Through halls of cloud his spirit soared
Through countless skies of gold
In windless corridors of air
Through vistas vast and bold.

Across the checkered fields of green
Above those mountains high
My friend would wing his aeroplane
Into an endless sky.

The windswept beauty reaching out
The world so far below
This freedom to spread out his wings
Would make my friend’s heart glow.

His spirit soaring like a bird
Into a sky of rain
The sunlight setting in the West
In shades of sweet refrain.

Alone, aloft in peacefulness
Is where he means to be,
To fly as one with eagles
High above a distant sea.

To reach up through the heaven’s gate
To be at one with God
To spiral round like feather down
And touch down on the sod.

With a heavy heart and weary hands
He shut his motor down
Forever more to be with us
Imprisoned on the ground.

A sunbeam I see yonder there
At play amongst the shrouds
And I fancy seeing Leon’s ghost
Flying up into those clouds.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
11th June 2008
Dedicated to my flying mate, the late Leon Denize.

Transferred attention some where else
Then lost my train of thought,
Added an item to my list
Of stuff I should have bought.
Forgot to say those silly things
That make it all worth while,
And found myself in jockey shorts
With a lost and vacant smile.


Left the toothbrush in the toilet
And the razor in the lounge,
Fed the dog the ****** cat food
And the goldfish had to scrounge.
Woke up early on the weekend
And slept in late for work,
Is it really any wonder
That my  wife has gone beserk ?



Distracted moments come and go
As life progresses on,
But in these periods of bewilderment
Have I come or have I gone ?
The confusion is annoying
It's like emerging from the mist
And embarrassed explanations
Leave my kid's expression ******.


Conversations breeze along
I'm having trouble with the terms
The children utter gibberish
Which I've no desire to learn.
My old friends speak in whispers
Quite impossible to hear
And the clink of moving cutlery
Keeps dinner parties from my ear.


I guess a change is needed
Maybe, a less demanding day,
Where physicality is really secondary
Where exhaustion doesn't play.
Where the bodies limitations
Are tempered to the task
And a moderated output
Is, perhaps, the best that you can ask.


I've lost my sense of humour
The world is racing by too fast,
This mobile phone's a nightmare
And ****** TV remotes I'm past.
And whatever happened to coffee
At my favourite Bridge cafe ?
Now the order is for decaff,
No cream, half strength, moccha frappe !!


Age is such a ******
It's asset is it's stealth,
One moment you're a titan
The next you've lost your health.
One moment you've got flowing locks
The next you're bald and grim,
Is it any ****** wonder
That growing old is such a sin.

Marshalg
Grumping@theBach
Mangere Bridge
10 August 2009

Across the ice a baritone
Projects his notes of steel,
A tenor’s harmonizing
Adds that melancholy feel
And the glory of the voices
Flows out through alders bare
And the listeners weep for Russia’s soul
And the tragedy found there.


The tragic melancholy
Found in every Russian heart
Liberated by the sadness
A fine harmony can impart.
Of the monolithic yesterdays,
Those forgotten fields of dead
And that fire within the *****
Which numbs the agony of the head.


Dark stains along the timber wall
Wood fire’s stones make steam
It fills the room with stifling heat
Which sweats the bodies clean.
Red wheals raised on shoulders
Birch branches whip the back
Whilst companion tones of maleness
Speak in vectors women lack.


Red larches in the foothills
Gold lantern light on snow,
The vastness of ancient steppes
Of Central Asia grow.
A viola’s velvet passion
Sighs beneath a cottage door
And the sadness in sensation
Brings grown men to weep once more.


The vastness of the terrain
The hardness of the land,
The bitter cold of northern wind,
Each freezing winter spanned
By Siberia’s lashing gales,
White snow is metres deep
And turquois ice as hard as steel
Beneath which... rivers creep.


Dostoyevsky,Kruschev,
Rasputin and the Tsars,
Great Lenin, Marx and Trotsky
And the swords of Horse Hussars.
Gorbachev the great redeemer,
Poor Yeltsin’s pale white skin
And the ****** found in Stalin's smile
Span the politics of sin.


This great Russian melancholy
Lies deep within the soul
It’s a legacy of yesterday
Of her history's brutal goal.
It’s a product of the suffering
Inherent in the past
Endured by legions of the people
Then  dispensed with…
With a laugh!

  

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
13 April 2009

Traces of lassitude
Slow down to cruising,
Warmth of the whiskey
Ameliorates bruising.
Putting the feet up
Makes it inane,
That I'm subtly aroused
In mouthing your name.

Subtle arousal
In tracing the line
Of your thin cotton ******
With fingertip fine,
And watching the smile
Slide up to your eyes,
See the blend of your blushing
In murmured surprise.

Oh the glorious sunset
Streams in through the glass
And the shades refracted
Nicely contour your ***
And the whisky is mellow
The mood is sublime,
So the promise of evening
Improves with time.

With serpentine moves
And the grace of an snake,
You uncoil to your feet
And you make your escape.
Mouthing thin fabrications
And utter wee fibs,
You flee back to your hearth
And your husband and kids.

Solace alone Baby,
Solace alone,
With frustration and whisky
All the lonely way home.
As the penitent thoughts
Percolate through unseen,
My sad mind lingers
On what might have been.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
27 January 2010

Cabana, cheese and mustard sauce
Do grace the tablecloth,
White puffy clouds and warm south breeze
And joy in chilled beer's froth.
Hot sun doth bake these stony walls
Sweet mandolins do play,
And the pigeons peck at breadcrumbs caste.
And all fares well today.

Young darting men on Vespa's
Ply their arrogant good looks,
And those stunning senoritas
Strut their stuff while momma cooks.
Monsignors in scarlet robes
Do scurry through the town
Dispensing Catholic action
To any soul who is around.

Madonna's guard the roadside shrines
Where hot seal winds aloft
Toward the craggy mountain pass
And pastured alpine croft.
The peasant woman bends her spine
Trudging forth with strain,
Wood ******* piled upon her back,
Up hillward bound with pain.

Old men sit and ruminate
And watch the young girls pass,
Whilst nursing dark retsina
In an opaque thimble glass.
The olive trees look stately
In their crooked ancient way,
And cast a darkened shadow
Where the roosting chicken's lay.

And out across the mounded hills
The patchwork quilt of farm
And out beyond that deep azure
Of Italian coastal charm.
Seaward to horizon
The aqua blue intense
Extends as far as eye can see
Mediterranean immense.


Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
23 January 2010

When I was little I would watch
Clint Eastwood on the tube,
Rowdy Yates from Rawhide
In black and white and crude.


He played a young man showing
All the attributes of youth,
With an exciting way about him
That burned with living truth.


Spontaneously cowboy
And fastidiously right,
He filled the part with action
And the character was tight.


He represented all the things
A small boy wants to be,
Young, bright and coiled to go
A special hero… Just for me.


Through the years I’ve tagged along
Watched him play the arts,
The action roles, the love story
And the recent wrinkly parts.


I’ve loved ‘em all and celebrate
The fifty years of fun
Of trailing after Eastwood
And his epochs in the sun.


Play Misty, Iwo Jima
***** Harry too,
Gran Torino, Million Dollar
Spaghetti westerns through
The Bridges and Rowdy Yates
The common touch in all,
For every day people
In an every way call.


Hero’s come and hero’s go
Some fade away to die
Thank God professionals like Clint Eastwood
Just keep reaching for the sky.

My thanks Old Son.....for a Great Journey!


Marshalg@the Gate
Mangere Bridge
New Zealand
4th February 2009

Seldom doth man stop and stare
At the caste iron manhole cover there,
Seldom doth he analyze
The majesty, which beneath it lies.
The pipe work systems vast and long
Dark catacombs so precise and strong,
Buried deep beneath our feet
Extending forth from street to street,
Out across the breadth of town
Those secret fluids trickle down.


Laser levels carve the pathway
Through the walls of solid stone,
Shovels scrape and dig with effort
Forging hard trajectories home.
Digging, digging metal mountains
Sweat cascades upon the brow,
We lay the pipes in straight formation
Precision's satisfaction now.


An Artisan's great work is hidden
Lost beneath the earth's grey stone,
Appreciation camouflaged in that,
The cast iron manhole stands alone.
Magnificence unrealized
For deep beneath your feet,
A subterranean Michelangelo's
Sisteen Chapel, lays discreet.


Unsuspected rivers
Flowing darkly to the sea
In caverns of unwanted waste
Quite unbeknown to thee.
Vaulting brickwork chambers
Which are ancient works of art,
Carry oceans of excretement
Far from where their journey's start.


With thunder's crash and lightning flash
And torrents of cold rain,
The road's awash and gutters flow
Through roadside grates to drain.
Gushing torrents cascade down
In waves of flowing might
To the storm water system
Which promptly swallows it from sight.


Magic, you say ?
Nay, nay I say unto you
That the drain layers artistry
Is unappreciated, that's true !
That the Herculean effort wrought
In winning his great fights
Is largely lost to all and sundry
Who avoid construction sites.
They miss the planning and the layout
And meticulousness too
And the rubber seals which stop the leaks
Which really bother you.
The massive holes and danger
Of being buried in collapse
And the wondrous satisfaction
Of achieving downhill flows... Perhaps!


Marshalg
Apprentice drain layer
MHX Beachcroft site and Eastport
19 September 2009

When the rain is cold and pelting
When the windstorm shreds the trees
Do you find your courage wanting?
Is there weakness in the knees?
Have you faced the dark intruder?
Have you stared that challenge down?
Have you summoned forth the fortitude,
To keep humiliation gowned?
Camouflaged the leaden spinelessness,
That dreaded empty space,
Where once there was a warrior
Who wore courage on his face.


Felt the thrashing of the current
As the waves come pounding in,
Inexorably it lacerates
And tears the fair white skin.
The brutality of bedrock,
The blackness of the night,
And the fear that runs like mercury
Through the torment and the fright.
The uselessness of effort,
The lassitude of limb,
It’s the cramping ague of gutlessness
That is consuming him.


Dissipating storm clouds
The skies begin to clear
And with it go emergencies
And with it goes the fear.
Residually it lingers
As a gnawing hollow blend
Of anxious blue inadequacies,
Of unsubstantiated end
To performance under duress,
Compared to that which is the norm,
It’s just a blinding lack of courage
Whilst in the torment of the storm.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
24 November 2008

Gunboats ahoy there’s pirates about
Speeding from Somali’s shore,
A fast flimsy boat and some black skinny men
With grenade launchers, cannon and more.
They’re coming to capture the tankers
They’re coming to capture the crew
They’re coming to take you hostage
Because fat cats will pay cash for you.

It’s happening more every day now
Ships are held to ransom for gold,
This contagion is out of hand now
The Somalian pirates are becoming so bold.
Hard men in the west prepare crackdowns
Gunboats sail for the Gulf as we speak,
With instructions to shoot to **** now
And make eradication of pirates complete!

But you ask, why is this happening?
Why does a man, a pirate become?
What instigates this crazy morphosis
From fisherman to pirate with gun?
Somalia has no Government to speak of,
It collapsed and went long ago.
No law or army in place here,
Life is dangerous, chaotic and low.

Some fat cats made use of the vacuum
They ditched toxic waste in the sea
They irradiated the coastline region
Making this a poisoned place to be.
The coast folk were dying in thousands
Sick mothers lost babies and kids
Black illness spread madly in villages
Then blind panic and pain hit the skids.

Some fat cats made use of the vacuum
They trawled the coastline clean
Somalia’s fishermen were destitute
The catch went from vast to lean.
The villagers were starving and hopeless
And what was pain became death.
The leaders appealed for salvation
But those with the means, had turned deaf.

Who would take this problem on now?
Who would make these ******* pay?
Most turned around and shunned them,
The world had turned and looked away.
So hit transgressors where they’re vulnerable.
Strike in sea lanes where it’s free.
Hit them near the Horn of Africa.
Attack with blades of piracy.

Hooray for the small man’s justice.
Hooray for his skinny, black shanks,
Please God help their quest for deliverance
For the West has arrived with their tanks.

Now I ask you, in all fairness
To stand back and view the scene,
Where the richest and most powerful
are doing something that's obscene
For not only are they poisoning
The most vulnerable race on earth
But compounding it with genocide,
And I add, for what it's worth,

The West, in righteous arrogance,
are crushing poorest fellow man
In his struggle for survival
Against their mammoth, global hand.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
25 April 2009

Blondes illuminate
The dizzy world of men,
Confident and forthright
And simply, oozing acumen.
So sensually brazen
In a silly sort of way
Yet intuitively capable
Of leading all of them astray.

Blondes are irresistible
When they catch the errant eyes,
When their pearly, sky blue peepers
Irradiate and mesmerize.
When they catch him glancing
At a nicely rounded ***,
When rosebud lip's apouting
Leave him breathless, limp and numb.

Blondes move in a manner
Which defies all things right,
It's a sweet undulation
Which turns day, straight into night.
It's suggestion incarnate
And quite breathlessly so.
Causing pulses to race
And his expectations to grow.

Blondes think in straight lines
Periferals are lost,
And woe betide myopics
Who underestimate at their cost.
Golden locks breed pushiness
The will to have her way,
And the man who calls a challenge
Won't survive another day.

Blondes are soft and fluffy
Dimpled cheeks and curve of thigh,
And are specialists in the art
Of come hither to the guy.
But just beneath the garnish
Is a mind that calculates
And a passion for success
And a taste for wealth that rates.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
19 January 2010

No law or compulsion

In the history of man

Has vanquished the spirit

Or sullied his plan.



No preponderance of nastiness

Or heavy of hand

Have diluted the soul

Of a son of this land.



No oppressive demeanor

Or depraved mood

Have squandered the heart

Of my family brood.



No rule of despondency

Patterned or plain

Will blunt the edge

Of this febrile brain.



No damaged tissue?

No rendered dream?

Pass on cruel smile

With your cold eyed gleam.



Yes, get thee gone

Oh despoiler of men

Or feel the fury

Of my vengeance then!





Marshalg

@theGate

Mangere Bridge

24 March 2009

In toasting Mike I recollect
His steady watching gaze,
I recollect his calm
On a thousand stormy days.
I recall his jaunty humour
In his funny cockney style,
And the rationale behind it
And the pleasure of his smile.

And the quiet determination
In the steeliness within
And the love that emanated
When his Jules laughed loud with him.
When he held her hand and strolled
In the life they shared as one,
In the racket of the grand kids
As they shout and leap and run.

Through the years of hardy seamanship
From England's chalky reach,
Across the ocean's vastness
To far antipodean beach,
To the soft greens of New Zealand
And the promise of this land
And the shining eyes of Jules
When he offered her his hand.

And the life they shared together
Through the joy, the strain the tears
The utter joy of baby Kristin
And her beauty through the years.
The seamlessness of craftmanship
In tradesman's art supreme
And the pride of his achievement
In a sweet successful dream.

A chasm has appeared in life
Where old Mike used to be.
Dreadfull death has exercised
It's right to set him free.
But I can't feel bad for Micheal
For the brilliance of it all
Is celebration of his life well lived
And my toast to judgement's call.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
10 January 2010.

Across expanses far and flat
The freezing wind doth howl,
Through desolation cold and harsh
No sign of beast nor fowl.


No feet have trod these arid lands
No eyes have sought a path,
No heart has longed to venture here
No settler built a hearth.


Far horizons curve the flatness
Cold stars spray the sky,
Freezing diamonds in the blackness
Crescent moon hangs high.


Sleet and snow and driving rain
Assault in winter’s bleak,
Whilst blazing sun and baking wind
Prevail in summers fleet.


Grasses blow in rolling waves
As far as sight can see,
And cobalt skies of burnished blue
Are cloud and eagle free.


Sand grains blowing, heaping, rolling
Dusty dunes do form,
Moving west in steady flow
Sand waves without a storm.


Silent, silent, shrill and silent
Wind’s persistant howl
Shreiking in the rolling grass
No trace of beast nor fowl.


Far horizons defy logic
Something in the dark,
Huge and vague a shadowed something
Ghosts from Ancients hark.



Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
4 May 2009

A golden shaft of morning sun
Threw lines of life to cirrus cloud
A flight of teal on wings of steel
Arrowed from nights flying shroud.
The gems of dew on emerald grass
Blazed crystal violet, hills of glass.

A day is born, a time to live and laugh
Feel young and happy, free as chaff
Caste in the zephyr breeze.

A tear of joy springs to my eye,
A grin, as big as life,
I fly across a meadow, leap a stream.

I’m happy for you Sue and Pete,
I celebrate with night’s retreat
The dawning of your daughter’s day
With all my soul I wish her well
Sweet happiness in life’s foray.

Bon voyage sweet Kathryn

Uncle Dadda
Hamilton
New Zealand 1969

Dedicated to Mike Evans & Wendell Griffin…for their great approach to the King of sports, Golf.


Loosen up, feeling good,
Back swing nice and smooth
Power stroke an easy glide
A solid thwack to move
That golf ball into orbit,
Disappearing into air,
Diminishing like angel dust
On a trajectory so fair.


Looking good, nice and straight
In parabolic curve
At apex point it hesitates,
No breezes cause a swerve
Plummeting to emerald grass
The ball bounces on the green
To travel in a perfect arc,
The best I’ve ever seen,
It teeters at the cup lip
To roll around the rim
And by the grace of God,
That golf ball vanishes within!


The day at once looks perfect
The morning light pristine,
The singing birds in trees
Throw brilliant shadows to the green.
I peer into the cup
To see my sweetest dimpled ball,
That darling Dunlop eight
Henceforth shall grace my trophy wall.
My name will feature on the cup
Atop the clubhouse shelf
And the bar room shout for all the boys
Should put a large dent in my wealth.

But the wonder, the wonder,
The spangled wonder of it all
Will have me grinning foolishly
Whenever I recall,
That magnificent stroke
Towards that iridescent green
When I scored a hole in one
And drank a toast to Golf and Queen.


Marshalg
@ the Bach
Mangere Bridge
12th  January 2009

To go through the motions
In an leaden toxic day
With mundanity favoured  
Over fine thought foreplay,
Where the average are comfortable,
Just don't rock the boat,
Where original thought proffered
Cause the dead eyes to float.

How deadly dull this canvass
How pallid, sad  and bland
Where none take up the gauntlet
To run with it in hand,
Where no one makes commitment
To scream, "dullards awake"!!
With roaring red oratory
And a floor thumping shake.

Hitting the straps
With contention ablaze
Wild eyes magnetically
Willing to craze.
Windmilling arms
And demeanour to match
Has the mob on it's toes
Ears straining to catch.

Where a speaker will stand
With the veins in his neck
Protruding like  rip chords,
Spat saliva does fleck,
As he throws his delivery
Out to the crowd
And they sway with the passion
And scream back aloud!

It's communion at last
And the prize is at hand
....A sharp satisfaction,
An achievement so grand.
For in lifting the bar,
Thereby raising the odds,
To prime social reaction
From ordinary bods.

Marshalg
@Grandpa Vern's Bach
Wanganui
29 December 2009

With eyes of black obsidian
And eagle's beak of nose
Black turban of the Taliban
Worn everywhere he goes,
Warrior of God's mountainside
Mujaheddin, known by name,
Pashto is his verbal tongue
And Allah's quest, his fame.

Razored knife in braided belt
Long"Jezail"musket points to sky,
A gimlet glint to garnet gaze
One thoughtless move , you die.
Gliding fast from rock to rock
Gazelle like in his easy grace,
Silent as an adder's strike
Assassin black with turbaned face.

For centuries invaders came
To vanquish this stark land,
Persians,Romans, Russians
And British redcoats tried their hand.
And recently the Yankees
Came with automated war,
To find themselves engulfed
And fleeing for the exit door.

Inexorable Afghanistan
Has bleached their bones as one
Vendetta for the insult
While there's air to breath and gun.
Like Shah Massoud, the warlords
Descend from mountain cave
To slaughter all who venture
Be they terrified or brave.

Tribally disconnected
From Islamabad to Kabul,
Tajik versus Pashtun
Versus Koranic Islam's rule.
No prisoners are taken,
The women always use their knives
And ravines echo shockingly
As tortured slowly lose their lives.

But the sunsets are glorious
Valley mists by morning rise
And row by row of fractured peaks
Rise in grandeur to blue skies.
And the children croon to goat herds
As they graze high meadow's green
And above the taloned goshawk glides
Ever watchful and unseen.

Hulks of Russian gun ships
Litter valleys and the plain
And the ghosts of many nations
Walk these dusty roads of shame.
For the legacy of the Afghans
Is a ****** litany of war
And the road to their tomorrow
Is paved with promises of more.

Marshalg
Wanganui
30 December 2009.
www.worthyofpublishing.com
www.hellopoetry.com

Tall men think of robust ladies
Shorter ladies dream of length,
Toothless people fantasize
Of mandibles of white, bright strength.
Porcine women lust for thinness
Breast less girlies long for *****,
Dissatisfaction fills the air
It's greener grass or down the tubes.

Black man hopes for pale complexion
White girls bake to raise a tan,
Brown eyed lassie's envy blue-ness,
***** lesbian's, a man.
The wealthy want the easy life
Beggars yearn for cash,
Dissatisfaction's in the air
And mirrors are so trash.

Across the human spectrum far
Mankind wants for more,
The grass is always greener
Looking through another door.
It's bigger, better, brighter, best
The quest is always there
Relentlessly pursued with glee,
Bright eyes and bushy hair.

Results are mixed and varied here
Some reach the holy grail
To watch it slip beyond their grasp
Then founder, fall and fail.
Some teeter on a platform,
Some grasp the prize and run,
Some hit their stride at bounding pace
To see the contest won.

But by and large there's misery
Few climb the road to joy,
Frustration be my brother
Dissatisfaction be my ploy.
Limitation is our lot in life.
Our secret to success
Is to love the mirror warts and all
All other **** ...repress !!

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
23 December 2009
www.worthyofpublishing.com

A silky tendril of time has gone
And with it went the year.
The highs, the lows,
The west wind blows
Like dust it disappears.

The passions and the dreams fly by
And vanish like the mist,
The sands between the fingers flow
Like gossamer dismissed.
The hourglass has run it’s course
The clock has reached the time.
When all those frantic urgencies
Evaporate like wine.

This year has gone and sped away
And left us standing there
With vacant stares and open mouths,
Heads shaking in despair,
The time has gone so fast, it seems,
The frantic dials have spun
Then we starting singing “Auld Lang Syne”
And yet… ANOTHER year’s begun!

May “10" become a special year
For you and yours to be
Much happier and wealthier
And healthier and free.
May breezes blow and fine wines flow
And good luck bless your day.
A toast to you in this new year
With love from M&J.;

Marshalg/Mangere Bridge/for 1 January 2010

Whilst slumbering
I woke at  three
And thought that
I would write to thee.
Write thee a verse
To let you know
Your face visits me
Each week or so….

Do you read my poems Sammi?
Have you felt my questing thought?
Have you caught the sensitivities?
Have you bled for battles fought?

Have I led you by the waters edge
To watch the sun go down?
Have I introduced an argument
That caused your brow to frown?

Did you laugh with “Laughter” Sammi?
Were you sad for “Mother’s” plight?
Did you watch the crescent moon descend
Into the sea at night?

Have you felt the things that move me,
Do you understand my need?
To record the stories in my head
Before dimming thoughts recede.

To put it all on paper
To lock it into being
Before the picture vanishes
And there’s nothing left worth seeing.

So I raise my glass in toast to us
With a mellow, velvet red
And I celebrate the times we’ve shared
And those wonders in my head.

For the hand of time is fading friend
Our history claims us fast
Good friendship should share tenderness
Before our time is past.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
27 March 2009

The purple scent of lavender
A promise poorly spent,
The soft caress of fingertip
A crushing thought's lament.

The tension building in your head
A sudden lightning bolt
Was the cause of all this turmoil
Based in **** that was your fault?

Panicked spasms wrack your gut
Your mind is in a whirl,
Is your rampant sexuality
Preoccupied with this young girl?

You cast about for reason
Manufacture good excuse,
But there's no denying logic
It's because you're far too loose.

This shaggy end is desperate
And desperation is a shame
But the lime green finger's pointing
And it's delivered you the blame!

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
4th October 2008

Serene across a placid sea
Demure as wind blown hay,
Quiessence strokes the torrid brow
To sooth the stress away.
For trouble lurks beyond this shore
Beyond tomorrows tide,
In carbon terms tomorrow's
Clear blue skies may be denied.
In carbon terms the sea's shall rise
To drown the coral shore,
Immerse the red hibiscus flower
Beneath the ocean's roar.

Across the globe the forest's burn
To scar the skies with smoke,
And desert dust invades the air
To cause good men to choke
And flash fires scorch across the land
Producing heat and ash
Rising temperatures continue
To reduce our world to trash.
In Copenhagen minions clash
And argue points of view,
Whist politicians shrug and turn
To wash their hands anew.

Inertia has the upper hand
It's all too hard to do,
Why should I make the sacrifice
When it's really up to you?
What is all the fuss about,
Our climate hasn't changed?
The variance is cyclical
So it all seems rearranged!
Recycling is the answer
I've done my little bit
Now the scientist's will nut it out
And adjust it all to fit.

But Antartica is melting
The ocean levels rise
And pollution's on the increase
Filling heavy leaden skies.
Cancer touches everyone
Contaminants do abound,
And chemicals in the food chain
Make the consequence profound.

So....Ignore this at your peril,
Or let another day drift by,
And when magnifying storms impact
..Just call it all a lie!
And when waves encroach on motorways
And sewers back flow here,
You can blame it on the Government
And maybe... Have another beer!

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
19 December 2009

Disillusioned, is the word I use
To show you what I know,
When ponderous poets empathize
With undeserved word flow.

Analysis of purpose made
Dissection of the theme,
This superficial commentary
To hints of depth... Unseen.

The need to  taste a stanza's flavour
To roll it on the tongue,
Like merlot spilt on burning stone
In searing midday sun.

Tossed banalities for empty lines,
Back scratching for the crew
Who choose to curry favour
With the elevated few.

Bring forth the real word smith, I say,
Release the razor's knife,
Carve substance to selection's choice
And breathe this site some life.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
12 December 2009

For Basil@Egmont

Old school hotelier, conservationist, mountain man.


Festooning drapes of weeping moss
Hang damply from the trees
Cascading lengths of dripping fern
Bring wetness to your knees
The clutching boughs of gnarled branch
The olive greens and damp
The winding path meanders up
This mountain's rocky ramp

Grey boulders in the river bed
The rush of torrents fast,
The song of falling waters
Plummeting into the past.
The flash of brilliant plumage
A  blue kingfisher in a dive
And the tragic death of this field mouse
Means other creatures stay alive.

The mammoth mountain hangs above
The snow is clean and white
The cornice shadow aqua blue
Ridge ice is sunlight bright
The summit wind is blowing hard
The snow is curling round
To recreate a billowed crown
Atop that seaward mound.

A dancing *** is eyeing me,
Impossibly it clings
Inverted from a totara trunk
With rapid flitting wings.
Exploding from it's hiding place
A ponderous pigeon *****
And weaves it's way between the boughs
With noisy wing tip slaps

The magic of this secret place
Is the drama in the air,
The solitude of teeming life
In green-ness everywhere.
The hardness of the freezing night
The harshness of the wind,
The grandeur of it's wilderness
Paints splendor as it's sin.

Taranaki's goblin forest
Is resplendent in it's garb
Of emerald green and turquois-ness
And rugged rocks and shard,
Cascading rivers, waterfalls
In sweeping walls of trees
Where pools of still transparency
Bring you breathless to your knees.

Where Egmont's goblin forest
Will make your spirits sing
And the urge to climb another mile
Will reward you with something
You had not bargained for in visiting
This remote and splendid place,
......It will reward you with a warm,
And knowing smile upon your face.

Marshalg
Dawson Falls Romantic Hotel
Mt. Taranaki
15th September 2008

Surging through the life way
Feel the flooding all around,
Wade neck deep in turmoil
Inundated, cold and drowned.

A waterfall of trouble
Cascading through your mind,
Slashing through the visual
And rendering you blind.

Awash with soaking platitudes
Immersed in ideas fraught,
With rationale that's compromised
By sudden thoughts of nought.


Sloughing off precipitants
Skimming through the mire,
Rearrange the tangled sequence
To leave potential to aspire.


Dispense with poor priorities
Expunge them with a shout,
Simplify the landscape
And flush that mind set out.

Is tomorrow looking lucid,
Have the torrents disappeared?
Is your temperament improving,
Have you lost that leaden fear?

Have the serpents all submerged
Beneath the blackness of abyss?
Has hope's glimmer re-ignited
To make a drowning death remiss?

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
1st December 2008

Evening sunshine breaks through grey cloud
Falling rays of honeyed light,
A fan of brilliance beams down starkly
Cutting through approaching night.


Sunbeams streak through halls of darkness
Golden highlights catch the ridge,
A radiance of sunset grandeur
From a stolen glance atop the bridge.


Hold fast to that thing of value
Treasure pearls which fall your way,
You come by this path one time only
Seize the moment, make your day.

Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
9th March 2009

Whist shopping in the mall last week
To fill the Christmas tree,
A derelict old soul held out
His grubby hand to me.
"Spare a copper for a cuppa mate?"
He asked with shining eyes,
And there was something in his manner
Which quite took me by surprise.
Delving deep into my pocket
A Christmas smile upon my face,
I came up with five bucks
Which made his world...a better place.
He thanked me so effusively
His face a wrinkled grin,
Then we went our separate ways
And felt the joy of Christmas
...SING !

Merry Christmas everybody
Love from Janet & Marshal

Mother dear, do you recall
The day you broke down in the hall?
Do you remember why you cried ?
Why father hurt you deep inside ?
The old man gone for weeks on end
Did cause your lonely heart to rend
With sadness, made a desperate plea,
Come home Steve, please come home to me!

I watched you there in that half light
Your face collapsed, your shoulders slight,
The tears were running down your cheek,
I should have helped, I felt so bleak.
A little boy can only grasp
The simple things, the easy task.
When tears and sobbing overtake
A small boys courage tends to break.
So I stood there sadly watching you
Way back in 1952.

I recall trailing after you,
My little sister trailing too.
In failing light you staggered home
Your high heels dragging on the stone.
You’d been to McKyatt's corner bar
To meet the girls and share a jar.
We had a raspberry ade or two
And the time quite got away from you.
The cupboard's empty and the pan
So that nights meal was bread and jam.

Some days we spent beneath the bed
Whilst you and father fought and bled,
We put the fingers in our ears
And saw the wire wove through tears.
I’ve tried to recall happy days
But my head only plays replays
Of all the bad and sorry stuff
That made our childhood,
…  Oh so tough!

The last time that I saw you Mum
You looked so shrunken, thin and glum,
You lay there in that little bed
With a pillow propped beneath your head.
I can’t remember now, your words
But saw my fathers' shattered nerves.
He cried for all the broken dreams
His tears reflect your silent screams.
We left you there with hollow eyes
And kissed you without last good byes.

For years I’ve thought about you Mum
Wondered why it went wrong,
And I’ve come to the conclusion that
The war destroyed your song.
That war destroyed your happiness
It robbed you of your youth.
It stole your key to peace of mind
And muddied love and truth.
It took away prosperity
And ****** up all your life.
It deprived you of togetherness
And caused your marriage strife.
You couldn’t live with tension Mum
You needed party time,
I understand all this because
Your feelings, Mum,
…Are mine.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
11th April 2008

Dedicated to Jonno… Scholar, adventurer, life long mate.

Remember this when pulses pumped
Adrenalyne ran high,
Remember this when young blood flew
And almost reached the sky,
Remember when you worked like hell
And sleep flew out the door,
We fought and spat like alley cats
Competing for the floor.
Remember how the days flew by
Exhaustion took it’s toll,
We wrote the book and sang the song
And acted out the role.
Remember how you smiled at me
And offered me your hand
Remember how we chased the girls
And sought the promised land.
Amazing how we laboured on
Amazing what we won,
We fabricated wonderment
We almost reached the sun,
From dregs of dust we built the dream
And fashioned love so fair,
A million people stayed with us
A million breathed the air.
Our Buttercup was something great
Our memories impart,
The magic of a lifeline shared
A brotherhood of heart.

And so, Old Son, as life goes on
And age doth take its toll,
Remember how that sap once flowed
When you and I were gold.
And friendship forged it’s scarlet grip
Forever more to be
A warming place within our souls
A bond twixt you and me.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
10 August 2007

Thin she looks, like stippled wheat
With anxious eyes and crippled feet
Flaxen hair and halting way
But Jesus baby.. Can she play?

A siren song on notes of gold
Floats out and lets the dark enfold
The lovers as they dance & sway
And kiss & smooch the night away.

She bends way back and holds the note
That muted trumpet starts to float
You’l never hear a better sound
From any jazz man in this town.

Exquisite is the word I’d use
Enticing is her favourite ruse
Alluring now in shades of gray
Her silky sequence soars away.

The song entwines your heart & soul
The moment stops, your pulse on hold
Fantastic senses start to reel
Hot n ****’s how you feel.

You glide your way around the floor
Feel the rhythm, seek for more
That lady makes the music move
She’s making magic, in the groove

Swinging at the local hop
You’ll never want this night to stop
Thin girly with her magic horn
Convinces us we’re all reborn

You wake up in the light of day
Haggard, spent, bereft of hay
But Jesus boy.. You had a ball
You grooved that ladies trumpet call.

So count your blessings, share a smile
You’re winning by a country mile
When you did hear that lassie play
You stretched your life another day.

Thin she looks, like stippled wheat
Anxious eyes and crippled feet
Flaxen hair and halting way,
But Jesus brother….can she play!

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
29th. September 2007

The wind careers across the years
Gathering leaves and dust,
Sweeping lives before it
In cartwheels of redness and rust.
Epiphanous moments of magnitude
Through special occasions employ
The will o the wisp of everyday stuff
From sadness to anger to joy.

The billowing tumble of living
Through vaulting halls of trees
In the dappled light of sunshine
And green corridors of breeze.
The exquisiteness of living
When senses soar in the air
When the colours of being are rampant
And we savour each moment with care.

For the living time goes quickly
It flares and fades with speed,
‘Tis best enjoyed boisterously
With passion, love and need;
‘Tis best when tasted piquantly
Like a claret on the tongue
When you cloak the days with good things
And you hope your dreams die young.

Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
29th January 2009

It's a travesty to tolerate
The ugly mores of men,
When everyone's allowance
Condones release for them.
Where everywhere provision
Is made for man to shove,
And woe betide the meek
Who don the feathers of a dove


The world applauds the forceful,
Rewards are rich for he
Who tramples over daisies
And holds aloft the key.
Who forces his attentions
And speculates the win,
Despite the devastation wrought
In winning it for him.


It's a travesty to tolerate
This bovine charge of man
When all can be achieved
With an accommodating plan,
When compromise and levity
See consideration's way
Where success can be attained
With out bloodletting on the day.


I hear the snort of your derision,
Feel the snigger in your smile,
See the curl of lip descending
With your slit eyes of defile.
For this portraiture is global
The fighting man is King
And he who deviates
Is left bereft and vanquishing.


Sadness is the matador
Who casts his scarlet cloth,
To be shredded and impaled
By a maddened bullock's wrath.
To be tossed aside, asunder
Like a lifeless ragged doll,
Like mankind's brute tomorrow
When the final drums do roll.


Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
29 November 2009

An ant is just an ant my son
An impact it wont make
But a million ants will move the world
A conviction you won’t shake.
An ant is still a living thing
It eats, it breaths, it works
It runs in an environment
Where the hostile spider lurks.
It works in regulation
With a thousand brother ants
To a strict cooperation
That achieves communal stance.
An intelligence is present,
A timetable has been set
This organized endeavor
Makes it’s success an winning bet.


An ant makes love, it rears it’s young
It grooms it’s brother’s hide.
And if enraged an ant will fight
A foe a thousand times it’s size.
It’s glittering antennae
And it’s shiny compound eye
It’s economy of movement
And compulsion to deny
Involvement with any cause
Apart from that one sent
By the Queen Ant’s regulations
At the Ant God’s monument.


I am moved with admiration
For this tiny creatures heart,
It’s commitment to community
And resolve to set apart
All individual aspiration
And selfish action of it’s own.
To gather condiments for nest and Queen
Compelled forever more…to roam.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
17th May 2008

Bad communication
Is the scourge of the world,
Interactive skills, bizarre at best,
Are twisted, bent and curled.
Cancerous perceptions
With an eloquence extreme
Are as rare as fragile virgins
In a sea of passion’s cream.


Messages delivered
In verbal speech exchange,
Interpretive dilemmas
Intermittent on every page.
Disruptive diversions
Occur from time to time
But disdain for rules is punished
By a pain that fits the crime.


Feedback tells the story straight
Integrity is low,
When interaction deteriorates
And tolerances go.
Networking bankruptcy
Is globally compound
And the malady contagious
And malignancy profound.


Diplomatic overtures
Are wasted in this case,
Superior subordinates,
Enigmatic, in their place,
Hold sway over standards
Adopted near and far
And wayward phraseology
Is implicitly ajar.


For a speedy resolution
Lateral thinking is required,
Creative application
So imaginatively wired
To maximize the profits
And minimize the waste,
And to spread the dire instructions
With a mortal threat in place.


Improvement will be visionary
Resentment will decline,
Imaginative writing
Will appear like summer wine.
Eloquent discourse
Shall sprout about like herbs
And overtures of understanding
Will emanate from faceless words.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
6 May 2009

Wide, grey waters rolling in
Invisibly it flows
Like a spreading carpet over mud
Inexorably it grows.
Created by a lunar force
And global winds at play,
Twice each day the tides do surge
To crest and flow away.


Twice each day the tide rolls in
To cover shoals of sands
And beds of oysters, muddy brown
With squirting water glands.
And twice each day the seabirds flock
To alight on draining shores
To harvest succulents and *****
And other tasty mores.


Oyster pickers congregate
In flocks of white and black
Red beaks plunging deeply
In green pastures for a snack.
Amazingly, they all take flight
A thousand beating wings
Which heel about collectively
Inking out all skyward things.


A thousand, million wavelets play
Across the level span
Pursued by wind’s relentless glove
In a patterned, surging plan.
And each reflects a kiss of light,
Each wavelet in the run
Collectively illuminate
Like diamonds in the sun.


Above the waves the seagulls ply
In corridors of air
In squadron flights of symmetry
To weave and wheel with flair,
Their raucous calls at distance
The poetry of sound,
In tidal terms, a symphony
Of seaward things profound.


The haze at the horizon
Of salt spray in the air,
White ,crunchy shells on beaches,
Pohutukawa’s everywhere.
A feeling of things tidal
In a lazy, salty way,
And enjoying the quiet beauty
Of this lovely, coastal bay.


Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
4th March 2009

The rain is on the windowpane
It's cold and still outside
And we're together cuddled up,
Entwined in bed ...sublime!

Sunday morning, nothings on
The day is ours to spend
But entwined, we want this magic moment
...Now, to never end.

Curled together in a warm embrace
Our bodies... Oh so near,
I can feel your breath upon my brow
Hear your heartbeat in my ear.

Our toes are pressed together
Your fingers curling in my hair
I just love your gentle snoring
And your heartbeat in my ear.

Through all the years we've shared
The good, the bad, the far the near
These loving moments are the best
When there's your heartbeat in my ear.

The understanding that develops
Over time, year after year
And the love that grows within it,
Heartbeat in my ear.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
5th October 2008

They’re watching in the avenues
They’re watching in the rain,
They’re waiting for the animals
To cause our children pain.

They join in condemnation
They point the finger straight
They single out the people
Who dispense biff and hate.

They stand in haunting fog and mist
Those children who are dead,
They stand and watch in legions
And wait with mounting dread.

For somewhere in this fair green land
An adolescent mum
Is thrashing her young children
Until they’re bruised and numb.

A baby crying in the night
A baby much in need
Of nappies and a tender hand
Than punches and a bleed.

The little ones are dying
Broken & obscene
Their little bodies black and blue
From beatings in between
Collections from the dole queue
**** ups in the shed
Cigarettes and hopelessness
“P” your dull mind dead.

The Moaris say its Pakeha
The cops say crime don’t pay,
The politicians shrug and sigh
And look the other way.
The population wrings it’s hands
And gets on with it’s life
Whist violence and brutality
Still cause our  kiddies strife.

No one’s owning up to this
No one’s taking blame,
The ******* flows in rivers
And the world has turned insane.

We must find a leader
To  take this thing in hand.
Eradicate the baby bashing
From our PC land.
Fling abusers into gaol
And lose the ****** key
Take the kids & farm them out
To families good & free.
We break the cycle hard & fast
And teach the lesson straight
Abuseing kids will see you GONE
Inside..incarcerate!

Where’s the leader, burning bright,
Where is courage in this fight,
Who will lift the banner high
Who will rise up and defy
The apathy , the poisoned sloth
Indifference of the public cloth.
Who will rise and make a stand
Make us proud to love this land
Who will rid us of this thing
WHO WILL MAKE THE GAUNT GHOSTS SING ?

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
12th August 2007

Dedicated with gratitude to Sammy Jacobs

People come and people go
Throughout your life they ebb and flow,
Some touch you softly, others wound
And now & then sweet love doth bloom,
Irrespective, in the main,
The depth of feeling does pertain
To just how willingly you impart
Your open smile, your helping heart.

There’s nothing finer in this life
Than another's helping hand through strife,
To reach right out a steady arm
And steer the vulnerable away from harm,
To kiss a brow or wipe a tear
Dispell the torment hovering near,
The placement of an understanding word
Removes that fear of things absurd.

A kindness is a gift of love
An exquisite flying, snow white dove
As precious as a lustrous pearl
As fragrant as a rose unfurled.
An expression of your true intent…
To give and share and make content
Those souls whose lives are unresolved
Who need your gentle hand to hold.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
12th March 2008

Red Leaves moving by the river
Red leaves blowing in the breeze
Billowing in dusty circles
Settling down just how they please.
Red leaves falling from the maple
Falling down like scarlet rain
Painting Autumn tones for lovers
Making way for winter’s pain.
Feel the crispness of the evening
Watch the ***** frost gather there
Crunching through night’s frozen pasture
Billowed breath in morning’s air.
Running down the road in gum boots
Kicking up the piles of leaves
Making waterfalls of redness
Tensions flee and worries ease.
How I love the feel of Autumn
Stillness in the afternoon
Watching long clouds rich in grandeur
Golden sunset, crescent moon.
Winter comes with gales and thunder
Lightning flashes in the trees
Red leaves flailing in the windstorm
Graceful Autumn bows ....and flees.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
30th May 2008

Dedicated to the Hard Hats, ..for holding it all together.


**** frost on the green grass
There's a cold moon in the sky
The estuary waters black and calm
Where golden ripples lie.
Dawn's horizon lightens up
Bright stars begin to dim
Hard Hats all arrive for work
And with frozen breath...log in.


Work boots crunching on the stone
The men disperse to trucks,
The diesel motors roar to life
Their departures forming rucks.
Swarming in the morning light
Each to his own job's task,
Bridge building work underway
As dawn's first sunbeams bask.


Amazing the complexity
That building bridges has,
Amazing how voraciously
It eats up time and gas.
The planning and design work
The funding of supply,
Those organizational matters
And the labour standing bye.


Digging, lifting, shoving, shifting
Moving this to there,
A logistical nightmare
For the novice, unaware.
Steel and timber by the ton
Concrete pours en mass,
Gravel, sand and aggregate
And reservoirs of gas.



Procurement of supply ensures
A smooth transitional flow
Of successive small procedures
To make the project mesh and grow.
Day after day the massive trucks
Carting tons of sand
Are authorized by gate men
To unload on to land
Where motorway construction
Is steadfastly taking place
And progressing at
A gradual and steady building pace.



From concept to completion
A million multitasks,
Which involves a caste of thousands
And a schedule which asks,
That the finished installation
Be completed by the time
Of the Rugby World Cup kickoff,
Our global status on the line.


Like ants the Hard Hats swarm about
Each does his little bit
And gradually, over time,
The bridge emerges from the pit.
It emergeth like a phoenix
In a drab and sombre gown
But on completion, shines like fire
To be the nation's most re known.


The Manukau Harbour Crossing
A project for the Gods,
Of massive lengths of concrete
And miles of reinforcing rods.
Of an eternity of effort
From everyone involved
And an asset for New Zealand
And a beauty to behold.


Marshalg
@theGate
MHX
Mangere Bridge
14th March 2009

Please view the following link
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzQZ-M90Zig

Cry not for what you do not have
Bleed less for what is given,
For the cruelty in your fellow man
Will paint how greed is driven.
The silent fields of Sobibor
And Dachau's dull grey light,
Pay testament to past largess
In what is wrong and right.
Conception's teeming contest
Has dispensed your primal luck,
Your greater expectations
Have run, gratuitously, amok.
For what you are is what you get
This mirror's image barks,
And delusional ostentatiousness
Reinforces those remarks.
Seek not the golden rainbow
Nor pursue the greener field,
For disaffected affectations
Promise you a simple yield.
Learn to love the skin you live in
Irrespective of the warts,
Live within your  limitations
Despite disparaging retorts.
Count the blessings of the moment
Take each small step at a time,
Come to terms with who you are
And you will find it all...sublime!.



Marshalg
@theBach
14 November 2009

Ancient people, ancient ways
Protracting back through time,
The culture of the Chinese race
Far predates Roman line.
Before the Huns and Visigoths
Cascaded forth to burn,
Confucian bred conformity
Did budding scholars learn.
Astronomy, anatomy,
Philosophy and law,
The ancients sought the knowledge path
Wide open lay the door
To secrets, mystic and arcane,
They plied their trade craft well
...Then broke into another age
Of red chaos and hell.

Swarming by the millions
And dying by the score,
Brother slaughtered brother
Until Chiang said,"No more!"
To Taiwan's craggy shores he fled,
He fortified it then
And left the Marxist mainland
In the hands of Mao's men.
The red tide swept the nation.
To militarily expand
And the cruelty of a massive force
Descended on the land.

Oh your heart should weep for China
The sensitivity and grace,
Is lost forever in the ******
To revolutionize this place.
The educated strangled,
The policemen didn't care,
And the little children running
With that red book in the air.
Oh your heart should weep for China
With her golden history torn
And her future in the sewer
Where the filthy vermin spawn.

The Chairman died without a God
Praise Allah, let it be.
And Jiang Qing, his willful wife,
Was jailed for treachery.
Deng Xiaoping rose from the dead
An elderly, wise man
Who galvanized the nations will
With a workable great plan.
Gradually, the people breathed,
The terror disappeared,
And hard repression from the top
Was nervously unfeared.
The cogs began to mesh again,
Commerce began to flow
The Red Brigade was over
And NEW CHINA was on show.

In recent years the old men
Still retain the reigns of power.
The Communistic system
Commands to this very hour.
But the rigid hand of commerce
Has loosened up a lot
And the capitalistic system
Allows profits to be got.
And the flow of information
Issues freely from the west
Influencing aspirations,
Putting systems to the test.
And the leaders know with certainty
That just around the bend,
There will be younger challengers
Who plan a different end.

The Olympics are in Beijing
In the coming August moon,
A showcase for the nations best
A demonstration soon
Of advancements that will show the world
Just how well that we have done
And that the hand of friendly comradeship
Is well and truly won.

But there is trouble in Tibet!
The saffron runs with blood.
The monks and soldiers trading blows
Are dying in the mud.
Agitation to be free
Is Tibet's distant call
And the rage of hot embarrassment
Demands the brutal fall
Of the troublemakers...Old men say

The saffron legions die.....

The howling Prayer flags scream their rage
To a lonely, cold, blue sky.





Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
1st April 2008

Dark terrorism creeping
Across the world in flood
Lacerating peace of  mind
And soaking us in blood,
Indiscriminately mauling
Targets they perceive
Will further their ambition
Of global dominance and greed.

A mother tears her bodice,
Her moans, a hollow sound,
Her family caste about her
Shredded by a mortar round.
Little children in the playground
Mothers shopping in the mall,
Mullah’s kneeling, praying in the mosque
A car bomb kills them all.

How’s it hanging Tony Blair,
Have you enjoyed your breakfast yet?
Felt inclined to visit far Kashmir
In your speedy, private jet?
It’s murderous in Kashmir
And has been for a while
For, still, India and Pakistan
Throw lethal bullets, bombs and bile.

And Beruit is as dangerous
As the Lebanon can be,
Iran is building maelstrom
Feared by Jews eternally.
The I.R.A. Still loathe the Brits
Koreans hate the ****
The Russians distrust everybody
(Especially Chechun rats.)

El Queada is stateless
They attack across the board
From Washington to New York
To Indonesia’s tropic shore.
America’s a fortress
But still fighting foreign wars
Whilst China sits inscrutably
Nursing Tibet’s cuts and sores.
Islamic fundamentalists
Throw Jihad to Israel
And Israel tears at Hammas
Did they steal the Holy Grail?

The beauty of a little girl
Her skin as smooth as silk,
Expression in those calm brown eyes
Is as innocent as milk.
Because she lived in Gaza
Her tomorrows are depraved
By an A.K.47 shell
That despatched her to her grave.

Who are the good guys?
Who are the bad?
What part of this unholy mess
Is anything but mad?
All invoke the righteous stance
God is on our side!
Each engage this hideous dance
And foreign God’s deride.

Ripping, skinning, blasting, killing
Terrorists do lurk,
Spreading fear across the globe
Intentionally, is their work.
Taking citizen’s by the throat
And slashing with a blade
To leave their mark indelibly
On countless corpses laid.

Dogma, ideology
The mantra is obscene
Because the minions who perform these tasks
Are usually quite clean,
Their mentors are the instigators
Enmeshed within the code
Of obsession, faith and bigotry,
All adhere to this dark road.
Obsessed with racial hatred,
Obsessed by loathing greed,
Obsession ruled by God alone
Jihad, Fatwah decreed!

Pray tell me noble man of prayer
Where is your God in this?
Pray tell me any one out there
HOW DOES THAT GOD EXIST?

Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
6th March 2009

Hatchet nose and hooded brow
A wisp of white hair, wind blown now,
Two hawk, blue eyes which see within,
Bush bred, gaunt and pig hunt trim.
Old now in his senior years
Missing June with hidden tears,
Saw Hiroshima's atom death
With tommy gun and sake breath.

A legacy on freckled brow
In melanoma's tumors now,
Lives alone on simple fare
With Smoky cat and favoured chair.
In Wanganui, coastal town
Loves fish and chips and Tui brown.

Hard hands reflect a life of graft
His good firm grip in handshake grasp,
Trialist of some All Black fame
Bread maker in the baking game.
Shearer,farmer, fencer, Dad
White baiting always made him brag,
A dead shot across hills of green
Where hinds would pause to graze unseen.

Daughters fair pursued by some
Who walked the gauntlet of his gun,
Taught the grand kids natural skills
Like setting traps for possum kills,
Shoot a rabbit, catch a fish,
A fry up of my favourite dish.

Missing mates who chose to die
Requiring friends to mourn and cry,
Missing Brian, his only son
And June, his wife,the special one,
Leaving life a vacant space,
A colourless and pallid place,
Except in his emphatic way
He looks at me and stands to say...
"Life must go on my son"
Go mount your bike and pack your gun
And head up to yon wooded hill
To stalk the stag and make the ****.

Staunch, *****, a man of men
Is Verne Bell who I call my friend.

Marshalg
Tauranga
8 November 2009

The peace in this seclusion
Of a tranquil park in green,
With stately trees of ancient years
And walkways in between
There's deep shade under foliage
With sunspots everywhere,
And a velvet sense of peacefulness
Pervading in the air.

But:
Should you step beyond the green grass,
Should you venture onto seal,
An abrupt and harsh transition
Manifests, as quite unreal!
There's a cacophony of engine noise,
The headlong rush of cars,
A kaleidoskope of steel and glass
And frantic men from Mars!

The grind of wasted hours
With inertia breeding dread
And putting up with maniac's
Ignoring stop lights turning red.
There's a quagmire of congestion here
A head ache for the Tsar's
And for myriads of people
Who queue daily in their cars.

There's a White Knight in the future,
There's salvation in the air
For the God's of your deliverance
Will relieve you of despair.
They will forge a mighty tunnel
Deep beneath the grassy park
And divert congested traffic
Out beyond congestion's arc.

Melding with the motorway
To make breathing space for all,
The Victoria Park Alliance
Guarantees their clarion call.
Energetic men and women
Who are planning round the clock,
Engineers and excavator's slave
To work without a stop.
Concrete slab and steel amass
To build the tunnel strong
And sleek attenuators
Keep the traffic flowing on.

Salvation in the form
Of a tunnel underground
Beneath the spreading boughs
Of an oak in green surround,
Beneath the peaceful turf
Of a verdant park as planned,
Found amidst the million souls
Of Auckland, New Zealand.

Marshalg
@theCoalface
Auckland City
New Zealand
6 November 2009
www.worthyofpublishing

Whence did thee depart the orb

To seek the pearls of Jobe ?

Whence did thou retire to rob

And don the elder's robe ?

Whence did thee run far from home

To flee assassin's work ?

Whence was good sense realised

That thee had gone beserk ?

Whence did good become the bad

And rampantcy run wild ?

For whom friend, doth the bell toll

In the slaughter of this child ?

What will the fate's bequeath us

With this legacy of wrong ?

From whence will come the melody

When wrong consumes the song ?



Marshalg

@theCoalface

3November 2009

Image mirrored on the water
Living creatures slide below,
Oblivious to light refraction
Blinded to reflection's show.

Patterns shimmer in the ripples
Light is dancing through the flow,
Images in moving water
Colors merge and visuals grow.

Sunshine sparkles off the wavelets
Glistening as do pearls on ink,
Shimmering of morning breeze
Cause brittle leaves to fall and sink.

A stillness in the afternoon
The summer air hangs hot and low
Rich golden tones of setting sun
Reflection's bronze striation's glow.

Coolness of the night descending
Myriad's' of stars appear,
Ribboned light of starlight blending
Through the surge of wavelets near.

Vastness in the dead of night
Across the ocean's heaving dance,
Moonlight showers shards of light
To silver water's wide expanse.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
1 November 2009

A curtain of impatience
Descends upon your day
An urgency for completion
Comes intensely into play


Emotional Intensity
Is largely in the frame
But your judgements equilibrium
Holds the dominance of blame.


Stability is vulnerable
Through a three dimensional fan
And a questionable tangent
Will have them querying your plan.


This belligerence is natural
When integrity is crossed,
When intentions are criticized
And cohesiveness is lost.


But a rational track of history
Goes far towards your cause
And a creditable performance
Will surely open doors?


So swallow your urgency,
Ease passion’s twitching arm,
Put a hold on your aggression
And show the scrutineer’s your charm.



Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
8 April 2009

Banal though it may seem
I've judged myself an evergreen,
Having run the rugged miles
Showed the pain in grimaced smiles.
Sought the summit, felt the burn
Of tortured thighs at every turn,
Searing lungs and flagging will
Endure my son, until, until.


Articulation's lost for words
Selective memories unheard,
Herald in truth's bitter pill
Of vanquished foes, we speak no ill.
Wear exhaustion, lift the soul
Assign a new and distant goal,
For no one's really watching you
So stagger on, attempt anew.


Life's lost legions, tell the score
Self postulation'***** the floor,
So laugh in self derision now
It's all insane you silly cow.
As time spins on you try the moves
Which younger others usually use,
But one thing cuts you to the bone,
For when you die, you die alone.



Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
12 September 2009

Exultant in hiatus hovering
Indulgent in this paused rewind,
To Jubilantly rob the reaper
Bleeding him of stolen time.

Illicit whispers silenced now
A brooding hue invades the room,
Whispy red, magenta forces
Hold at bay gloom's moody doom.

Translucence in the shadow shimmers
Time and space suspend as one,
Whilst others wither on the vine
Eternity's embraced by some.

This gentle feeling, floating there
The thrill of flying free,
From complications vagaries,
From life's complexity.

The crystal cadence starts to wither
Silky walls do billow in,
Hurled abuse invades the instant
Carping walls of harping din.

Retreating to the everyday
And wrinkled skin again,
The golden days of pause have fled
As time resumes her reign.

Marshalg
@theCoalface
Mangere Bridge
29 October 2009
www.worthyofpublishing.com