the colours at dawn.  seeing two suns where there once was one is the universe explosively laughing all night long. cosmic alchemy radiates down, passing through everything without making a sound.  iron becomes gold, becomes the mined stuff of the ground, becomes some of the finer things we see passed around.

a star is a death waiting for itself, we are life waiting to be a star.  gravity is now our only friend so we can become what we already are: a slightly conscious carbon, waiting to become semi-conscious platinum, waiting to become the next vibration of a fully conscious solar system; a cosmic circadian rhythm.  we’re the REM cycle of a deity who’s chasing dragons and half asleep; ******’s to help the dream for those who’ve shot all the counted sheep.  we’re the descendants of a star too afraid to go soft, or the galactic equivalent of a mad-man with a sawed-off.

you aren’t lost when the rest of the world views life less as a value and more of a cost.  life goes back to the earth where it becomes the making of a new star’s birth.  that is our real worth.

Pink melts to the surface
explosively to greet me,
slowly pressing up
to dust away the pitch.

And one by one,
each diamond disintegrates,
snuffed out
by the perpetual coming
of the morning star.

I've spent a million wishes,
gone this far
to give up now
& I won't.
I need to stare down sundown
in the face
again,
just to prove a point,
I still believe in my dreams,
even if others don't.
Seize the ******* day
as nightfall comes quickly.

Your sweet
beautiful
delicate
fingers
melted me,
swirling
all five
gripped
furiously
at my heartstrings
& explosively
I succumbed
to your will.

We fought wars,
Rough, ferocious and deadly deadly,
Genocides and Holocausts,
We killed, got killed and lived to tell the tale,
We still touched our mouths, noses and faces,
We sneezed, coughed and had high fevers,
We shook hands, hugged and kissed,
Yet we survived and lived to tell the tale at the tail-end.


Wars were fought throughout the world,
World wars and wars for supremacy,
Nuclear wars and cold wars,
Religious wars and wars against colonialism,
Tribal wars and civil wars,
Trade wars and industrial wars
Insurgencies and conventional wars,
Wars against Ebola and wars against the SARS virus,
Wars against slavery and apartheid; and wars against oppression,
Wars about us against them and them against those that are against them,
Some, really senseless wars.


We emotionless watched them fight their wars with arms folded,
As they emotionless watched us fight our wars with arms folded,
It is not our war, they felt,
It is not on our soil, we reckoned,
They are not our people, we believed,
Our economy will not be affected, they said,
After-all, we share no common Ancestry,
With pride, we developed a defensive “Them” and “Us” attitude,
Every nation for herself and only God for us all,
We never wanted to be part of others’ wars,
Neither did they want to be part of ours,
Depositing the spirit of Worldianship into acute non-existance.


Today, a horrendous and cataclysmic war has been declared against the world – them and us,
Ruthlessly savaging, ravaging and bulldozing the lugubrious world full of them and us, like a demented storm really gone mad,
A devastating and ruinous world war 3 with some shift of gear,
An atrocious insurgency against a common but deadly and hostile enermy,
A silent, ruthless and predatory bandit which intentions are catastrophically loud, heavily thudding and explosively explosive,
The wide world has been dolorously and traumatically held to ransom,
And ransom of the worst order and disorder,
Plunging the outrageous and despicable West and the rest of the cultured world on one side,
Fighting side by side in a war they never wanted to fight,
Not even side by side,
Desperately befriending my unspeakable enermy because he is the enermy of my enermy,
And the enermy of the enermy of the enermy who is my enermy,
Just imagine the symbiosis,
Just imagine.


Desperate and distressed children of the world have been unintentionally isolated and agonisingly violated,
Tightly curfew-ed and strictly quarantined against their will,
Some, with neither food nor means of survival,
All, converted into Inmates in their own homes and excuses for homes,
As the catastrophic war notoriously spreads like a ravaging bushfire on defenceless nations,
Taking with it innocent children of the subconscious and powerless world,
With some, falling dual victims of the calamitous virus and also the armies,
Little-minded combat and action-hungry armies that are supposed to be protecting them,
Siding with their own enermy and the enermy of their own people,
Shame on the children of the sorrowful soil,
Children of Kunta Kinte, Zwangendaba, Mzilikazi kaMashobana, and Chaminuka,
Children of Moshoeshoe, Kgabo, Kaguvi and Kazembe,
Children of Skwati, Sikhukhuni, Shaka and Shiriyadenga,
Children of Soshangana, Christopher Columbus, Jan Van Riebeck and Vasco Da Gama,
Shame.


A little child distantly cries elsewhere in Africa’s distant peripheries of domineering poverty,
She sickly cries her last cries for food and last cries ever,
A little bundle of a network of visible veins lying on a reed mat like a ragged rag doll,
A tiny, vulnerable innocent crossfire victim of the massive deadly disorderly war,
Last in a family of twelve, that never had food since the first day of the lockdown,
As father and mother sadly gaze at each other, tears are shed and shared in capitulation,
They cannot leave their landlocked tiny shack to go out to look for food,
Their poor offspring lackadaisically closes her tiny eyes for the last time,
Departing from the weird world in a war that was never hers to fight,
Not even her “church mice” parents,
She dies in painful hunger and of a painful hunger that was the grandchild of Corona’s making,
A child of the African dusty soil prematurely returning to the African dusty soil,
A crossfire victim of corvid19 of the Chinese ancestry,
An indiscriminate weponous weapon of mass destruction,
Shame.


Amidst all this, songs get sung phonetically in different languages and tunes,
By different nationalities of different nations and nationalisms,
Touching and emotional songs, embodying and incarnating just but one and the same theme,
Coronavirus, corvid 19, the heartless witch which is son to a heartless witch,
Where do we run or even crawl to for safety?
Where really, at this humanity’s tattered and shattered darkest hour,
Our hour no longer our hour,
We have fought worse wars with worst enermies than you,
More titanic, more ravaging, more calamitous, more faceless,
Albeit, we lived to tell the tale,
The fearless warrior children of the fearless warriors that we fearlessly are,
We do not fight to fight another day,
And we cannot just fold our cold arms as you recklessly scotch our lovely earth to oblivion,
Rapacious Corona, it is just a matter of time,
Just a matter of time,
Corvid 19 – obnoxious bandit father of an obnoxious bandit wizard,
Heartless dissident son of a heartless dissident witch,
The epitome of prolific disrespect, involuntary solitude and proliferated solicitude,
The personification of convulsive misery, spasmodic destruction, and multitudinous deaths,
What goes around, comes around,
Just a matter of time.

|      two       |          |   a nation   |
|      twin      |          |   built on   |
|    towers    |          | ideals and |
|    rising      |          |  grandest   |
|    so high   |          | immigrant |
|    up into   |          |    dreams    |
|    the sky   |          | (and yes...   |
|    repre-     |          |   on slave    |
|    senting   |          |   labor too)  |
|    soaring   |          |    a nation    |
|   ambition  |         |  of mighty   |
|   & wealth  |         |  paradoxes  |
-------------------------------------------------­-----------

                       and then
                      ...BOOM...
                  world changed


             all                              all        
        reduced     ­                broken    
      to heaping                 by hateful  
    piles of rubble          brainwashed
  and raw emotion     men drowned in
tears & fears & rage.tears & fears & rage
------------------------------------------------------------­


we rose from the ashes
united in mourning
national pride swelling
emotions still swirling

we warmly embraced
neighbors and friends
overwhelmed with grief
paralyzed by anguish

we explosively cursed
those enemies who'd hurt us
simmering in anger
engulfed in fiery rage

we boldly surged into war
to defend and protect
blinded by our deep-set fears
dead-set on vengeance

we let the years pass
we still remember
we still recover
we still rebuild

we still rise

from what is clear
but to where?

please let us be wise