Just an equation,
A Simple theorem.
A little misbehaviour,
Outside the decorum.
.
I add and provide,
Hoping we never divide.
At the geometry, I stare
Just a mindfuck of a square.
.
A slight cross multiplication,
To bond upon this attraction.
To help develop the postulates.
Of your mere subtraction.
.
I integrate & derive,
It's the formulae I'm deprived
Of. The questions always lead to me and you.
I always end up in my four sided cube.
- Aks, in math classes.

I wanted to be there for Parsnips but time and  money availability have precluded it from happening. I cannot make it down for the funeral.

I f you would please pass on the following few words for me.

Parsnips was my mate, He was the epitome of a man from a different age.
He was wild and intense, dark of mood  and definite of opinion.

He was poetry in motion astride a good jumping mare, many a time I have seen him clear a seven wire fence with a good foot of daylight to spare.
His understanding of equine mentality approached that of witchcraft. He was capable of anticipating the  lashing hoof before the horse had formulated the thought, much less put it into action. He had NO patience with intemperate horseflesh. Many a frisky animal had second thoughts of misbehaviour after they had worn the thick end of a coarse rasp at close quarters.
Parsnip’s work was artistry, he was truly... one of the GREAT farriers.

The end of the working day would see Parsnips drown his sorrows in the demon ***.
This was the emergence of the dark soul who cast about for answers to impossible questions, who wallowed in the unhappiness of his failed horizons and the bitterness of his life’s disappointments. My mate Parsnips was not the easiest man to know in his dark moments. But a mate is a mate... you take the good with the bad.

And there were a lot of really good times... when a happy Parsnips had laughter in his eyes and a flash of excitement in his demeanour. I recall one such time when, on a wild rafting trip on a rampaging, flooded Mohaka river, The raft was marooned on a jammed stump in the midst of violent huge killer white water. Parsnips hung off a rope and with a look of wild joy on his face announced to his flabbergasted mates...”And I can’t even ****** swim a stroke!... fantastic. Needless to say he survived the trip and loved every moment of it.

I called to spend the afternoon with him a short time ago at the Rest Home. This was a shadow of the Parsnips I had once known. He was completely disillusioned with the hand fate had dealt him. He saw no future to speak of... He wanted out.
So I must say that I am not entirely surprised with the way things have materialised.
Parsnips usually arranged the system to get things the way he wanted them.

I grieve for the loss of my wild, intense mate, God knows there are few enough of them left.
Real people who live life in the black and white way.
Definite personalities who, for the good or for the bad, never ever leave you in any doubt as to where they stand in the way of things.

Fare well my old friend, I leave you with these words.

The Winds of Life
by Marshal Gebbie

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

Skipping ropes tied to lamp posts
hopscotch was another for girls
I'd try to work out the rules
but dare not ask, nor yet even
be seen to be showing interest
sometimes I'd be invited
to join in girls play
I could hold the rope
while others skipped
but had not the grace
or the agility to skip
at all well myself
there were role play games
of families with dolls
proudly displayed
tenderly nursed
and I would be offered
the role of 'daddy'
though I had no clue
of how to do that
having no father myself
so I would be told
to arrive home from work
to sit in my chair
to put on my slippers
to smoke my pipe
to hear tales of misbehaviour
by the children
and I would be amused
but would be told firmly
that I must be stern with them
then when that was done
to eat my tea and afterwards
to sit watching the telly
distracted from the game
that continued around me
or to go out to the pub
and I thought that
fathers must be
the most boring of people


The rough and tumble
was not for me
why would some boy think
he could throw me down
straddle me, pummeling
overpower and hold me there
trapped, despite my struggles
I learned early that
scratching, biting,
flailing, kicking
were not permitted
nor were tears
yet I shed them still
and screamed and scratched
and bit and flailed
if I could not avail
myself of natural defences
generally expected of girls
then why should my attacker
receive no more than
mild admonishment, if that
while I'd be advised
to "toughen up"
and the goading
carried on relentlessly
"you run like a girl"
"you throw like a girl"
"you kick the ball like a girl"
"you fight like a girl"
as though doing those things
like a girl were demeaning

Cynthia Pauline Jones 30/10/13

Sometimes, I don't know what is the problem of my so called colleagues... There are so many issues worth tackling in the movie industry where as a movie maker u invest so much finance, time and energy and get back very little or nothing... Yet, what concerns our youths is celebrations, parties, function attendance and all... The so called movie ambassadors came up at the period of political campaign... Will this gathering still stand after they are bn used for political campaigns... That's a question that I'm sure can't b answered... D crazy aspect, s dt every name now goes first with Ambassador lagbaja or Ambassador tamedu... So crazy.... Rebranding starts from our selves... No group whatsoever, has d power to influence a corrupt, mis-managed, malfunctioning industry that needs urgent attention... I'm surprised to even find respected movie makers sleeping and putting heads in same direction... If we want to speak in one voice, I believe... There's an existing body, when d music sector got its branding and uplifted its current face to d very level its today, D's were not d measures and procedures takn.... Even in Hollywood, I have nvr heard of Ambassador Nicolas Cage, Ambassador Angelina Jolie etc... Neither in bollyhood have I heard of Ambassador Shakiru Khan or Ambassador John Abraham. What a pity..., even the newly experienced movie makers that doesn't even know what D's game is all about bear Ambassadors... I hear, there's fine for misbehaviour at events and all... Hmmmmmm, those that have sumfn upstairs, let them start thinking... Don't b used for sumfn that u will end up not benefitting and later b d glory of sum people that knows where this is going and the aim behind it.... However, if the motive is truly for d upliftment of D's great job that we all do with great passion... God help us all.... Tokunbo Awoga

So Are You A... Risk TAKER... ?
Or One Who Plays... SAFER... ?

Than Those Whose Flavour …
Prefers … MISBEHAVIOUR... !!?!!
The Reason I Ask Is Because It's QUITE A Task...
To Make Your Mark If Your Thing Is... ART... !!!

One Day In Conversation An Artist Got To STATING...

That.....

"For your art to hit hard and top the charts,
that you've got to take risks, to be a big thing !"

Which I Guess Is True But Think It Through...
Is Risk INTRINSIC... To Being ARTISTIC... ???

I Guess It Is …
When SO MANY USE Gimmicks...
And MANUFACTURED Lyrics …
To Make It In The Bizness'... !!!

The Business of CREATING...
Art That's... Entertaining...

I Guess That's What He's Saying... ?

Art That's … INNOVATING...
May Well INDULGE Risk Taking... ?

But Art That's REAL...
Seems To Be... "Concealed"...

So The Risk To Me Would Seem To Be...
Being An Artist Whose Art Is... FREE... !!!

From Poetry To Comedy …
It's A Risk To Concede To Artistically...
Be A Breed Whose Speech And Artistry …
FITS In Boxes or … “ TV's “...

... Know What I Mean... ?!?

It's An INDUSTRY Where Art COMPETES...
For WHAT... Trophies And BIG MONEY... ?

..... Well That's Just NOT ME..... !!!

But it is RISKY …
To PIN Your Hopes On Artistic Dreams... !!!

Like It Is To BELIEVE …
That SELLING DOPE Ups Periscopes... !!!

... I DON'T THINK SO... !!!

You May Just Sink And Take A HIT...
That ROCKS Your Boat Like CRACK Or Coc'... !!!!!

It's A Risk To TAKE HARD DRUGS You Know... !!!!!
I Mean CLASS A Cos' Most CAN'T Cope...
When It Comes To ADDICTIONS...
That Lead To... "MENTAL PRISONS"... !!!

Apparitions And Prescriptions …
That LIMIT Bigger Visions...
Because of Preconditions …
Positioned Next to VILLAINS.... !!!!!

So... Talking of POSITIONS...
What About These Women... ?!?
With Heads That BOB Like Chickens... !?!?!
They AREN'T ALL... " Finger Lickin' "... !!!!!

In FACT These Days I'm Thinking........
That Condoms Should Be... THICKENED... !!!!!!

Cos' ***** Holes Be STINKIN'... !!!!!!!
of RISKS That Have *****... SHRInkin'... !!!!!!!

It's A Risk To Link With THESE HOT Chicks...
Who Now FRY GUYS Who Think They're Wise...

UNTIL What Rests …
BETWEEN Their Thighs Brings TEARS To Eyes... !!!

Because of *** With A Hole That RIDES...
MORE Than Bikers... RIDE Their Bikes... !!!!!!

But Ladies It's A RISK For You... !!!
To MESS With Dudes Whose Vibe Is Cool...
Has Got NICE SUITS And Money TOO... !!!!!!

.......... DON'T Be Fooled.........
ALL That GLITTERS DIGS OUT Holes...
Just Like THOSE Who DIG For Gold... !!!!!

Ya' See RISKS Are HERE...
And RISKS Are... THERE... !!!!!

So Are You Prepared To RISK Truth or Dare... ?!?
I'd Rather RISK TRUTH Than LIE To PROVE...
I Can Walk Amongst SNAKES To Make My Way... !?!

The Game Nowadays Is...
FAR FROM............................... ............ Fair...... !!!!!
And RISKS DON'T CARE Like Medusas... STARE... !!!!

RISKS Are... " Stone Cold "...
With NO BREWSKIS Yo... !!!!!!!

It's A RISK To Drink And Drink TOO MUCH... !!!
Like It Is To Do Stuff That'll Get You CUFFED... !!!

Because Cops SPILL BLOOD...
And LIKE To PULL GUNS...

So... WATCH YOURSELF Son... !!!!!!!!!

DON'T PLAY That You're TOUGH …
… UNLESS You ARE... !!!!
Cos' Police MARK Cars …
Like Dealers DO CARDS... !!!!

It's A Risk To Gamble...
If You CAN'T HANDLE That BIG LOSS... !!!

Because Like James said...

"You have to pay the cost, to be the boss !"...

And On That Note...

I'll RISK One LAST Quote... !!!
It's A RISK To VOTE For POLITICAL Folks... !!!!!

As It Is To... EVOKE...
That Risks Are THE WAY For A Person To GO... !?!

When It Comes To Lyrics And Scripts I FLIP...
I STICK To THIS NO Gimmicks or TRICKS...
Or... Trying To Be SLICK... !!!!!

My CREATIVE Vibes And Dealings In Life...
DON'T Deal In Cosmetics …
Because They're AUTHENTIC... !!!

Which LIMITS THIS...
A NEED To STICK To Doing Things...

That Make Me INDULGE In TAKING...

........ " RISKS "........

I was talking to my therapist
About how much the two sides of my brain hate each other
About how scared and alone one side is
And how bitter the other one is that she had to be the one to do the growing up
And she told me that every time I hate myself
Every time I think how stupid I am for crying over dropping my hairbrush on the floor
Or over the death of a loved one
How ridiculous it is that I miss my boyfriend after talking to him ten minutes before
Any time I think anything negative about myself
It's like giving my father a high five
It's like telling him he did a great job when he set out to **** my head up so badly
That even years later I can't even think his name without feeling my entire being freeze up in terror
My father is like a snake and his words
His words are like venom that creeps through my veins paralyzing everything I might like about myself
For every time I think '**** I look good today'
There are a thousand other days where I heard his voice in the back of my head
Shouting all the things that have ever been wrong with me

But I'm done high fiving my father for making me hate myself
I'm replacing the shouts he left reverberating in my brain like an echo chamber
With the things my boyfriend whispers to me in the morning when we wake up
Because he thinks I'm beautiful before I brush my teeth, or do my hair, or drink my coffee
And I will replace them with the way he says my name when we have ***
Like I am a gift unto this world
Instead of a misbehaviour

The murmur began at the slow invasion of night
into a restless household, waiting for the sun to pull
the cloak of darkness over their depressions. The sky
pulled in tight and covered the suburbs with yellowing
memories of bygone days when streetlights lived
in small pale pools of circles under a twilight
of energy. Bellies full and bursting with new harvest wine
cuts of roasted pork and dark baked potatoes
there was no need to switch on the misery of political
misbehaviour. Contentment was written on cherub faces
and swollen bellies even as the noises from the street
amplified and grew bigger with every extra child added.

Then it happened. This disgraceful division between beliefs
that tore the street into pock marked holes of pain
Brother fought  brother and all of the Holy Books
were burned and everyone got out their pointing fingers
and looked across the street to lay waste to blame.

The first sms reached out beyond the barricades
and poles and farm implements were sharpened
for the hunting season. Anger drove people into strange
exorcisms and each side ran to the other to ferret out those
little children, huddling in frightened corners and mothers
breaking blood to lose the unborn brutality that followed.

Scattered amongst the ruins lay the dreams of happiness
and plentiful. The walls of economy imploded and the suited
smiling faces of politicians smeared across the highways were torn
down and used as fuel for bonfires. Everyone who dared died
within a week as the rubber bullets, water canons and plastic
armour plates ran out of production. Funeral pyres lit up the nightsky
and the wailing and weeping mingled with the river of rushing
humanity. The mountain paths were strewn with bones
and even the animals hesitated to eat the hungry.

The division of beliefs tore everyone into shreds of arguments.
Those in the front seat blamed the back benchers but those
in the left over seats were out on the street fomenting hate.
The world watched as the numbers climbed and all of the giant
pyramids and majestic pharaohs and ornaments could not stop
the need for power.

The lone child picking paper on an impoverished street
cried quietly and turned every stone looking for
mama.
Author Notes

A few years ago this happened, exactly as depicted. The land had plenty. Power was cornered at the top. Money and mystery flowed. Then one brave man sent a text message asking for change. The population exploded into belief/disbelief and chaos.

Even today the street battles rage and the pyres burn. The end is not in sight.
The Revolution will continue on.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

I don't want to spin out a rhyme
each time I feel happy,
I want to laugh and drink beer
in a cooling shed,
with the bleak disruptions
of cue ***** and pockets.
I don't want to
search for the future,
I don't want to
pester in squalor,
I want misbehaviour
and my head in a bucket.
To rise again,
with the faint smell of liquor,
inhaling the youth
that never came to deliver,
bring me back to the hope of a soul's holiday,
to the hope this struggle will allude
to days without discord,
that play to my tune.

I ride on my bike to the farmhouse
with Milka's brothers
after Saturday morning work

we dismount
and I wait with my bike
while they go in

there is a dull sun
and a wind coming across
the fields

won't you come in?
Milka's mother asks
gesturing to me
from the doorway

sure I will
I say
and walk to the house
and go into the warm kitchen

cup of tea and toast?
she asks me
the boys have gone upstairs
to change

yes that'd be nice
I say

I look about the kitchen
at the pots and pans
and shelves and cups
and the large oven range
and the table and chairs
in the corner  

sit down Benny
she says

I sit down
and she is busy
with cups and toast

I listen out to hear
if Milka is about
I watch her mother
fuss about with things
to one side

Milka about?
I ask

if she knows you're here
she'll be up
and dressed in seconds
the mother says
not turning around

I hear voices upstairs
laughter
shouts
and then Milka
come down
and into the kitchen

they said you were here
and I didn't believe them
as they are always
teasing me about you
she says

where have you been?
her mother asks

tidying my room
like you have asked me too
Milka says

about time too
never seen such a mess hole
when I was a young girl
we had to keep
our rooms tidy
the mother says

Milka pulls a face
behind her mother's back
it's done now
she moves towards me
and kisses me quickly
on the cheek

I hold her hand
and squeeze

I suppose you
want breakfast now?

yes please
Milka replies

her mother says
what do you want?

I'll get it
Milka says

she goes off to the larder
and I watch her move
her blue skirt
and white top
the buttons open
at the neck too low
(her mother would say)
the legs
the way she sways
her hips
as she walks

here you are Benny
the mother says
and hands me
a plate of buttered toast
and a cup of tea

thank you
I say

and she moves off
to the other room
and I hear her move about

Milka says
didn't know
you were coming here today?

thought you might
like to see the new Elvis film
I say

she smiles
sure if Mum'll let me
she says

she goes off
to see her mother
in the other room

I eat the toast
and sip the tea
and listen

there are hushed voices
and few sighs
then more voices

it'll be my treat
I say
I’ll treat her

Milka and her mother
come into the kitchen

it's not that
the mother says
it's just that
she's been grounded
the weekend
for misbehaviour

I look at Milka
who pouts her lips
and looks at me

I see
I say

and look at the mother
she gazes at me
and her eyes
are soft and brown

and she says
but I don't see why
you should be deprived
of her company
because of her naughtiness
she will not be allowed out
next Saturday though
she says

Milka beams
and her face lights up

and I say
thank you
I’ll have her back
in good time

the mother stares
at her daughter
and I mean about next week
she says

I know
Milka says

her mother goes off
to the other room
we kiss
and she goes off
upstairs to get ready

I finish my toast
and tea
thinking to myself
lucky me.

I walk down the misty streets
Trying to find me something,
Sometimes I feel like a hit and miss
I go back home
I seat near the lit fireplace
It’s near midnight
It’s getting late
My bones are crumbling
The only sound I hear is the fire crackling.

It’s near 2 o’clock
I want to eat
However, my legs are weak and I cannot get up
Turn on the television
News roundup
The type of stuff I never pick up
“The crime was a setup”
Oh god, where has humanity ended up?

It’s near 3 o’clock
My patience is out of stock
Now that I started this…
I'm locked down
Trying to resist
Not everything can be resolved with fists
I could try to make myself a list
Nevertheless, there is a twist
I cannot coexist
With me.

It’s 4 o’clock
Should I get a drink?
There is some near the sink
I drag my sleepless body to the kitchen
Oh god this place stinks
Stinks of cheapness, shoddy
I could drink it all in a blink
I embody the alcoholic.

It’s 5 o’clock
I am neurotic,
Psychotic,
Idiotic...
I always hated this behaviour
Quite so hypnotic
I have been told I was a failure
Now I taste the flavour
Of misbehaviour
Of which I savour
I am no saviour.

It’s morning
I have work
I have this quirk
And I don’t know why now I smirk
I guess I avoid it
But the thought still lurks
Now I sit here destroyed
Maybe now,
Unemployed.