"lakeside" poems
midnights still find me retracing the moments
that led to our thousand lakeside kisses;
they were secrets left in a summer dream.
each second — a bowline knot
leading straight to our
late night drives
and vehicle breakdowns
and last minute goodbyes
at the break of dawn.
midnights still find me sleeping
next to a shoebox of the books you left;
i still hear your voice
when i read the lines
of your favorite paragraphs
the clock hands, mocking,
leading me through a maze of
memories and parking lot conversations.
midnights still find me rewriting histories
with resin-pressed flowers,
maybe the petals will point to where
i started losing you —
and maybe it's in every direction.
the black, bold numbers have become my crumbs
leading to road trips and
to all the bus stops we missed,
kissing;
now i still miss my stop
without your lips next to mine.
and midnights still find me
writing poems like these
but clearly,
you're too far off
for these words to reach.
and now, midnights still find me wanting you back.
and 'til now, midnights still find you gone.
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 7:52 AM UTC
I know how much time you spent on your hair so I will not touch it,
but think of how soft it would feel running across my skin.
I know you hate it when I walk around in nothing,
so I'll try and teach you the ways to love your own body.
And I am here to be your crash pad when you get laid off at work
and come home crying.
And before the day is done I'll carry you into the woods and we'll put our feet in the lake to forget our tragedies,
and remember we're still young at heart.
There is no need to grow up and worry about your looks.
Worry how other people,
we don't know,
think about our bodies
and if they are silently judging.
Let's not worry about money.
We'll just camp in a tent on the lakeside when we lose our house.
And we'll go with the river,
play around like children
and enjoy life and live worry-free.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
Crowded lakeside,
more than expected
on a normal day.
Hoping for a quiet
rendezvous in private
she looked aghast,
at such a turn of events,
nevertheless started
to make eyes at him;
patience wasn't her best friend.
Shutting up like a clam
he was a picture of contrast.
Every desire she expressed turned
to a love sick wood duck
soon a flock was billing and cooing
preening and polishing in haste,
making amorous advances
with an aggressiveness suggesting
intolerance to his reticence.
They chased his silence with
irresistible mating calls,
raising hell as if in heat,
making him regret.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
Walking along the narrow track,
parents shepherding ice cream kids,
making way for pushchairs, making waves.
The lakeside watch on ducks and swans.
The nodding smiles and genteel grins,
like a 50's Sunday promenade,
while walking sticks wait by benches
dreams die when mobiles chime.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
*Locked within expressions
In this little girl’s smile
Are nuances of wonderment
Destined to compile,
All the mystery of womanhood,
The guile of the breed,
The allure of her ***
And the promise of seed.
Her love for her mother,
Her joy for her dad,
Her path to tomorrow
Be it happy or sad,
The tears and the joyfulness
Stretched out before..
There’s the dog at the hearth
And the cat at the door.
And the beautiful sunsets
Those blue eyes will see
And the love of her life
Who’ll get down on his knee,
The scent of the lavender
Fresh from the fields
And the lakeside laburnum
Which subtly yields.
The colours of love
And the texture of fire
When the threads of her life
Turn to passion’s desire.
The moment of truth
When she turns to her mom
And her face wears the smile
And her arms bear….a son.
Oh the world turns in circles
Of shades of soft hue
And time waits for no soul,
Especially you,
And the babes of today
Become mothers of yore
And the great lesson learned
Is.... keep open the door.*
Uncle Marshal
With wonderment at the beauty in a little girl’s secret smile.
Auckland
12 October 2012
© 2012 Marshal Gebbie
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
Things sometimes fall apart
Among sisters and brothers,
No matter what they once were.
Childhood picnics and dreamy games,
Memories of trips with Dad,
Since Mom was tired of us.
We would climb Appalachian peaks
Or drive to look at the Mayflower.
Every summer there was a golden week
A lakeside cottage and all-day swims
In crystal water, becoming mermaids.
But time passes and bitterness accrues.
Imagined slights grow like slow tumors,
Never excised but nurtured by some.
I go to college and am freed
From the poison of ignorant rage,
From the creeping depression left
Like diesel fog on an endless floor.
Four or five years of delight pass
With only hints here or there
Of a sibling’s misery at home.
Of a once close sister, Maggie,
Who is ignored and never loved
By any man she pursues.
She blames me for it, for reasons
I have yet to fathom.
Of a brother, Francis, deluded, drugged,
Steals the family car in a rage
And drives to New York City.
Of Deirdre, the middle sister,
Whose friend who knows men who feed
On her ignorance and rebellion.
Only Susannah tries to rise above
The maelstrom of misery.
I send her to a school far away
And she sheds despair, at least.
Decades drawl, children are born to us,
While the bridge between us, obscured,
Sags and frays under weight of rancor.
Christmas dinners and birthday parties
Turn into chores, invitations kept as scores.
Petty grudges, like acid, sever the bridge
At last, all ties are abandoned.
When we are all grown and scattered,
No one speaking to anyone else,
Unaware, uncaring about the others.
Only Susannah visits me and smiles,
With no ulterior plan for insane revenge,
Or accusations for errant slights.
Her once dark hair is grizzled and wild
And her girlish skin now creased.
But her treacle eyes, “black aggies”,
I used to call them, still shine.
Only Susannah writes a letter,
Wishing us well and
Healing scars made by others,
Returning the word “family”.
To my basket of small treasures,
I carry with me
Into the twilight.
Oct 10, 2021
Oct 10, 2021 at 10:52 AM UTC
Often times a question regarding death, "what happens, where do you go?"
I'd say it's neutral, no ringing ears, nothing at all.
Though I've grown up neck deep in the tired and frightening atmosphere of death, nights spent as a child contemplating my own existence, I had learned to accept it at a fairly young age
This question no longer bothers me
Before I walked, before I talked genuinely, I was a million questions, a million ideas all kept under lock
And the way I walked and talked was not my own
And now, some days they'll call me a "man", but what I am is a hybrid of all of these thoughts
bright and faded colors, painted fingers and toes, distorted and vulnerable
And that sudden burst of consciousness at birth was the same I'd come to know in that moment, at the bottom with the fishes, counting pictures and having visions with my last bit of oxygen. Mermaids, gold glitter, and snakes in the water.
Never had I known such a gentle touch, among some collapsed lakeside cottage.
And that is why I am no longer afraid of death, because to cease to exist is not any kind of experience.
And I will always remember, the sudden burst of consciousness just before the renaissance that ensued from your touch.
And I will not wait
And I will sing in a violently feminine fashion
before the day my lung collapses
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC
frogs "croaking"
in front of me, in the reeds
crickets "chirping"
behind me, in the brush
countless coyotes "yelping"
from across the lake
bass, carp surfacing
under a yellow moon
unaware its shimmering shaft’s
a magnet to my eye
and more lullaby to me,
who can yet see spectral waves
but lost cherished vibrations--like birdsong,
winsome whispers--eons ago
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
Planned a long road trip
In the name of friendship
Seven hundred miles that day
Home and bed five miles away
Midnight sky with fireworks high
Red “H” on engine gauge much closer by
The sight was quite a fright
No longer feeling such delight
Pulling to the side
My time to bide
Until a tow appears
To relieve my fears
Mosquitos delight
They win the fight
On the interstate highway
Above their lakeside byway
Vibrations move the car
While passing trucks go far
E.T.A. at 1 am
Police set flares at 2 am
2:20 rolled around
At last the car was found
Speedy hookup
Not another hiccup
Left car at garage
Free ride home removed my rage
Doubled the driver’s tip
Reduced the bother to a blip
3am can go to bed
Yet so wired in my head
It takes an hour to mellow out
In four more, the sun from bed will rout
Was it worth it in the end?
Any day, I’d do it for my friend.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 7:05 AM UTC
Justin I forgive you, won’t you call me, your birthday must be coming soon we haven’t spoken since we moved our family into the desert. I just pray you’re not seeking cotton fever yet again, chasing the dragon, or at the very least eating school buses while falling into ‘H’ before you find yourself in bed drunk again, and on Ambien too. Dead too soon. You’ve always wondered why I didn’t introduce you to Ryan, my other incredibly dear and brotherly friend. Well wonder none more, he’s in a padded room at Mt. Sinai in Lakeview or perhaps Northwestern’s adult care unit, there was talk or at least I imagined he could make it to Lakeside Manor right there East of Foster. So it’s clemency, peace of mind, and something to loosen the edge off your back, something to let you fall, something to set your pain at weightless your mind at I-Don’t-Have-To-Give-A-Fuck-Anymore, my friend where have you been? Where have you taken yourself? Please drag yourself back at least a half-step, reverse your position and engineer an out please. I can’t begin to accept losing both of my brothers to two versions of the same disease.
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 1:10 AM UTC
bottlerocket,
ski click &
shoot.
[empress impressed.]
petrol souls drift the skin & aetherous
of our holy mother lake midday.
by alpine,
lymph node,
spine of glimmering fish;
i never truly thought that love could destroy.
[to display the paradise boon and boom salute.]
her knife atop the stump.
*
yon machines construct art-form of reservoir (yon being short for yonder),
knee-boarder-boy wake to wake, he wags his tail when he dreams.
[lakeside.]
tribal the beach: a family drunk on juiceboxes.
rolling rocks. tall boys
& boulders/ bountiful canyon kids
with their beautiful gasping dogs.
****** knee **** and gallop at the foot of a mountain/mound &
sugar ants stomped, longing to empire.
mom bunches her fists into sand
of stolen crag, listening closely for her childhood in the whistle
of a casio conch.
margaritaville will do.
[to **** or kiss beetles.]
kiss;
the bitty prince.
maintain a steady alliance with all lifeforms and flora.
life is programmed as thus;
algorithm of love.
bright honeydew soaked slabs of wood,
or plank, tabletop treatise.
wet pile of seeds.
young small birds hoard seeds for winter;
teeter into spring;
& upon summer find solace in swift slip-n-slide daylights.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 7:35 AM UTC
Tell me what you see when you look at me.
My eyes? My pert, soft buttocks? My beer belly?
Do you even see anything at all?
Maybe, you don't even register me. Maybe, I just walk past you and you walk past me and we both just ignore each other.
There is no special recognition, not a hint of longing or regret.
Just a casual, accidental bump because you were on the phone talking to some random ***** named Trish.
Or, maybe, just maybe, what you see, sets your libido on fire.
You can't bear to look at me because it's like looking at the sun;
You think that if you stare too long, your eyes will burn and you'll go blind.
You're afraid that one more fevered look in my direction will be the last one it takes to make you jump on me with such lust as to make Casanova weep. I dunno,
Maybe it's not as bad as that.
Maybe what you see makes you remember those long weekends spent by the lakeside, reading poetry and discovering what it means to love yourself again.
Maybe you just take a quick peek to get you through the day even though your heart wants to stare forever.
Hell, it might even be the genuine article:
That be all and end all,
The one true form,
That greatest thing:
Love at first sight.
Or, y'know, maybe you were just looking at that hobo behind me, vomiting into a bin.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
by the lake at sunrise
a strange dedication hangs in the air
concealed in threads of mist
that hang here, ghostly blankets
suspended by invisible strings
there is a silence without end every where
amorphous, it is as if the very elements themselves
hold their breath, poised
waiting for something to happen
while a silvery unexplained light
floats like mercury
on the lurid waters of the lake
the world looks on
in hideous and embarrassed silence
as I taste the lamentations of past times
a discord of sympathies swirl about
i cry out strange words
like making a wish in Latin
i am carried in a high altitude of color
through a French Pantheon of poems
and by the lakeside emaciated figures
form a density of mood
dripping in emotional subtlety
which cannot be properly named
my eyes gaze out upon the lake
in a vocabulary of incoherent signs
images that have no articulation
like that of a rancid stain
of ***** on a curved floor
that compares effects of sensitivity
to neurotic symbols
that rest uneasily on the walls
of hospital waiting rooms
a poetic syntax of sonorous symbolism
sensuously slashed
like a very, very sad crossword
I am high by the lakeside at sunrise
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
She sat astride the stool in silence
Watching how the mayflies flew,
Symmetry in chaos painting
Colour’s gentle strokes anew.
Felt the touch of evening breezes
catch the tendrils of her hair
Watching mayflies rise and fall
through symmetry, without a care.
Promise fills the moment’s magic
Hope is pounding through her breast,
Mayflies rise and fall in sunlight
Love’s anticipation best.
Scattered light intrudes through leafage
Casting sunspots in the shade,
Mayflies rise and fall in sunshine
Tranquil peace of mind is made.
Softly a guitar is strumming
Melding with the lakeside air,
Rendezvous with him a-coming
Mayflies rise to empty chair.
Mayflies rise and fall in sunshine
Rise and fall...and they don’t care.
Marshalg
‘Foxglove’ Taranaki
3 January 2013
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
Autumn in New Zealand is a masterpiece on canvas
Patternings of goldens and bright rose hips in their beds,
Copses of coniferous in deep and darkly avenues
To the brilliance of a country lane awash with leafy reds.
Chimney fires are smoking in the rural country cottages
The warming glow of lanterns in the windows as I pass,
A tantalising whiff of hot buttered scones is wafting
And somewhere in the distance I can hear a red deer bark.
Strolling by the lakeside in the early morning stillness
My breathing fogs before me in the chillness of the air,
Rowan trees glow scarlet and the naked ***** willow
Has shed her golden carpet on the emerald hillock there.
Rushes rattle softly in the mistyness of lowlands
Treeeferns in their glory of silver filagree,
Sparrows ruffle feathers to insulate the coolness
As wheeling flocks of starling mass to migrate to be free.
Gossamer as fairy dust the thistledown is floating
A harbinger of autumn leaves and freezing frost to come,
Those Coriollis forces are determining the changeling
Where the snowy days approaching means the Autumn tones are done.
Marshalg
27 April 2013
In rural Pukekohe.
New Zealand
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
here I am
dwelling in solitude
with the moon
by my side
Jun 21, 2022
Jun 21, 2022 at 6:35 PM UTC
On July the 4th in 1976, the bicentennial of our great nation. I awoke at 3am in Lakeside, Ohio to start a journey to Plant City, Florida. I was to pick up a leased car in Kent, Ohio and take it to Greenwich, Connecticut. Where I joined several others to make the trek to the Sunshine State. When I crossed the George Washington Bridge over the Hudson River in New York City, off to my right I saw the tall ships heading out to the harbor for the day's celebrations. The radio played every version of God Bless America in their archive. I sang every one of them. We traveled all day and into the night where we saw fireworks in at least 4 states. We reached our destination in Plant City very early in the morning on the 5th of July. But
I Larry Dean Goodwin on July 4th, 1976 in a brand new American made Red Chevrolet Monti Carlo sedan traveled through Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, Washington D.C., North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Florida.
God Bless America, God Bless Us All.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
Curling upward like the smoke from a cigarette with lipstick
Emblazoned on the filter like a ruby on a ring.
Spiraling like vapour on a freezing frosty morning
Where the air is still and foggy, where the early blackbirds sing.
A maddening moment spinning in my flower's ****** youth
When I kissed those lips of tangerine to feel that heat ingrained.
And from the depths of ocean green that Kingfish rose to greet me,
Her beauty smeared by spear impaled in a deed that leaves me shamed.
Tendrils of thought arise entwining in the cortex
And the pleasure of sensation is my measure of delight,
Like the rising mist of lakeside in the golden shades of evening,
Of anticipating starlight in the jewelled descending night.
The rendevouzed excitement of ascention with the heartbeat
As a beauty glides unadorned through a moment in my life,
But the spiraled exultation of a lifetime's realisation
was the coil of breathless wonder sharing childbirth with my wife.
And the years, they pass asunder in a steady haze of flickering
Passing in succession, in a honey scented way.
Contented are my days in the muted shades of harmony
In the shady lanes of country in a sunlit green array.
Marshalg
Pukehana Paradise
10 August 2013
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 6:07 PM UTC
all life rolled by
all that has gone past
I saw you sit on the stone wall by the lake
and I knew – is there any other way? - what you thought about
the betrayal, the snatches of life and luminescence
from the days when you were a girl
the first day you could feel the stirrings;
all passages of life, all conversations and the promise
the pretty things, the art and the ecstasy -
but mainly the betrayal, I know, I could see it in your expression
and the pain of your children,
beings you brought forth into the world
your pain, each one
your joy, each one
and all of the darkness
the rich trees behind you, the rolling hills farther behind
and the lightness, the union of water and blue sky, by your side
but you looking farther, farther than the sky, farther than the clouds
far away, far away into your thoughts, beyond the sun,
beyond where sun can reach
all things rolled by, all life rolled by
all events, every thought -
O all that has gone past
I saw you sit on the stones by the lake
and I knew what you thought about –
how can I not? -
the betrayal, mainly the betrayal, the betrayal…
I saw you, I saw that…
I know, I know…
There can be no forgetting;
There can be no forgiving
I saw you, I saw that…
But all I could do was to walk, to walk away
carry away my false words, carry away my deeds with me…
and leave you to the distance, to the distance
To the darkness, the luminescence, the betrayals…
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 7:30 AM UTC
I can still remember her eyes
The way they shimmered in the lakeside sunlight
Sparkling beautifully in conversation
I'll always remember them
As equal to none
I can still remember
Her magnificent smile
Strong with cheer
Filled with laughter
Growing often from her lips
But fading towards the end
I can still remember her touch
Gentle and forgiving
Loving with every touch
Through every fingertip
Only to stop so abruptly
Leaving me longing
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
The lakeside cabin was as old as history.
The lake itself was ancient.
The cabin was in our family for years.
None of us knows who built it,
all we know is we always have fun there.
Playing in the lake all day,
staying up late telling ghost stories around a campfire.
Many years ago I went back.
I couldn't find it.
Recently I went with my family and it was back.
Maybe it wasn't where I thought it was at first.
Maybe it was never there.
All I know is we had fun.
That's all that mattered,
We had fun.
May 26, 2021
May 26, 2021 at 9:27 PM UTC
A lakeside egret,
Curiously watches a peerie fish;
Forgets killer instinct.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 9:44 PM UTC
~
*Maternal midnight
Metallic lakeside
Freon heart, fayence mind
Eyelids of iron ore
Influence feet into the water
Into an embargo bay
Clear and innocuous, innocuously blind
Hills like white elephants on a polar plateau
Mosquitos on her mouth
Drink the blood of encryption
Change the tone of her voice
They pass behind the blue vein
Become infinite particles of her*
~
Feb 20, 2025
Feb 20, 2025 at 9:53 AM UTC
( A lakeside moonlit and still reflects softly her pain...)
Beneath heavens gaze am I found lonely
finding solace in this peaceful place
and here my pain so clearly shown me
upon my own sweet tear stained face
my eyes are stars so softly fallen
tracing lines on cheeks burned red
reflect my heart so often stallen
when ache and need have turned to dread
for where by night canst my love be
when at my side his place grows cold
my heart a fragile dove set free
to doubt the flight of words once told
but wait by sooth as footsteps hasten...
( Her lover appears red faced and breathless...)
My love my light my inner aches
I fear that I may tarry not
for now your father this way makes
make haste and leave this chasten plot
for I would die a thousand times
for sake of one sweet moment shared
for he hath deemed our meetings crimes
and swore my life would not be spared
so by all that I call holy
take thy leave and leave me be
but knowest this I love you wholly
now take this kiss and pray now flee...
( she leaves as her father appears sword drawn)
Thy knave thy cad thy solemn cur
that dares to court my daughters heart
now face me here my cowardly ser
that could not face me from the start
how many nights hast thou hidden
beneath the veil of given night
and rough shod or' my good name ridden
keeping your love from honest sight
I couldst forgive my daughter truely
if she herself had made this known
but I must hear it from others cruelly
and now for shame thou will atone
To be continued...
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 8:27 AM UTC
The rain makes your
veins look like
dark black bra straps
underneath a veil of Topshop sale items-
the bangles were bought elsewhere.
Though it's not their size that worry me,
it's what look lives within your eyes
every time you run a finger up your arm
and back down your arm again;
the charm in your slightly curling autumn leafed smile
curls a little more, turning smooth lakeside skin
into Nile-esturay wrinkles that say save me Tim.
Your red delta cheeks pulsate
in the late afternoon sun coming in on
a diagonal through the newly installed,
doesn't quite close properly, velux window;
you ran through fields only
to end up teary eyed in the kitchen
doorway threshold.
But here, here is where your river
meets my sea, and turbulent tides
swell up to ferry us away to new coastline
continents:
forget we ever swimmed and swam,
poured sand from our shoes,
held hands and ran, and
forget we held hips on train station steps,
shared lips, left and then hid.
When you see this you'll know it's an apology
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC