"gass" poems
The deepest understanding between lovers
stands majestically above the deepest abyss
as if, unbreakable and pure in its unreachable,
unbreakable bond.
Whatever melts this emotion together
was forged in a hotter furnace than ever found
that only two people can understand.
Rising above the highest tide
soaring above tornadoes and typhoons
and cruising along points of paradise
available only to the two of them.
How serene it feels to know
that your own reflection mirrors
in the other person and their every nuance
is written into your own poems
adding the rhyme and rhythm
for your own journey together.
Author Notes
Feel like this at times?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
Oh yes! I had plans to woo you
with roses and chocolates
and other mushy make-up
that might just rev up your fireworks
Yet I knew deep inside
it wouldn't work so well.
So jugular it was
condoms and plastic roses
knotted in shoelaces
painted and welded on a metal frame
worded: I will take you
to take me: Now!
But you laughed
and blew the condoms into balloons
and spray painted the roses in silver
and I used the shoelaces
to hang my head in creative shame!
Yet when we met on the deck of union
for the first time
the sparks lit up the nightsky
and we slept curled up around each other
like question marks
Thats how we bought tickets
to forever
Crazy?
I waited-you came!
Author Notes
Most enjoyable poem today.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
Even if the season of lust blankets loneliness in a tight wrap
smothering those fragile emotions in the winter months
of a lifetime of cyclical wants and needs
waiting for the summer to send its life giving mantras
deep into the ****** soil of waiting,
the hibiscus waits ready to grasp the first finger of sun drenching
warmth to burst out into beauty
above ground and spread its dense green leaves
with crimson flower and trumpet shape
into the minds eye of acceptance.
Soon the valley changes hue as altogether
the trees spring to life shedding their softness
into every nook and corner, crabbing into crannies
and leaping wings of delight into welcome air.
The hibiscus will soon take ownership
of the entire valley bringing to the forefront
our own wanderlust.
Author Notes
Changeover between summer and sunshine.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
Clambering and clawing
Grasping hooks, crannies
a crown of thorns
flowering purple red blood
bright fluorescent
she wore her designer nails
to the summer ball
strapless and holding up
her rounded dignity
spoken in a plunging neckline
She flowered
was deflowered
that twilight under a silver orb
whispering ocean fronts
dropped off at her starlight home
sealed that memory
with a bougainvillea kiss
of immense sensuality
and down the drive
thinking how beautiful she was
in making memories.
years later
I still remember the look
of that velvet sky
and the nails that scoured
a language on my back.
Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
musical walls of throbbing
meaning
makeshift footsteps
escaping tendons
lashing tongues
notes of splendour
****** in my trombone-chills
whats the wizardry
in those piano fingers
belting blues
rainbow ecstasies
oozing ****** gyrations
three minute *******
splitting night into slivers
for tomorrows takings
lets dance
jam together
touch each others souls
with promise.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
impeccable artwork
splayed red anger
diffused dangerously
imminent explosion
take down your temper
ice it in silence
spread change
draw conclusions
inherent haste
find tranquility
in people places
abstract soliloquy
ethereal furnace
split skin burnt moments
wanderer waking
in a strange place
stars foretell
insipid futures
we are destined
for another ice age?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 days ago
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11770244-zodiac-misfired.....-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.DX0ajG0s.dpuf
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
Spark kissed tinder
burst into flames
As men gathered in tight knots
Stitched up a street riot
Wood warmed and glowed
Militant revolution minds
The embers hummed with ashes
As city streets burned
Tyres and tubes were rolled
home brew guzzled
Fuelled the fires further
more streets burned
Water cannons hissed
As men aflame with anger
Lit fireplaces up alleyways
With burning brain torches
Taking the political fireplaces
To the palace of no return.
As soon as the government
Dissolved into a carpet bombing
puddle
The big bear
licked its paws.
Author Notes
The Revolution continues after a lapse of two months. Most politics start around a fireplace fuelled by alcohol and hate. Once lit the fireplace chatter
moves into the street and spread rapidly.
The Bear anticipates a breakdown of law and order and amasses its troops along the border.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
The setting sun has a way
of creeping up on you
with cherry red coloured dreams
nights as naughty as little gnomes
flitting about in escapades
of soft silk lusts.
Once the night embraces you
with its cloak of stars
velvet summer laziness
and tomorrows never there
its time to take the fullness of today
into the emptiness of tomorrow
and slip into that twilight zone
where all the magic materializes
on why we love these special spring days.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
The Creator looked at the elephant and said:
I made you big so you could be gentle
To the mouse he said: I made you small
so you could walk tall
But over millions of years you two could exchange
places and one become the other.
I know I shoved the lot of you in an Ark
Because Noah was being a pesk asking for rain
when his washing machine ran dry
So I had to fill the oceans to stop that old man
from complaining all the time. Besides I needed the bark
from the trees of the Ark to make me a small tug boat
to carry some DNA samples of my own, in case,
the lion ate the cow, the tiger chewed on the cat
and the fox tricked the rest with his cunning ways
You see, my friends, there was no grass, or snakes
or bird cages, or trees for the monkeys to swing on.
I thought of many things before I gave the building plans
to Noah and his sons. Only one was a builder the rest
were bums, who never held a hammer or learned how to
tie two bits of trees together, leave alone building
an ark to hold the worlds whole creation.Thankfully
there were no real estate agents pushing the price up
or bankers charging interest. The mafia thought of charging
an entrance fee for each pair, but before they could do that the rains came pelting down and the tickets got washed away in the storm.
So you see the Ark was a joint venture between
The Americans and Chinese and Indians
because they were willing to multiply quicker
than the rest once Mt Sinai rose up to meet the
oak leviathan from underneath.
And so my dear elephants and mouse
and fox and snake and bird and
lion and tiger. Noah and his wonderful Ark
was a script written well ahead so that Russell Crowe could get
a part playing Noah in a computer generated extravaganza
where only the actors and actresses who could afford
to pay a price to be in it - were involved.
The rest of mankind be ******
Author Notes
Quirky.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
I will stand in the shadow of the sun which burns a scar
on the back of people who like
to shift in the shadows of the night
and blame everybody for giving them a homeland
for their excuses.
I will stand where the teargas
melts my eyes and the batons write their scars
on my coloured skin
because I asked for bread.
I will stand in the light and hum
my soulful music that echoes off
the walls of pop charts and make
everybody dance because they do not
understand my words.
I will stand in the pools of streetlights
and sell my body, my baby, my beauty-
because nobody cared
to ask me a human question on want.
I will stand before God
and question why he taught me
the language of worship
amd wisdom to know the difference
between skin and colour and asking
and read the book he has to offer
that says the truth in so many pages.
I will stand alone.
I will stand alone.
Author Notes
?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
the clutter of words taking wing
beneath the wide arms of dense green oak.
the deciphering symbols now begin
as parts of the mystery fall into place
one by one, each piece reflects in a mirror
so similar to what I held up to catch the sky
and reason, fragments that collided in mystical shape
and formed into spirals seeking fresh answers
the dreams that haunted our togetherness for so long
and I languished in every stroke of your poetic pen
now falls the silver cross and the lining in these clouds
that have twisted and turned me inside out
yet I've built a crucible of hope from endless hyperstrings
and pieces of magnificent beauty that I first saw
in your writing and significantly stayed magnetised
by the unfolding of your life into my own searching.
I will stand here forever, watching, even as the sun dances
into dark of night and my feelings grow a new pathway.
Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11580728-DreamCatcher...-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.3aDaqvOh.dpuf
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
In the darkness that dispels all hope
we fumble with meaningless insight.
What we said does not relate to what we want
and yet we embrace boundaries to punish ourselves
with unnecessary hells. Languishing in the thought
that silence will answer these loud questions.
We love because we are created to love
unconditionally.We hate because we don't understand
what vast oceans of meaning lie in love.
Silence may answer the ascetics
monastic and contemplatives but
rarely an equation for relationships.
When its grey it rains tears of knowing
where we belong and to whom we belong
in the worlds whole people. Love binds us all
in this understanding fabric of contemplation.
Yet in the darkness we find solitude
and hope in the isolation of reason.
The silence between the drumbeats
announces the rhythm of the song.
We walk in silence
yet celebrate without it.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 19 days ago
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11566249-Grey-Skies-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.8dgLQUr8.dpuf
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
The sound was switched off
to my imagination
but you sauntered in that cascade silk of light
with sure steps,touching this,
tousling your hair, touching that
resplendent. Seductive in the setting.
You knew I was watching the sun dance
through the shadows
causing your smile
and mischief to glow brighter.
It was when you leaned over the balcony
my pulse raced with fear
and my heart stopped racing anymore.
Its only when you switched the sound back on
did I realise
your heart was also beating
between 'the agony and the ecstasy'
of the distance between us.
I take a step forward.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 3 days ago
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
the church bells peeled a rhythmic ringing
tinnitus
sending us listeners racing back
into a guilty crime like daze.
the mass begins in twenty painful moments
better rush in the rustle of sunday wear
bible bolstered underarm
front pew glances at the priest
who had a back view glare at late comers.
Mama said the sins of your fathers
will visit if you
miss a mass
canned hellfire will get you
and st peter will tick mark your presence
after communion.
I listened
when I stopped
God became god
and the church bells peeled
the same way
only the new pizzas came
with canned chilli peppers!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
Banked up against a terraced mountainside
photogenic pristine rows
of blasting green
rows of manicured waterways
with two buffaloes treading ballet-like
between squelching mud and green shoots
the paddy fields stayed buoyant
all season through.
Come harvesting time
and thrashing the sunburied ripe
tendrils of husk and seed
along threshing traffic wheels
the husk sought divorce from
the long tongued long grained
wives -and parted ways.
Soon the pudding spent its silky smooth sexiness
on a plate of punchy aromatic costumes
that invaded the senses and palate
in sensual smoothness. Oh my!
Ricebowl pudding
of the worlds staple.
Author Notes
Gluttony beckons just now!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
In the bowl where beauty lies
enriching its in its glow
remains an enigma that drives
deep shadows to the surface
we don't see everything we want
to see or show , analyse, own or disown
we may fail to seek all the answers
a torrid past, a broken heart
a blistered and bruised ego
something fragile, festering fuming underneath
the facade , creating a silhouette skin,
cosmetic exterior, mannequin interior
a patchwork quilt of emotions
restless, unready, growing.
we take what we see
in complete trust, faith beatified
drawn into the magnetic depths
seeking the pole star
sailing unkempt oceans
raging against the silhouette
that clearly conquered
the magnificence of the moment.
Love has no shadows
just a glowing light.
Author Notes
The journey to love.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
we were made for love
searching in the littlest corners for every message
seeking solace even in the silence
sighing when the words spill out on viber
or whatsapp, sweet words that mean so much
and yet we have oceans roaring between us
closing the distances, and mountain ranges
and majestic trees and deep green valleys
and cobalt skies and turquoise silks
of language that spell complex meaning
and little, little things that mean heartbeats
like monarch butterflies gracing to the winds caress
and a hundred thousand songs that each time we listen to
means new passion.
thats what love is
and we were made for it
the may december meeting
that never seems to fade away
and how i treasure those few minutes
in a day which lights up the lamp of our knowing.
we were made for love
there is no other explanation
on why this works so well.
if we ever found different journeys
imagine what a wasteland it would create
for either of us.
we were made for love......
Author Notes
its true.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 9 days ago
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11581979-we-were-made-for-love...-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.PTzQwhmt.dpuf
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
We did not ask for agreements or signatures
even a due diligence, check out each others
entrails, internet outcomes, criminal records
social security numbers
marriage licenses, children's ages, moles
on our mountains of doubt
even a fingerprint on a bare breast
phone numbers, mates and mistresses
drinking and smoking habits
salad preferences, vegan, bogan or whatever.
We did, however, listen to that heartbeat
the words we spoke, the pictures we drew
finished, the colours that we painted
between rainbows
and the children we dreamed
who would look like you and me
if ever born
and how smart they would be
and as naughty as those little titters
of laughter, that cleared every checkbox.
on this shopping list for a mate!
We knew that this partnership existed
there was nothing we could do
to unbreak this bond that grew
from a tiny little seed
into this one big giant momentum
of togetherness.
That's a worthwhile partnership
several levels above commercial simplicity.
Author Notes
The romance continues.......
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
Lining up batteries of anti-aircraft anti-everything
all anti- something this and that
distribution centre for psychological pressure
backed by radio, TV presidents staring straight
newspapers, journals and dialogues around
flash round tables on the whys how’s and who’s
sneaky microphone hidden in flower pots,
long distance listening devices. Telephones tapped
wives tapped, senior diplomats and doormats tapped
wives tapped on shoulders
whispered to: watch out for Joe blogs he has a roving eye.
see me tonight, after dinner.
The russians have warship A into Zone B
the chinese have shifted anti-missile up
the mountains near tibet, near nepal
near taiwan, near the hormuz straits
into africa, zimbabwe, fiji, and northern china
who cares. Tomorrow they will shift out again.
the pressure is building in the ukraine, turkey is on fire
The north koreans have no power
as seen from satelllites
The president has run of tomato sauce so he has asked
for a shipload from us of a
ship it with some spies dressed as tomatoes
god its killing me
these acupuncture points
three more needles please!
Author Notes
Relentless. ( an wacky I s'pose). Think about it all.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
The mystery deepens with slow steps
down the drive to that green mystery box
that holds the secrets of the universe within its grasp.
Besides the bills that need attention
invitations to church services
'fresh cuts' from butcher going down
products the clothing store discounts
power bills powering me up
water bills wetting me down
local rags headlining unknown street corners
filled with rage and graffiti
police searching for crims
(not on my street-No)
preachers discounting heaven for a tithe
car license rebirth
warrant remake
local school financial support
what else is new?
I've recently installed another box next
standing beside green box
flip all of the above next box
for recycling.
I only keep the one
which says in small print
No ******* collections on Labour Day.
Author Notes
Do you have the same problem and solution
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 5 months ago
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
Crew cut kiss curl stood
above the goose steeping generals
with empty heads and olive green
jackets
dangling aluminium war medals
for shooting ducks across the border
flying over Seoul
“Nfeuirok2fmdfiwe384194u3ujriwejm"
crew-cut kiss curl yelled.
“I told you 091874874814729”
( his swedish education was now showing!)
The train pulled out of pyongyang
with two thousand dead
that fed the famine. Only the driver
was alive clutching a loaf of bread.
stacked with cardboard cutout missiles
atop 1920s tanks and
painted with bloodred honesty
the entire nation goose stepped
to crew cuts orders.
He was as nutty as a fruitcake
but nobody laughed when he loaded
his only nuclear missile to bring down
the last remaining duck heading to Siberia.
Ha ha!
Author Notes
This is not a joke. Or is it?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
Two people lurk in everyone
the star and the scar
born from building high citadels of power
and cascading into smithereens
when the switch is tripped.
Maybe the voltage ran low
or the circuit breaker was poorly constructed?
I dont know.
I operate on a three phase armour
of emotional stabilisers
that spark and twitch when overheated
with too much energy. But I return
with black faced integrity
collars up and smoking
to fight on another electrifying moment.
'Thats life' I hear
the rollercoaster ride
built into the system
going around in circles
always facing the sunrise
and sunset. We scream and tumble
into the guts of the incline
the switch and roll of events
swerving around corners
holding on tight white knuckled
until it finishes its rumble
and we walk out wobbly and vomity
until the better side takes over.
The darker side recedes
into an unknown pocket.
Author Notes
Thanks to Cinderley13 who wrote about Catfish and Lydia and Lyda and made me wonder what the hell was being alluded to? It now makes a bit more sense.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
Pharmacist with the funny face
I’m not sure how the lines were etched
and set in place across a severe brow
like storms had raged and winters chill
had set the frozen expression
into an acid dipped contour.
Each time I went with a prescription
to collect remedies for a cough and cold
a limp here
a sore there
some racing bp charts
an erring heart muscle.
His face remained stoic.
His face alone would frighten me
as pale as death he looked at me
over the rimmed glasses
and just that one second longer
than necessary.
My guilt soared. I felt like an addict
come into store to fetch
a high kick of something
suspicion hidden under the GPs scrawl.
I dared to look back
flushing red at his store.
It became a battle of the blush.
Twice I won
And never went back for a whole six months
Is he the guy that protects our streets
from the throaty lozenge
that may contain crack *******
hidden in its entrails? I dont know
but I always felt he had a secret sleeve
from where he pulled out those potions!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
All he could see were numbers
that reached out and grabbed taxes
and takes, invoices and expenditures.
He could not see explanations of delight
that little mistake I made with fringe benefits,
those royalties that never came.
In the end his only concern was to pay the taxes
to build the roads, skyways and airports
where he would travel and stay.
I wondered how he slept at night
cocooned in numbers
just 1-9 with a hefty zero
that made the difference between rich and poor
I wondered how he could survive on numbers
no cucumbers, sunshine salads, beach beauties,
high waves of reckless living, low tides of penniless nights
and endless days of counting little many times over.
He said to me once: Save every cent,
fortify yourself against depression and
natural disasters, don't spend lavishly
there's a price to pay
cut up your credit card. Live austerely.
Oh yeah?. That same day I got an extra CC,
a nice Merc, some good looking sunglasses
(to shield my eyes from the accountants glare)
and a cruise to the Mediterranean
where the blue waters beckoned.
The accountant visited the GP
twice more than me that year.
I'm still working the fat off at the gym.
( I suspect petty poets do the same thing all the time?)
Author Notes
Anyone know this guy?
Check this Novel out!
The Chrysanthemum Trilogy: Transition
Marshall E Gass
ISBN 9781493137848
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
numbers and cost crunching figures
she stood quietly calculating shelf spaces
calorie content
fat overdrive, taste sensation
and slowly but surely automatic fingers
ticked off the cents and savings
and chocolate biscuit treats.
pushing her trolley to checkout
she knew well
where indulgence took over sacrifice
where synthetic fizz was tastier
than real fruit syrup
and how supermarket shelves
connived with the devil.
home again
she balanced the books well
served plentiful dinners
kept the *** boiling
kicked *** out of roast lamb leftovers
yet chalked up a secret piggy bank
empire in a biscuit tin under the couch.
Author Notes
ordinary people? think again.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC