BITING** hard to taste the blood
Searing FRANTIC tensions flood,
Know that should you STOP to turn
The HORROR just behind will burn
ALL that you have done to date,
Tear, DESTROY, eviscerate.
Flee or FIGHT with tooth or gun
WEAVE amidst collapses run,
Weave amidst CHAOTIC mess
GIRD thyself to wear duress,
Turn to STRIKE there's no recourse
FLAY THE EVIL, NO REMORSE!.


Marshalg
In Confrontation.
AUCKLAND
9 April 2011

Twice around the corner
Thrice around the bend,
Twisting through contortions
Will not make harassment end.
Disparagement aside
There's a lesson to be learnt,
That your overbearing manner
Won't prevent you being burnt.

The reflection in the mirror
Is immaculate and tight,
Actuality shows fractures
Though they're kept well out of sight.
There's a teetering fractiousness,
A blemish to your soul
And no amount of posturing
Will keep the image whole.

Your background is impressive
And scholastically well placed,
Achievement in endeavors
Show you've never been disgraced.
You're social stature's formidable
And your teeth are Oh so white,
Then why is it, that you writhe in bed
In the small hours of the night ?

Why do horrors permeate
The milky hue behind your eyes ?
What source the irritation
When the great majority complies ?
What keeps your ego dominant
When you see the weakness there,
When the light falls on your handiwork
And drives you to despair ?

Twice around the corner
Thrice around the bend,
To camouflage your character
Shall not make your problems end.


Marshalg
@theBach on sick leave
Mangere Bridge
13 October 2009

Twice around the corner
Thrice around the bend,
Twisting through contortions
Will not make harassment end.
Disparagement aside
There's a lesson to be learnt,
That your overbearing manner
Won't prevent you being burnt.

The reflection in the mirror
Is immaculate and tight,
Actuality shows fractures
Though they're kept well out of sight.
There's a teetering fractiousness,
A blemish to your soul
And no amount of posturing
Will keep the image whole.

Your background is impressive
And scholastically well placed,
Achievement in endeavors
Show you've never been disgraced.
You're social stature's formidable
And your teeth are Oh so white,
Then why is it, that you writhe in bed
In the small hours of the night ?

Why do horrors permeate
The milky hue behind your eyes ?
What source the irritation
When the great majority complies ?
What keeps your ego dominant
When you see the weakness there,
When the light falls on your handiwork
And drives you to despair ?

Twice around the corner
Thrice around the bend,
To camouflage your character
Shall not make your problems end.


Marshalg
@theBach on sick leave
Mangere Bridge
13 October 2009

Forests burn in ashen skies
Atmosphere of putrid lies,
Fat Cats write their cheques of gold
Another thousand hectares sold.
Forest fall for short term gain
**** tomorrow's children's pain.
**** the leaden poisoned air
Here and now is all they care,
High grade autos, classy chicks
Snort white powder, cash for kicks.....
Use it all at headlong speed
**** tomorrow...Let it bleed!

Off the Serpent's head I say
Abruptly end the Fat Cheques day.
End the **** of forest green
End the poisoned air obscene.
We owe it to tomorrow's sky,
We fix the problem...or we die.

M.
6 APRIL 2014

And.........
You know the tragedy at hand?
It's that no one here will make a stand;
We'll shake our heads and turn away
And pray that sanity will play.

The Dogs will ride roughshod and bold
Until established stranglehold
To throttle those who dare to caw,
Intimidate with threat and claw.

I've seen it all, I'm sick to say,
The Bulldozers shall have their way.
The Powerful, who write the cheque,
Stack all the cards and rig the deck!
M.

The good looking kids NEVER have pimples!

Have you noticed... How the Banks ALWAYS back the big money?

Have you cottoned on.. To the fact that the VERY RICH always come out on top?

Surely you have twigged to just how easily the BEAUTIFUL girls get the very best of everything?

How about that LAST table in the restaurant? Has the ordinary guy got a shot?

When was the last time you saw a POLITICIAN back a little guy?

Notice how the Priest smiles WIDEST when the Wealthy contribute to the plate?

Who gets the BEST DEAL when they buy a new car?

Preferential treatment at Casinos...Free this, free that....?? The SUPER RICH!

Complimentary tickets to the game?..FAT CATS!

...and who wins the armchair ride to Heaven????
...THE WELL HEELED BUGGERS WHO CAN AFFORD THE TICKET!

So should we, the habitually poor, deprived, ugly sector of society... Feel shortchanged ?
.....or should we be smugly aloof in our tolerated, noble deprivation?

SHORTCHANGED YOU ******* AND THE DAY OF RECKONING IS NIGH!


Marshalg
Just a bit of fun.
11 February 2013

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

Russia and China are not friends. The two Asian giants tangled for centuries over the vastness of resource-rich desert and mountain between them. They remain uneasy neighbours. Their leaders, Xi Jinping and Vladimir Putin, recently proclaimed a partnership in a ‘new order’. But they are trapped by geography, birth rates and strategy in a very old order; one that explains why the Chinese leadership distrusts the Kremlin, fears its own subjects and keeps an iron grip on the borderlands.

‘Chinese Turkestan’ only exists in vintage travel books. Today it is officially known as the Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Region. It is in the news because China is accused of committing crimes against humanity in a campaign to instil what it calls ‘stability and order’ among the original inhabitants and Chinese settlers, who now outnumber them.

The Communist regime’s well-documented abuses against the Uighurs, a Turkic Muslim people, are so gross that they tend to obscure a paranoid insecurity that is as real today as in a bygone age.

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

Ursula-my friend,
My quiet, distant, rarely seen friend
From days of yore.

How calm you are.
how you glide through your days
Keeping your private thoughts to yourself.

How the urgencies and anxieties
That plague every life
- are so well contained in yours.

And in your soft green eyes
I feel a happy acceptance, born of time.
Born in my brotherhood of your Sam.

My very European friend,
Made in the turmoil of youth
And so warmly regarded then, now and beyond.

Ursula my lady, always a lady,
You posess a tender spot of pleasantness
In the corner of my mind.


With affection
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
5 February 2011

Fading into focus
Sifting into shape,
Arch of long neck turning
Misted eye of grape.
Not a word is spoken
Nor a hint of sound,
Just a faint suggestion
Of sensing you around.

Vanished in a zephyr
Through a fading smile,
A sadness in the questing
Touches me... awhile.

M.
For Korts

Eleven strong went in to bat
When dusk was in the air,
Eleven strong did face the wall
For others had shown flair.
They'd mustered up a goodly score
They’d shown they had pinache,
They'd demolished Tunnel bowling
And made our field work look a hash.

Eleven strong went into bat
With gritted teeth and ire,
Eleven set the pitch alight
With galantry and fire.
The leather ball was massacred
A pounding it did score
With repetitious boundaries,
Drilled cover drives and more.

The marker looked excited
The sweat ran down his brow
And as the score did level
He had to ask the Angels how?
And the providences shone
Upon this galant Tunnel team
For Claude's classy, deft square cut
Ensured we grinned the winning gleam.

Cricket is to Englishmen
As golfing is to Yanks,
And cricket played with pageantry
Make the civilized give thanks.
And cricket played with elegance
Fills the English heart with joy,
And Victoria Park Tunnel Team
Have downed an ale to victory's ploy!

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
Auckland
17/2/2010

Sunshine up the coast, just a single line of bright sunlight shining through the, ever present, rain.
The ocean lies flat, barely a surge on the West coast, which is a rare thing. They tell me they can't get out of the harbour on the East coast,
Big waves rolling in from the Pacific. There is nothing but a vast ocean between the shores of Chile and New Zealand then to the South, Antactica with it's massive glaciation surging to the sea.

That Great Southern Ocean, with it's parade of icebergs and permanent population of killer whales, that ocean generates the atmospheric depressions which whirl up in tight formation and hammer the islands of New Zealand with those titanic South East gales.
They only blow for a day or so but in that time they tear the place to pieces.
Curling into Cook Strait between the two islands the South Easterly generates mountainous seas which slam into the inter islander ferries, quickly shutting down operations. The big boats with their cargo of wild eyed, green, sea sick tourists and chained down vehicles, heaving wildly in the giant combers and fleeing with all possible haste for the shelter and safety of a lee shore port.

Blasting North from Wellington leaving deserted, rain soaked streets in the city, the South East gale howls up the island to concertina up against the 8000 ft flank of the Egmont volcano this further compresses the gale transforming it into a howling banshee which allows no man to stand upright.  100 year old giant mamaku treeferns thrash about like matchsticks, the gale shredding huge forests of vegetation, a phalanx of leaves and branches flying horizontal with the ground surface and freezing rain which sears when it hits the face and leaves the toughest men running, with panic, for shelter wearing torrid, bright pink, stinging cheeks beneath their wildly, startled eyes.

The gale endures into the night, all power is gone and no repair crews will venture until it is safe to do so. Outside the monster moans in it's fury and the wife and I cower sleeplessly under the covers, in bed waiting for the juddering roof to be torn off our dwelling allowing the deluge to saturate and destroy all.
There is no sleep to be had and as the night progresses the terror rises incrementally with the rising shriek of the gale and the blast of the teeming hail impacting like bullets against the windward windows.

The night is interminable...and then, suddenly, the eyes crack open to a beautiful calmness, the morning sun, guilelessly, pouring in the bedroom window!

M.
Foxglove, Taranaki NZ
5 July 2020

Everybody in Russia loves Vladimir Putin.
In the years since he muscled his way to the top of the tree, he has established himself as the Champion of all Russia!

In the degradation following the collapse of the USSR, national pride in Russia spiralled down to an all-time low, there was little to be proud of. The satellite nations fled to independence abandoning the Rodina,  Agricultural and industrial production fell dramatically, law and order diminished dangerously. The economy shrank and the order of success in business depended largely on connection with Government and/or the Mafia. The Oligarchs became monstrously rich, the average Ivan monstrously poor. Life savings were rendered worthless overnight by the plummet of the value of the rouble. Russian society polarised from the ecstatically happy, filthy rich to the chronically unhappy, beggared poor.

Russian leadership staggered from Gorbechev’s democratisation through Yeltsin’s alcoholism to Andropov’s sudden death…. enter the fray Vladimir Putin.

Putin tightened the reins.
He organised regular payment of wages and salaries to the movers and shakers, the police and the military.
He changed the rules of doing business within the nation and made investment opportunities within Russia available to outside interests.
He took charge and commandeered discipline within the ranks of central Government.
He set about correctional treatment for the terrorists/freedom fighters in the Chechen Republic and elsewhere.
He raised the expectations of the common man and gave the people an element of promise for Russia’s tomorrow.
He invaded and took back the Crimea as legitimate Russian sovereignty.
He garnered the roaring support of the six million ethnic Russians domiciled in the Eastern region of the Ukraine.

Putin now stands, bare chested, astride Russia. He faces a hostile but cowed West with pale, blazing eyes and a ******* bulge in his trousers.
He is widely idolised by Russian women and admired by Russian men. He is their champion; he is believed to be their key to the future.
His nation is currently under severe trade embargo and economic sanction by Europe and the West which is hurting the strained economy right across the board.
The declining price of oil is adversely affecting Siberian oil profits and making further shale oil exploration uneconomic.
He enjoys hugely profitable Siberian natural gas pipeline sales to the Southern neighbour, China, but they watch the unfolding political landscape with careful, calculating tiger eyes.
Putin is regarded by Europe and the West as an unpredictable, serious threat who should not be unduly provoked.
Undeniably, the West, in their sour lipped manner, would be happy to see him and his Russian bear, fade quietly and permanently into the obscurity of the frozen wilds of the far Siberian tundra.

But if Vladimir Putin plays his cards well, he could actually bring the Rodina all of the benefits, glory and rewards that it seeks.
However, should he overplay his hand here, he may well crash and burn….and in doing so, could bring Russia’s dreams and aspirations crashing down with him.

Marshalg
Auckland
15 November 2014

Waiting here, at the corner of my life,
For that moment of lost love,
from so long ago.

Waiting for the breathlessness of youth...
and the deep ache of longing to revisit

... to electrify my wooden soul.

Marshalg
@the corner
19 September 2011

A saunter down the byways of familiar paths and passages
A stroll in the company of long forgotten friends,
The magnificence of memories of outstanding types
Who meld in my mind in the way friendship blends.

A walk in the park with the ghosts of my memories
The personable warmth of their breath on my cheek,
Familiar phrases, a hand on my shoulder
Our companionable sauntering company we keep.

A solitary walk in the lane by the willows
Enjoying the phantoms who stroll with me there,
Reliving the joy and the laughs of the bygone
Whilst feeling the sunshine of now in my hair.

The glow in my heart for the warmly remembered
The ache in my soul for the ones left behind,
How lucky am I to be one with my memories
When many sit there recollectively blind.

Shaking the hand of a good man respected
Kissing the wrinkles away from old eyes,
Feeling the realm of a joy rediscovered
Sauntering time with my ghosts in disguise.



Marshalg
In the lane with the willows
Mangere Bridge by the estuary.
15 December 2010

Softly slips the moment
In the waning of the day,
When the tenderness reflected
Lets a sadness fade away.
As the setting sun throws highlights
To tall timbers on the ridge
And the burble of the brook
Running soft beneath the bridge.
Flocking starlings settle
To gently chortle in the eve,
Whilst the maiden herds the cattle
In for milking, I believe.
The countryside quiescent
A peacefulness descends,
With the falling shroud of darkness
My velvet daylight ends.

[email protected]
24 January 2025

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

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

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

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

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


© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Clear and crystal
So anciently old,
So brilliantly fluid
And tastelessly cold.
To coalesce in vapour
Of limitless cloud,
To fall in fat globules
Of rainfall in shroud.

To cascade through air
As a mist in the fall
Or plummet as downpour
Through Calcutta’s pall.
Gathered in puddles
To flow down a drain,
Amass as a flood
To pour across plain.
To playfully tumble
From mountains of shard,
To flow to the sea
Where the surf crashes hard.

A field of marigolds
Bobbing in sun,
Nurtured by moisture’s
Life giving fun.
Green grasses grow
With barley and wheat,
Through the magic administered
By wetness’s feat.
Imagine disaster’s
Protracted drought
Where dryness obliterates
Green life throughout.

Sparkling clear waterfalls,
Hard pounding surf,
Trickles of crystalline
Cascades of mirth.
Rock pools so clear
That trout can be seen
And the bone china cup of tea
Served to the Queen.

Standing in rain
As it pours from the sky
With a grin on my face
Smearing mud from my eye
With arms outstretched
And a song in my heart
For the great joy of living
This water imparts....

Water my Angel,
My priceless gem.
A waterless world
Would bring death and mayhem.
An oceanless planet
As seen from the moon,
Would lack life giving blueness
And be hued in gloom.
Sweet water is life
In a miraculous way,
Thus we hail the Gods
Each rain swept day.

Marshalg
Sitting by the beautiful Manukau Harbour
11 March 2011

(Quote by Spike Milligan)

One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****.

There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.

Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!


Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.

Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.

****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****.

I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****!

Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011

(Quote by Spike Milligan)

One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****.

There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.

Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!


Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.

Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.

****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****.

I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****!

Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011

Written in the language of the hard hats and dedicated to each and every one of us who have endured this horrible ****** Winter weather*

Rain in gouts from June till now
There's blue clay mud forever,
Orange excavators ply
With sturdy tracked endeavour.
Lakes of water, turgid brown,
Are Swirling  with the flow
Of four inch pumps in overdrive
With ****** all to show.

Streaming rainfall day by day
As dogged men press on
To concrete saw and generator's
Screaming, nearby song.
Welders, under shelter, flash
Their lurid silver light
And ghosts of reinforcing bars
Reflect like day is night.

Mightily the ironwork
Descends by crane to trench
And snaking snout of concrete pump
Disgorge their load to bench
The magic of the bentonite
Performs it's subtle dance
And the concrete locks for centuries
As thunderous skies advance.

Knee deep in the morass
With perplexed furrowed brow,
An engineer is pondering
A sticky problem he has now
How to isolate contaminants
From mud to water flow,
How to guarantee the purity
As seaward tonnes of it does go

And still the deluge thundered down
Relentlessly it poured,
Day to day and month by month
Despite the plea's implored.
Relentlessly the hard hats
Bent their sodden backs to task
And forged a mighty work of progress
.... More than anyone could ask!

Amazing the endeavor,
Just amazing how they work
How men can face adversity
And simply will not go beserk!
How bounteous camaraderie
Generates between ranks.
When the hardship is shared
And the boss smiles... thanks.

For the roof beams are settling
And those deep holes begin
The tunnel takes shape
As slanting rain whistles in
And the big trucks do loiter
To idle there for a bit,
As the loud water blasters
Clear the clogged wheels of ****.

And the public all clamoured
To wait and queue in the stall
To watch and to witness
A quite remarkable call.
For the old Birdcage tavern
On that grim cloudy day
Promptly lifted her skirts
And slowly scuttled away.

All the glue and epoxy
And the rivers of nails,
And concrete trucks queuing
As the ******* flails.
And steel by the megaton
All rusted and twitched
And worriers worrying
Till the problems are fixed.
And the augers are drilling
In a great tandem arc
And nobody knows
Where the **** they can park!!!
  
Then the bright sunshine breaks
And the smiles all appear
And the work rate accellerates
For the way is now is clear
To inter that  dear old Vic tunnel
Down deep in the sod
Then you'll hear us all chortle
"We've ****** done it ...Thank God!"


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
3 October 2010

There's a well of disappointment
In observing human nature,
For regardless of the colour,
The religion or the creed;
There's a metabolic failure
Apparent in the makeup,
And it's all about ego
And materialistic greed.

I see it in the corporate's
And the hallowed halls of banking,
It drips like grease from politics
And stains God's children too.
It permeates the populace
With a cloak of ashen pallor
And extends from Kings and Demigods
Through humanity to you.

And even little children
Are caught up in the maelstrom
Through television's fanfare
Of fashion and excess,
I feel tragedy unfolding
In our hedonist behaviour
I see brother clawing brother
And the future in distress.

Take a look around you
At the evidence of trouble
Observe the calamity
Of Wall Street's greed.
Feel the discomfort
Of intrusion by Government,
Feel the pain in the pocket
Of taxation's bleed.

The war drums are pounding
All over the planet
Greed and anxiety
Run hand in hand,
Corporate warmongers
Driving the politics
Flailing for more
As their empires expand.

What of the people?
We ordinary people,
Who invisibly strive
Insignificantly?
Pushed and shoved
Bought and bartered,
....In this tempest of greed
What chance have we?

Marshalg
On another sick, sick day.
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
12 February 2010

Frank's words resonated on these pages for all too brief a time.
Wise truths were coined in his acid, matter of fact way, wise council to errant minds and loose whims.
Frank could always be relied upon to cut through the horseshit, level the playing field and deliver the punchline with gravity.
He became disillusioned with the feedback, felt he was on a hiding to no where...he just vanished one day.
Really sad, I miss Frank. I miss his quality, clear candour and I miss most of all...his CLASS.
And Frank....I apologise unreservedly for pulling your chain in our last silly testy exchange.
If you are out there Frank - Why don't you slip quietly back into the HP picture?
You'll make a lot of really good people happy....Hell! you'll make me
VERY happy pal!

Cheers M.

The nun teaching Sunday School was speaking to her class one morning and she asked the question,  - 'When you die and go to Heaven... which part of your body goes first?

Suzy raised her hand and said,  - 'I think it's your hands.'

-  'Why do you think it's your hands, Suzy?'

Suzy replied, -  'Because when you pray, you hold your hands together in front of you and God just takes your hands first.
-  'What a wonderful answer!'  the nun said.
Little Johnny raised his hand and said -  'Sister, I think it's your feet.

The nun looked at him with the strangest look on her face. -

   'Now Johnny, why do you think it would be your feet?'

Little Johnny said,  - 'Well, I walked into Mommy and Daddy's bedroom the other night.
Mommy had her legs straight up in the air and she was saying,
'Oh God, I'm coming'.    
I gotta tell you, if Dad hadn't pinned her down, we'd have lost her. '  

The Nun fainted...!!! .

“Whilst smiling to my face thou
Hast plucked the ****** from thy boneless gums”
Thus spake the venomous she,
When querying the quandary
Of “The Milk of Human Kindness.”

That altruism,
Proffered by many as sincerity
In a charity bequeathed
To the disposessed and less fortunate.
Is an act which may be, in fact,
Obliquely or brazenly,
A lure to enhancement
Of personal nobility sought.

“But the quality of mercy is not strained
It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven.
Twice blest… It blesses he that gives and he that takes.”

Thus so, is ****** upon the truly altruistic…
An interminable questioning
Of the Impetus Behind the Act ??
In order to mitigate
THE JUSTICE OF THE PLEA.

How stands Thee?

Marshalg
25 July 2015

Humiliation touched me so
The feather touch of shame,
In having dwelt the weathered blow
Of embarrassment in my name.
From dynasties of ages past
My forebears strove to be,
Procurers of the portals in
The family names’ integrity.

Dank there, in the background,
Lurked a mystery of Jobe,
The riddle of impeachment
In the silken theft of robe.
A murkiness in origin,
The doubtfulness of frame
And the odour of a lie
Within veracity's dark stain.

Seeking through the archives,
Questioning those few
Old survivors of the family
Has left me here, adieu?
The recollections misty,
Most anecdotes, demure
And records from the Parish Church
Irritatingly, obscure.

Just can’t put my finger on it,
Or actually part the mists of time,
Or establish the candidacy
In this querulousness of mine.
But due to some portentous queries,
Innocuously made,
And some snide, salacious whispers,
Maliciously laid?

Thus, despite the searing,  livid flush
Of humiliations hue….
I’ll resume my quiet quest
To energetically, seek, anew….
The very confirmation sought,
Without a trace of blame,
In the voracity and honour
Of my good family name.

M.
Foxglove, Taranaki NZ
6 July 2021

Where hides the gentle days gone bye
When we watched the World begin to cry?
Or chance that smile, when indiscreet
Or warmly greet when strangers meet?
Where lies legacy's charity play
For the lost in nether worlds' grim foray?
What the intent when your mind shuts the door
When pleas echo forth from those that implore?
Where lies your will to build on the don't,
Or the courage to do it, when all others won't?
What's the guts, my hesitant man
Cos' this old World's trying, to understand?

M.
16 September 2021

Wheresoever went the way
Of Wycheproof's bright Summer day
Way back then, back then when wheat was King
With bountiful supply
You could hear the growers sigh.
As the tills began, abundantly, to ring.

With silos overflowing
And wheat trains ever growing
In Wycheproof, back then,
When wheat was King
With the young girls laughing happy
And the blokes all dressing snappy
Prosperity led Wycheproof, to sing.

But then an apprehension
When this "Climate Change", was mentioned,
Dismissed as merely "here-say" by all,
For "What is now has always been"
With life in Wycheproof, serene,
"What tragedy, could possibly, befall?"

Now Wycheproof is Mallee dry
Where wealthy men complain and cry
When hot northerlies whip topsoil to the wind
As it parachutes a million miles
Which is fine for Wimmera wheatmen's smiles,
Fine and dandy for the growers living there....
But for locals un-empowered,
Watching windblown topsoil scoured,  
There's a seriousness in Wycheproof's despair.

No topsoil means ya can't grow wheat
And the shortened seasons growth, deplete,
Dust storms are primarily....THE FEAR!
Surmount successions mounting debt
And final deadlines... all unmet
Foreclosures ...are chewing up the cheer!

Wycheproof these days is still
No man nor beast on flat or hill,
The shops are looking derelict and closed
And the pub' though selling beer,
Is indisposed and rather queer
For there's no wheat.... and no joy fills the day.
Future's looking bleak
And it's getting hotter, so to speak,
in  Wycheproof ... and ****** all to say.

M.
February 8 2021

“When Clay Weeps”
A poetic tribute to Gilgamesh and Enkidu

Beneath a sky of burning stars,
Uruk's high walls gleamed like scars
cut into time—immense, precise—
where kings were gods, and men were dice.

Gilgamesh, carved out of storm and sun,
two-thirds divine, yet wholly undone,
bored with power, drunk on might,
wrestled shadows in the heat of night.

Then came Enkidu, beast-born and bold,
with eyes like flint and hair like mold
of forest boughs, of untouched place—
the wilderness written on his face.

They met like meteors—fierce and fast—
and fought until their rage was past.
Then, laughing, stood where blood had pooled,
and in that moment, gods were fooled.

They crossed into cedar-scented gloom,
to fell a giant, shape their doom.
And when the gods struck back with grief,
they cleaved the world with disbelief.

Enkidu’s breath fled in the dark,
his voice a ghost, his limbs grown stark.
And Gilgamesh—stone turned to skin—
sought death’s edge to pull him in.

He wandered roads where no man goes,
spoke with alewives, fought with crows,
and found the flood that washed the land,
held time’s seed in his trembling hand.

But life, a serpent, sly and thin,
stole the fruit he held within.
So he returned, not with the key,
but with the tale of what can’t be.

He carved in stone his city’s face,
a wall, a name, a time, a place.
For though we die and dust returns,
a soul may live if someone learns.

When you live on the wrong side of sixty
You flirt with cold death every day,
You **** sweet air in like nectar
And you hold your breath and you pray
For tomorrow may bring a black tumour
Or a spasm, or seizure or more
Then whatever you do, whatever you say
You’l end up flat out on the floor.

For our time on this planet is temporary
Our time of enjoyment is short
Just pull out the stops and let loose man
Live it up, kiss your girl, have a snort.
Tomorrow is lost in the dreamtime,
Today is the essence of being,
So kick up your heels and spin all your wheels
and send all those worries a-fleeing.

When you live on the wrong side of sixty
Your skin has a penchant to sag
And no matter how hard you control it
Your gut is as wide as a bag.
Your whit was once so exciting
Your repartee so sharp
Now you mumble and wheeze
And occasionally sneeze
And frequently squeeze out a ****.

Oh life was once so enticing
The sparkle and crackle was there
When you danced on the floor
The crowd yelled for more
And you dazzled with lights in your hair.
Now the dance floor is silent and empty
The music has faded away
Just to have it once more
My poor heart does implore ?
.. But the crimson has faded to grey.

Now you’l think I’m buried in sorrow,
Enmeshed in self pity galore
But the fact of the matter
Is served on a platter
… I really don’t care anymore.
For you see I’ve learnt a great secret
Discovered a pearly white truth..
That life is as free
As a bird in a tree
And remorse is really uncouth.

So no more do I wallow in sadness,
No more do I tear out my heart
Instead I rejoice in my gladness
And retrace all the steps from the start.
For living’s a sequence of pictures
To give or take as you choose
If your selections awry
Then you’re lost in the sky
..you pick the wrong one.. You lose!

The sun comes up in the morning
The light erupts in the sky
And the beautiful song of the blackbird
Brings a tear of joy to my eye.
The golden greens of the shadows
The crystal glint of dew
Encapsulates the rapture
I feel on seeing you.
For a friend makes life worth living
A smile a golden door
To the promise of tomorrow
Oh! The future’s good ..once more

When you live on the wrong side of sixty
Life’s lessons treat you right
You separate the wheat from chaff
And celebrate the fight.
You make the most of good stuff
And embrace all the fun
You interact with positives ..
DO THIS,
AND FRIEND ….YOU’VE WON!

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
21st January 2007

When you live on the wrong side of sixty
You flirt with cold death every day,
You **** sweet air in like nectar
And you hold your breath and you pray,
For tomorrow may bring a black tumour
Or a spasm, or seizure or more...
Then whatever you do, whatever you say,
You’ll end up prone on the floor.

For our time on this planet is temporary,
Our time of enjoyment is brief,
Just pull out the stops and let loose man
Live it up, kiss your girl, take relief.
Tomorrow is lost in the dreamtime,
Today is the essence of being,
So kick up your heels and spin all your wheels
and send all those worries a-fleeing.

When you live on the wrong side of sixty
Your skin has a penchant to sag
And no matter how hard you diet
Your gut gets as wide as a bag.
Your whit was once so exciting
Your repartee so sharp
Now you mumble and wheeze
And occasionally sneeze
And frequently squeeze out a ****.

Oh life was once so enticing
The sparkle and crackle was there
When you danced on the floor
The crowd yelled for more
And you dazzled with lights in your hair.
Now the dance floor is silent and empty
The music has faded away
Just to have it once more
My poor heart does implore ?
... But the crimson has faded to grey.

Now you’ll think I’m buried in sorrow,
Enmeshed in self pity galore
But the fact of the matter
Is served on a platter
… I really don’t care anymore.
For you see I’ve learnt a great secret,
Discovered a pearly white truth....
That life is as free
As a bird in a tree...
And remorse is really uncouth!

So no more do I wallow in sadness,
No more do I tear out my heart,
Instead I rejoice in my gladness
And retrace all the steps from the start.
For living’s a sequence of pictures
To give or take as you choose,
If your selections awry
Then you’re lost in the sky
...you pick the wrong one... You lose!

The sun comes up in the morning,
The light erupts in the sky
And the beautiful song of the blackbird
Brings a tear of joy to my eye.
The golden greens of the shadows
The crystal glint of dew
Encapsulates the rapture
I feel on seeing you.
For a friend makes life worth living,
A smile a golden door
To the promise of tomorrow,
Oh! The future’s good ..once more.

When you live on the wrong side of sixty
Life’s lessons treat you right,
You separate the wheat from chaff
And celebrate the fight.
You make the most of good stuff
And embrace all the fun,
You interact with positives ..
DO THIS,
AND FRIEND ….YOU’VE WON!

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
21st January 2007

Tho we be like strands of nettle, each with his own drop of particular poison, tho over the years we have tangled now and then like tomcats in the alley....

Be it not the beauty and allure of this gathering of writers to appreciate and admire the difference found within?

T'were it not for the likes of Francis this site would lack bite, would lack spice and would lose much of its' erstwhile attraction.

So wherefore art thou Frank?
I miss your stuff. I miss your sharp tongue...
I miss your intellect and repartee!

Wherefore art thou Francis?
M.

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

Where, in this fragile mote of time, lies the kernel of a smile?

Where, the beauty of sensation.... of lying down, before the warmth of a roaring woodfire in the dark of night...beside the woman you love...to delight in the stroking of the smoothness of her thigh?

Where, that crystal moment of clarity from whence the words emerge to coin and write that precise and perfect phrase?

Where, oh where.... the moment when anxiety flees the mind to release the elixer of peace and personal satisfaction?

Where, that essence of tranquility?

Where, oh where?

.....Ahhh, It's located in the irridescence of the Realm of Love.

[email protected]

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

Wandering through tracks of life
Remind me of a play
Where the hero played his present scene
Then cancelled out each day
Where the memories of yesteryear
Just fade into the mist,
Where the joys and tears and ecstasy
Dispel, and nothing’s missed.
Where time consumes the very thought
That occupies each part
And leaves you with a vagueness
And a sadness in your heart.

When you walk and crush the daisies
When you strive and build the day
When you lead a child to laughter
With a funny face display.
When you deal with things of consequence
And guide the ship of state,
When you choose your favorite ice cream
And avoid the food you hate.
When the building blocks just vanish
And the structure disappears
When the moments flee like moving silk
And evaporate the years.

The day is still and foggy
There’s a tremor in the air,
I can hear a blackbird singing
And the sound is sweet and fair
As I sit in my seclusion
And quietly pass the time
I attempt to recall peoples names
And I can’t remember mine.
There’s a mistiness in being
And a sameness everywhere,
There’s a lack of expectation
And a drollness in despair.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
8th March 2008

Wandering through tracks of life
Remind me of a play
Where the hero played his present scene
Then cancelled out each day
Where the memories of yesteryear
Just fade into the mist,
Where the joys and tears and ecstasy
Dispel, and nothing’s missed.
Where time consumes the very thought
That occupies each part
And leaves you with a vagueness
And a sadness in your heart.

When you walk and crush the daisies
When you strive and build the day
When you lead a child to laughter
With a funny face display.
When you deal with things of consequence
And guide the ship of state,
When you choose your favorite ice cream
And avoid the food you hate.
When the building blocks just vanish
And the structure disappears
When the moments flee like moving silk
And evaporate the years.

The day is still and foggy
There’s a tremor in the air,
I can hear a blackbird singing
And the sound is sweet and fair
As I sit in my seclusion
And quietly pass the time
I attempt to recall peoples names
And I can’t remember mine.
There’s a mistiness in being
And a sameness everywhere,
There’s a lack of expectation
And a drollness in despair.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
8th March 2008

For my dear friend Ann Sharp,
who was one of the seven.

Sisters at the grave side
Wood coffin in descent
To the dark and cold embrace
Of this living earth’s lament.

Dear mother in her night attire
Has passed her mortal time
And tears of heat fall to the sod
From six of those in line.

The seventh stands expressionless
With clear eyes soft and round,
Red ruby lips set in a line
No teardrops tumble down.

A sibling touched her slender arm
And wordlessly sought how?
She turned her gaze with anguished cry
“Who shall we girls ask now?”


Marshalg
Victoria Park tunnel
6 January 2011

Who’s going to say you’re right, Love,
When you pack your bags and run?
Who’s idyll hand will help you
When you fracture all the fun?
In tearing down the fabric
Of our castle, built of straw,
Is there any satisfaction?
Do you care, Love, anymore?

Who’s going to say you’re right, Love,
When you hurl your verbal spears,
When you lash out with vindictive
And disintegrate to tears?
Who’s going to hold your hand, Sweet,
When you shriek and stamp away,
Leaving chaos in your wake
And destruction in the day?

Who’s going to say you’re right, Love,
When you leave the kids with me,
When they ask Dad “Where is Mummy”?
And tears make it hard to see?
When I know there is another
Who will take you to his lair,
There to rub your silken shoulders
And stroke your auburn hair.

Who’s going to say you’re right, Love,
When you break our world apart,
When you dessicate the fabric
Of this broken family’s heart?*


Marshalg
@thebach
Mangere Bridge
13 August 2011

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

Why strive to please anybody?

Why not lay out the cards as they present themselves?
Why garnish the truth to seek approval, seek acceptance?
This is exactly the way we got ourselves into this God Almighty mess!
....and should you not think the world is in a mess...take a long, hard look around you....I mean really LOOK!

See what's going on...then tell me it all makes sense?

Listen to the ******* being brayed by the media, by the politicians, by the Federal Bank, by the Industrial-Military complex....the religions, of pretty well every ****** city of every ****** nation.

The criminally leveraged propaganda insisted upon and injected daily to a gullible, airhead of a planet??

...And the feral truth of the matter is, if you hide your head in the sand...You end up satisfying NOBODY!

(Particularly and most damagingly.... YOURSELF!)

[email protected]

Neath the pale and crescent moon
I saunter with the call of loon,
This haunting note through reeds on lake
Reflected moonlit ripples make.
I pause to ponder beauty stark
Of monochrome in Willmont Park,
In sillouhette of black and white
Through lakeside, rippled reeds at night.
Again the call of haunting loon
In silver light's reflected moon,
The chill air causing breath to cloud
My footfall crunch in sand, too loud,
Distracting me from beautious sight
Of moonlit lake on darkest night.
And yet again that haunting call
To conjour Willmont's phantom shawl,
Descending mist now brings the damp
Necessitating my decamp....
So.... with regret, I disembark
From gracious, moonlit Willmont Park.

M.
April 19 2014