ten men fishing
on auckland wharf
all with thin fibreglass rods
just that exact distance
(made in china)
all watching each others baits
bobbing in the silver sheen
no one watching his own sinker
bobbing

one twitches down the line
a reel swishes
reeling in
nine men watching intently now

20 cm struggling catch
not much, so back it goes.
a bronze whaler
slinking slowly
under twenty pairs of dangling feet
decides
the distance was too much
to crunch a man for snack

quietly slinks
to the opposite shore
where she senses
feet splashing on a shallow beach.

primitive.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 3 months ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11438556-the-fishermen-on-the-wharf-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.HWKsl­wYM.dpuf

For a couple of toffs , I was lagging their loft ,
The size of a Polo Pitch ,
With thick fibreglass , of a " superior class ",
There wasnt a part of me that didnt itch .
Now I had a , full bladder ,
So climbed down the ladder ,
Left the hatch open , like the " barn , I was born in "
Desperate for a *** , though it wasnt through tea ,
I hadnt been offered a cup all morning .
And right there , I saw , a note taped to the door ,
Saying "TRADESMAN - USE THE TOILET DOWNSTAIRS ".
In the natural light, blinking , it got me thinking ,
Is MY ***** , so different to theirs ?
Ignoring the sign, I  crossed over the line
And entered "The Master Bathroom "
It was expensively tiled , a shame to defile,
Full of lotions , potions and perfume.
So I ****** in the sink , gave the mirror a wink
And was up to the loft like a thief .
Back home that night as I turned out the light,
I imagined them brushing their teeth .

Tyres and fires burning
circles of rubber
Rolled down  black tongued roads
Heading to  city centre
Where  others meet
To greet the mighty ruler
With sword and soldiers dressed
In fibreglass shields, green helmets
truncheons with spikes backed water cannons
snipers on rooftops searching for vipers
to drill bullet holes

The tyres rolled in and rounded in a circle
Cutting off escape routes and
Dividing believers and  non-believers
Piled high, pulled tight with pitchfork  patience

The leaders orders more tyres.
Anything from cars, buses and bicycles
that could hold up the  chains of freedom.
Last desperate attempt - not to escape but die
In the ring of fire -soon lit
Underneath the tyres
Which created bursting black flames and bluegrey smoke
Rising above the rants of leaders and shooters
and crackling. Sparks that dulled the day
And lit the night with sparklers of power.

The paratroopers soon retreated into barracks
and the rioters took hold of the city keys,
And over broken glass and burnt buildings
settled in for the long haul to freedom.

The pawns moved on the chess board
  knights moved in the night,
The queen was cornered
and checkmate came when the hollow president
flew  the palace with his coterie of
ear chewers and shoe polishers!

The tyres burned slowly
the fires  burned down slowly.
Freedom came at dawn on the 21 st day
when the rubber factory churned out again
many new models of tyres with tougher treads.

The circle begins again today.
Author Notes

The Revolution continues. All common day gadgets that could burn and blister the new agenda is rolled down the road into the city centre where the
protesters gather to set fire to ambitious policies, unpopular with the people.

The fires from tyres will rage all night and day.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

I heard the hissing of the snake
before I felt the fangs pierce the night air.

Fibreglass boats and lemonade stands.
Blinking lights and trembling hands.

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.
Beginning, ending. Ending, beginning.

We have such a variety of words
defining the extremes, but what of
the in-between? The middle?

What happens between A and Z?
Between now and than?

That is what I forget about
as I feel the poison become me.

my insomnia has gifted me unexpectedly
on this pre dawn morning.
i share the beach
with a single sand plover and a large work crew of sandbubbler *****
as they work their spherical graffitti magic.

i expect if i thought long enough,
my mind may make the practical connection, between the darting and bobbing of the stiff stilt,
red, legged bird
and the hyperalert scurryings of soft shelled, orb infatuated, crustaceans.

but, i prefer to play peekaboo witb the sun,
as it peeks it's sleepy rotound rim over the rippling bedsheets of the ocean's horizon.
eyes blinking, crafting opulent dusky lavenders and apricot oranges,
that meander lazily across, the brightening skybed.

i am alone on the beach until,
the next soul comes
this is my kingdom.
i stand firm and
breathe the tang of salted lands.

there is a deep silence
in my soul,
which i take to be completeness.
with neoteric expectancy and unchained exuberance,
i turn and run along
the firm sand's, edge of the high tideline leaving fading, ephemeral footprints
behind me,
scattering the little crabworkers every
which way.
i run in rhythm with the crashing waves
and we eat up the sand
until i am spent.

i sit and watch as the riders of the wave arrive.
their lithe young frames silhouetted by sunlight,
they stand at ten feet tall.
i wave and hand my kingdom over to the knights on fibreglass coursiers.
they mount their steeds
and begin the morning's tidal hunt,
for the perfect wave

The splinter  pain
it just sat there, tingling

as if, unconcerned
small and below deck

like fibreglass invisible
I could not do a thing

until I removed the sensation
of a sting from its new home

stray words stick deeper
to the bone. I struggled for a week

a walk in the woods solved
the sensation the tingling
replaced by tingling.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 26 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11557971-Tingling-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.snFFe3Fn.dpuf

Your small face smiles at me from
across the dining room
a dining room with a bed
the bed doesn’t have a frame and your blonde fringe
is
gone
too
cut off
when it started to fall out
I didn’t say the image fit
these days you can hardly move
and I forget for a second my own
losses
I only think of what’s coming
an inhale is stubbing my sternum on fibreglass
while it’s reinforcing some concrete
it’s all the same
I try to hold the past a little tighter

I felt it then
nothing
at first
and then all of a sudden in a burst
an itch
on the roof of my mouth
when I close it
something persistently
ingrown
it catches on a button a crease
a similar in relation smile
and then it is my turn
I smile and tell you
“I’m sorry”
you smile at me like you’re sorry
that I’ve come back to see this.

no man's land:
a healthy dose of could-be-worse
for the idiot who equates
the quotidian
to the epicenter of a war.

a special place in hell
for people
who ask for advice
that they can toss
over their shoulder
like a dying cigarette:
instant, capricious gratification.
in hindsight, he shouldn't have cared
for what his friends thought.

like me, perfect role model:
as in control as a truck with faulty brakes
as much fun as falling asleep at a wake
as resilient as a fibreglass dream.

sees the situation that awaits
around the corner
in the alley
that pulses with pathetic light.

cowers
runs
cries
says:
"i wish my skin was as thick as my skull"
and immediately, immovably, refuses to change.

Sometimes there’s peace
in this restriction,
you get gifted a lucid
memory trail that you can wander
with a heart that sings back
to the echoes within

At other times it’s fibreglass
or vitriol under the skin,
prickle-burning every thought,
flaring angered embers
that refuse to chill

It’s a sickness
that infects our wishes
and snuffs the daily ebb and flow
of our earned minutes
as we yearn for the next high point
where we can
just
let
go

No escaping
this fickle, clumsy spectre,
just a recognition
that its patience wears as thin as ours
and it will pass

Your cheap aroma
Sticks to my clothes
Hanging on
You know
This has to
End
Our drunken nights
Brought us closer
Now
Your fibreglass claws
Cut through
Stained fingertips
We have to part
You kept the condensation in my lungs

Come and have some tea with me,
Don’t be afraid, you’ll be okay.
Fears are imaginary, indulge in the decay.
Pass the crumpets to the invisible dead.
Don’t want to upset the spirits, pinhead.
Every scenario is like a dance on fibreglass.
Weighted shoes, the burdens, gotta relax.
If you’re not careful, you’ll start to make cracks.
Tiptoe around the subject,
Like it’s your first time.
Deflect the conflict of an unstable mind.

Can’t you see we are stuck within a padded cell.
What if reality was actually hell?
What is real? It’s hard to tell!

All around the room, a faded memory.
Underneath the cobwebs is where trauma blooms.
All around the room, a jaded sensory.
A glitch in system, that can be triggered by smells of perfume.
Don’t want to return to that time of gloom.

To weak to stop it,
Pressure builds,
Can’t contain what’s within the closet.
To numb to move,
All I can do is watch it.
Hurt by the one’s I thought I trusted.
Thought I’d be over it now,
But I’m still left disgusted.
The shivers are reminder,
A reminder that I lost it.

All around the room, a faded memory.
Underneath the cobwebs is where trauma blooms.
All around the room, a jaded sensory.
A glitch in system, that can be triggered by smells of perfume.
Don’t want to return to that time of gloom.

Can’t you see we are stuck within a padded cell.
What if reality was actually hell?
What is real? It’s hard to tell!

Sometimes I feel like therapists are like vampires,
They **** me dry.
Sometimes the best intentions,
Lead to the worst of times.
Gotta keep the industry moving,
If you can’t keep up you’re left behind.
Everything is a product,
But what about the products with compromised designs?
If you can’t understand what I’m saying,
Read in between the lines.

All around the room, a faded memory.
Underneath the cobwebs is where trauma blooms.
All around the room, a jaded sensory.
A glitch in system, that can be triggered by smells of perfume.
Don’t want to return to that time of gloom.

Can’t you see we are stuck within a padded cell.
What if reality was actually hell?
What is real? It’s hard to tell!

Our love became unthroned ,
all because of you .
Yes  you the one I hold with all my heart ,
for you didn’t  love what we had  known.

I would chisel out of granite ,
with my bare hands what we had left aside ,
from an apple to a heart ,
and take a peek at what’s inside .

Yet what we had was it for real ,
or built on fibreglass ?
For our train at Canfranc station awaits ,
the last to ever leave ,
the billow of smoke ,
this monster breaths ,
it’s last .
it’s whistle slowly fades ,
the doors are slammed shut ,
the clock still ticks ,
my windows down ,
and my heart is out of luck .

A tear rolls down my cheek ,
it’s choked in soot ,
misunderstood,
my love for you was insane ,
and now you have gone ,
and left me alone ,
with Only love to blame .