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The gulls sweep in, squawking
sky spiraling upon clear sun bright
morning air, perhaps disputing
my unintended trespass into
their natural domain.

The comical Puffins have returned,
doing their Charlie Chaplin waddle
across the surf rippled sand, eating
whatever comes to beak or hand.

The ocean's salty wet scents embrace
me like an old friend. Flipping off
my croc clogs I roll up my pant legs,
to feel the comforting sand and shallow
surf between my toes, to be one with
this wonderful day and our mother the
sea. Reverting to being a child again
for an hour or two, mostly alone on
this beach, say for the birds, waves
and sun upon my face.
First prespring day back at the coast.
There is magic on this beach impossible
to ignore. It always seems to recharge
my inner battery. The Oregon shore at
her beguiling best. When the sun is out
that is.
ME
Tarnished sequin in the Jewel shop of life.

How did I get put in with the diamonds?

I don’t pretend to even be Zirconium.

I’m not where I belong and don’t blend in.

Where’s the art and crafts department.

That’s where I hold court

And sometimes get to be the Queen.

ljm
At least I'm a PURPLE sequin !
Classes started up again today. Soon, we’ll be gloriously stressed, and clocked-up on whatever. Our hearts will swell to the pre-med symphony - a frantic opus, composed in the key of no sleep.

In seminars for rising pre-med seniors, (What's needed to get that med-school slot!), it’s obvious that 60% of the students who started out with us, on this track, are gone - left for other majors.
“I wasn’t happy, it was too much,” they said.

I feel a pang when I hear that undergrads we’ve shared a trench with have switched their major to basket weaving (political science), TikTok (computer science) or Phys-Ed.

I envy those deserters, I pity those deserters, I envy.. Wait, aren’t deserters supposed to be, well, you know.

Meanwhile, the rest of us, the stubborn few, cling to the dream. It’s a waking dream, for caffeinated zombies, obsessive-compulsive workaholics and maladjusted wonks who neglect personal needs, relationships and in some cases personal hygiene (not me, of course) in favor of a goal.

Maybe there’s something wrong with us?
 Mar 2024 Marshal Gebbie
v V v
Nat writes:
so many eddies colliding on the surface of a mighty river
yes, there is something otherworldly here
yes, even sacred,
in the finest sense of that overburdened word


Ah, what you speak of is
the very eye of God.

I see it in a Kaleidoscope of color
perfectly balanced yet
confusing all the same,
and the beauty of it!

A chaotic comfort like adrenaline.
The simple confidence of the knowing
held together by a single point of reference.

His bright eye the Fulcrum

o_______o
^

between:
The Sacred and Profane,
teetering in perfect balance
(For now)

between:
Respiration (The In) and Exhalation (The Out)
He resides in the pause between breaths

between:
Air and Water
(The Earth hovers within)

between:
Eyes Open and Eyes Closed
We live and die within the blink(s)

between:
Connectivity and Breakage
(Our true desires at the watershed of)

between:
Out Loud and Silent
(One without the other drives men mad)

Again Nat writes:
we exist,
we edit,
our eddies,
our overlapping lives,
in a never ending series
of Venn diagrams
all delicately balanced
at a single point


So perfectly stated.

The very eye of God.

Here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=rVKRRzaf21U
 Mar 2024 Marshal Gebbie
v V v
I've always believed that
something exists beyond the veil.

But the modern age has done its best
to keep us from seeing it.

The world spins and tells us what we want
but the world lies.

The world can never provide
enough
to satiate the soul.

A six-figure income
lies

    Your new toothpaste
lies

“I cant wait until Christmas”
lies

That SSRI drug trial
lies

“If only she would love me”
lies

An early retirement
lies

A trending poem
lies

“I can quit whenever I want”
lies

Additional home square footage
lies

That new car smell
lies

Hair plugs
lie

“I’m fine to drive home”
lies

*******
lies

Any kind of cosmetic implant
lies

Anything you wish you could get your ***** little hands on
lies

There is no end to the lies
and lists of
  things that will not satisfy

for long

Only the now
is true and
fulfillment will not come

later

It is right now
  in this moment

You are alive and
you don’t need to be

You are your own gift

Embrace the now

Breathe

and

Observe
 Mar 2024 Marshal Gebbie
v V v
The breeze from the east brings
the sounds and smells of the dairy
and the beginning of Fall.
On our morning walk, Sandy stops
to roll in the dewy grass.

A desert valley is no match for
a Golden Retriever, maybe
color-wise, but not ****-wise.
She bumps into me as we walk
and her coat of stickers
scratches against my leg.

She’s not what I ever intended
to love.


My father used to walk alongside
me the same way. Lecturing me as
he walked, he’d lean in, like Sandy,
forcing me to lean away,
or drift off the sidewalk.

I’d drift as far as possible but
could never escape his thorny barbs,
many of which stuck deep,
festering in my soul for decades.

He’s not what I ever intended
to forgive.


He’s been gone a few years now
and with the passing of time
I have slowly begun to forgive,
and in the forgiving
I have found healing

nevertheless scars remain,
and when Sandy brushes
against them,

I remember.
for R.A.
our northern friend*

~
one foot in two countries,
she is enjambment symbolic,
running a single stanza
without a syntactical break,
by standing simultaneous
in two neighboring cultures

causing her dear readers
from near and far,
some, like me,
from across the borderline,
considerable multifarious symptoms
of
well considered verbal confusion

this,
a gifted special talent
from
she
who straddles  
all kinds of borders
that divide
her
and
unite
her,
that
can be understood/revealed tho,
when observing the northernmost night skies

eh?

expert in modulating
extreme snowed under bay
winterized temperatures,
counterpointed by
drivingopen highways
on summer plains
where the dotted line is
all there is to see
for miles, thousandths wide

she-poet
oft goes quiet,
expelling her breath
between word roarings,
gentlest of periodic
verbal sweets

genteel
my word version for her
gentle so,
in a way that
makes gentility
deserve the nobility
inherent

that is the
work word
that always comes first
when we need to place her,
another star
in the night
flying frying
firmament

enjambment - her word

means I am
all in,
with both hands,
resting on both jambs
of an arched window
that she architects,
peering in,
Making Sure,
I have come to the right place

where she-poet
builds skylights of
northern lights,
igniting

adore her sweet
confusion,
but better yet,
her poems
of clarification
that explain all in,
why when,
we
all look up,
thru her
window exquisite
that she
meant
for us

we always first
turn our glacé glance
northwards
strangely, seeking, illogically,
but not really,
warmth
in the she-poets
northern way
For Rebecca Askew
what color is hate?

think hard, answer, not easily up-conjured,
obvious choices, careful be, exclude not, some voices,
no rush, think upon it careful, after all, hate hates variations,
it, as old original as the Garden of Eden

you desire answer, something quick, *****,
look to very nature of hate, so easy spewed,
after centuries of construction, yet, there is
nothing quick about hating, tho learnt early on

some variants of millennium length, eons short,
oh weep, at this great irony of ironies, hate is so
innate engrained, is it in the red blood, cells of the
white colored brain apparatus we all share?

unnatural impossibly genetic. don’t believe it.

hate is colorless like air, like clear water.
how else could it be so easy given, taken.
innocent innocuous is the color of hate,
easy transmitted, and never to be a vaccine

until it can be seen how we implant it within ourselves.


11:40pm
Sat Jul 11
The Bex Birthday Anthology

a very long quick perusal yields this trove,
but I know there are more
both disguised and plain hidden,
she invoked from within & without
getting partial credit

but search engine says there are too many millions of answers
to poems about Rebecca so cut to the chase and do your own

so don’t nobody get any ideas about getting their own
gift wrapped anthology cause I am overwhelmed by how,
how you all inspire me and give names to my muses,
and so I’ll just wish the northern girl that
all her happy poems
come true

who could want for anything more?
When I'm stuck in a poem
Do I come out wounded or healed
Are my emptiness deeper or filled
Do I smile or feel a lump
Or in that wondrous bump
I jump in the joy of crying
And cry in the joy of knowing.

You have so much to tell
And upon you when I dwell
I'm changed and evolved
The exchanges lifting me up
Adding eyes to my eyes
You take me through sunset and sunrise.

If I'm eager to listen I learn
You give my life a new turn
Each poet is a unique book
Transforms me, my outlook
The young makes me grownup
The old makes me a child..

Such is the magic of poetry!

I'm grateful you took me in
Gave my life a new meaning
Gave your shoulders to cry
Offered your heart to dry.

Life has a short span
But I'll be here and hear you
As long as I can.
An anniversary note of gratitude on completion of a decade and a year on HP. Thanks fellow Poet friends for taking me with you on this rewarding journey.
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