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Category: poems

115

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I don’t expect you to comprehend my symbology, I expect you to supply yours.

__________

©Marie Marshall

jupiterAs it is the 100th anniversary of the October Revolution in Russia, I have made available a short story of mine – ‘The Bodyguard’ – in which a woman relates a tale, to two Soviet officials, about the days before the Revolution, when she travelled to London with the Bolsheviks. Read it here.

In other news, a 31-strong group known as ‘Poets Collective’ has just published its latest anthology, The Four Elements: effects and influences, dealing with earth, water, air, and fire in all their realistic and metaphorical aspects. I am one of the 31, and something of mine is included in the anthology. There are some fine poets amongst the other thirty, and the book is available here.

 

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114

114

@Marie Marshall. Headlong flight from lyrical.

jupiter

113

The old drowsy day-cat opens

one eye. When we look at the

reflet, the shimmer, we forget

:

the river underneath, the depth

of water, the banality of drinking,

we are nine-parts river ourselves,

:

and we see only a dawn ritual,

the bell-and-pomegranate of a

robe. There’s a woman who

:

knows the zigzag nature of her

life, a succession of readings

pulling her on minute tackings,

:

that make a larger dogleg, that

turns into a crack on the face of

the world, that she gives in to

:

these and goes through them as

another kind of ceremony, “Let

me be this,” seized from thin air.

__________

jupiter©Marie Marshall. “Dinnae be feart o’ wee beasties.”

I almost forgot – the Autumn 2017 Showcase at the zen space is now published.

112

112

On-the-money, clean lines, clean living haiku continues the retreat ©Marie Marshall

jupiter

111

:

:

enquiry whether love’s bore

and flood or a meander’s slow

silt rendered nothing by the

inevitable saltwater ending

:

:

__________

jupiter©Marie Marshall, if you believe in such things.

110

110

A word with a clear meaning is a symmetrical face. ©Marie Marshall

We shoal like fry in the warm shore-wash, moved this way and that by what we already know, we’re fry and that’s our métier; but each anxious moment of observation changes the whole world, and the next, and the next. It’s like feeding bread to a dog. An island rises from the greater sea; the fry head for it, but find themselves mature, too big for the next shore-wash, and the next, and the next. Each observation proves the last a lie, and oh what joy that brings! A word is a coin stamped for a king, debased by a forger, clipped by a villain, slapped down on hard wood by a bargainer, worth no more that what it’ll buy; worthy is she who flips it heads or tails, and “You didn’t call ‘edge’!” says she…

jupiter

109

108

She writes one line of love and

spreads thin over the town, the

singer of sixty autumn anthems;

:

viz. the one about the horse (or

dog) galloping beside the train,

and the traveller too absorbed

:

to tell which until, too late, it

occurs to her to look, the fleet

beast has been baulked, or the

:

carriage is in a cutting; we say

she writes, but it’s the exercise

of her thumbs, and the line of

:

love’s a message to one friend

in a circle of sixty, as many or

as few as the anthems – the line

:

so short that it has the poignancy

of life about it in a whole span

– and she chops/changes to suit.

__________

jupiter©Marie Marshall

 

107

107

©Marie Marshall. Like anyone else would own up to it!

jupiter

106

106

©Marie Marshall, not that you’d notice.

jupiter