Desert Rose, she grows in the light of the moon
She glows like a ghost amid wandering ghouls
Beautiful and rare, she loves the desert air
and I love to see her bloom after the rain falls

Be my Tree of Life
Be my Peace of Mind
She's my Healing Light
At the end of every night

Desert Rose, her eyes of crystal-clear skyblue
I don't wanna be anywhere but here with you
Against your ivory skin, and to caress your spun-gold hair
The starlight in your smile burns right through my despair

You're the only one who understands me
And still there's sunshine in your eyes
You're the only one with whom I can be
Who I truly am inside

Be my Tree of Life
Be my Peace of Mind
She's my Healing Light
At the end of every night
Oh, darling
Be my Tree of Life
Be my Peace of Mind
She's my Healing Light
At the end of every night

Is the biggest secret on earth.
No air traffic underneath smog
Controlled factory lined megaphonic
Daylight saving stolen hour gasp,
When turquoise mood, plays 2nd Pace
To know her.
Confidant pillows pressed for time talking
Loud
Aint gave her nothing.

I miss Sunday
in a skyblue sundress
with sunlight
shining through
that gap between
thighs so soft
like cotton clouds.

un dia de estos encontraré tu caballo blanco
sentado al cordón de la vereda
sí, esperando que pase el sol de lluvia buena
eterno sueño mimado del día
siguiente a los pasos tristes de mi sombra celeste
simple y solo

una pena no tenerte a mi lado

hoy y ayer
y hasta mañana esperaré al cielo
y a la estrella fugaz mas lejana
antes que tus vidas pasadas golpeen mi puerta
y nos reencontremos reencarnados
en otro lugar del mundo y la tierra.

--------------------------------------------------------­-------

simple and only

some day of these i will find your white horse
sitting at the sidewalk curb
yes, waiting the good rain sun to pass by
eternal spoiled daydream
next to the sorrowful steps of my skyblue shadow
simple and only

it is a pity i dont have you by my side

today and yesterday
and until tomorrow i will wait to the sky
and the farthest shooting star
sooner than your past lives knock at my door
and we will reincarnated rejoin
somewhere else in the world and earth.

It all looked clean, crisp, picturesque postcard promise
The river reflecting skyblue shimmers
Mists rising wisps of secrets
Trees and plants glossy, full bellied, nutritious happy
The birds practising new song and twitching wings
of fancy in the bright 440 volt sunshine
Filtering through
the senses to settle softly.

All was really not that clean and crisp.
The photographer could not zoom in
On a dead kea choked on a 1080 trap
Dropping from the sky like a manna treat
Four fish gobbling pellets pulled upstream
Mouth agape as poison shut the fluttering gills
Two other magpies lost their raucous tone
Deprived by early morning bait
Possums slept softly high up in the tress
With last nights buds bursting in their full bellies

The photographer could not see beauty and ugliness
Together.
The lens could not question the crystalline view
The click was not from gun
digital film rolled irrespective
And his dream of a pristine forest
with no pustules told one side of the story.

The other side
Balanced the books
And tore the heart of the very creatures
That spoke beauty with being there.

The picture was captioned;
Clean and Green.
Was it?
A picture speaks a thousand words
Sprinkled with three hundred lies and lives.
Author Notes

This poem accompanied a lush photograph of forest with a little stream flowing through. In the same area where the photograph was taken, helicopters bombed the forest with 1080 poison pellets to knock off the possums which were eating through the fresh shoots and leaves.

The end result was more than the possums going to thy kingdom come.

There are serious environmental undertones in this poem.

http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid;=11260667
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 18 days ago

what a skyblue skylark!
submerging in soft white,
plays upon the violin
and sings his heart, so young!
my weariness flies away
like the smoke in the breeze,
and senses dance like
flowers in the drizzles.
who hears the melody
of such a sweet singer!
his songs are much delight
and flight from pain to joys.

two white beaches lie asunder;
a temporal numbness foregoes
the crash of red endorphins tidal-waving between parted skin.
fabric-flesh torn
and measured upon a pulsing
living
purple bed of weedlike nerves.

kubrick westwood.
each micronanosecond framed by
ruler and rolling arriflex,
memory designed and inserted.

moses returns with
tablets gripped white-knuckled beneath soiled robes.
skyblue needles repairing a crimson chasm.
autofleshpots of salvation;
each skinly knot weaved unto one
vile tapestry of red

and red and red and red.
eternal beyaux sans story.
those shanks that play no myth
nor legend.
no pierced eye nor
striking cleric nor
sailing comet appear upon your ghastly skin.

you're merely scarred
and nothing more.