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Always on the lookout for new “names.”

I may not be writing much at the moment, but I am editing, and looking out for people who can write haiku and short-burst in-the-moment poetry…

the zen space

Yeah, even you, Han Solo. Can you write haiku or short-burst in-the-moment poetry? I’m on the lookout for people I’ve never published before – writers and artists. Get in touch.

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The lean strangers 3

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in the desert game

the heat haze

waters the horizon

and you know you’re

in a kid’s game where

a manicured nail can hit pause

and pause you for a tequila

under a sunshade

where strange-cool girls

lean and chat each other

strange whos/whys/wherefores

hang your desert day

.

.

.

.

__________

©Marie Marshall

The lean strangers 2

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All the rolling go

the throaty V8 yowl

the howl of carways

truckways and hot black stuff

the masked bike butch

beats that broad way

to click and collect beer

and lemonade so bitter

for the cool shade girls

tracing fingers on touchscreens

wondering who/why/where

are the lean strangers

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.

.

.

__________

©Marie Marshall

The lean strangers

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The lean strangers

all the lone rangers

their golden guns

and silver slugs

ride away pinto express

into the singing desert

slip into the western sun

the wires zing while

the cool shade girls sip

tequila cocktail and wonder

who/why/where

was that masked butch?

.

.

.

.

__________

©Marie Marshall

following on from that thunderstorm

.

following on

from that thunderstorm

.

there are black leaves

and white clouds

.

I’m craning to see

the familiar sky

.

my bare feet are wet

to the calves

.

high summer and I

get a room

.

.

.

__________

©Marie Marshall

from the Law

.

from the Law

this half-hid lookout

see the bright firth

that innocent limb

.

and listen to

the whispered traffic

the city breathing

.

remember

I tell myself

the cool celery sharp

taste of kisses

.

.

__________

©Marie Marshall

distancing

.

.

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the radio set

a child’s hand on the button

switches the world off

.

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_________

©Marie Marshall

The new Showcase at the zen space is now published. Please visit.

by the firth

.

by the firth

throwing chips

from an abandoned poke

high for the gulls to catch

this communication

is our secret language

their solid trails

by the moment

make text

they write in tongues

which I interpret

holy me

.

.

.

__________

©Marie Marshall

We’re so summer

.

.

We’re so summer,

early, you and me,

the fuzzed triangle

lemoning the wall

where the shifted curtain

lets in unique light;

you hold my hand,

each thing is new,

will never repeat,

though we’ve made it

another illuminated June.

.

.

.

.

__________

©Marie Marshall

Late May

.

.

.

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let-lie cinders

greying in my grate

while the birds sing

.

.

.

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.

__________

©Marie Marshall