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I write on rice-paper. If necessary I can eat my words.

Category: poems

55

I

the revolution will be streamed live,
wheels will burn and ghosts return,
the town will be jocked and jokers

shocked, heads will come up like
hellebore bracts as the last Dodge
rolls off the assembly line, the tail

of a silver train; all talked-out with
the risen sun, hipsters tricked out with
fake numbers on their wrists will sleeve

their way to the city in bumper-buses;
bells will ring; breakfast will be served
on the terrace as usual; maids who

dolled-up yesterday will dock their
good fortune and pound an alien maize
with the corn-ring piazzas for a pestle,

asking whose hand rocks the world,
while people on a walk-by will find a
way to make their own music; yet

II

the revolution will be streamed live
to those who have the appropriate
technology to receive it; street-kids

in Rio will wake and only feel the
aftershock, but it will be enough to
make them laugh, disguise themselves

in plumage, and sing in the tongues
of angels, though purists think to hear
arias as they parade the boulevards to

paint chirurgeon strips on signpoles;
beaded beanies will sell out; the avenues
will look strange but you’ll not know

why until later; people behind the wave
will see patterns in the water; new;
brooms; sweeping; clean; backlogged

gates and desks and locks and boards
and cards and marks and doors and
walkways will give merry way to

III

the revolution will be narrated, a day
later they’ll think to send someone
with a microphone to the scene, but

there’ll be no yellow tape and no
atmosphere, only daze in the strange
avenues (later, later!) where bosuns

link arms; you’ll be thinking “paradigm
shift” but the term will have redefined
itself; actual words will march; advance;

retreat; retrench; oh the coloured shirts
pushed back against breasts and arms
by the breeze, read meaning into the

curlicues, make dollarsigns empty,
cup hands, draw lots, make starts, build
bridges, birth children, make sure in

the blind times to come, sure as wheat,
plain daylight, crowsure the timestamped
revolution has thus been narrated

__________
jupiterA retreat from the lyric, but not a retreat, more and advance in a different direction. ©Marie Marshall.

54

54

I deny that any of this is true. ©Marie Marshall

jupiter

53

53

Never mind what I say – what do you say? ©Marie Marshall

jupiter

52

52

You get the picture by now. ©Marie Marshall

jupiter

51

51

Still I persist with the canard of ©Marie Marshall.

jupiterOccasionally I get up to other things, such as, for example, adapting Child Ballads. Follow this link to see my ‘take’ on Child 44. Or click on Jupiter to see my main web site.

50

50

Freshly torn from the backroom. ©Marie Marshall

jupiter

49

49

Post-lyrical. ©Marie Marshall

jupiter

48

I

It is said that when the prophet
Mohammed, peace be unto him,
first received the revelation from

God, he feared he was going mad,
and it was his wife who reassured
him; also that he cut his sleeve

rather than disturb one sleeping
kitten; you, on the other hand, are
not responsible for the flowers;

“I live in a world of pretty horses,
tanglewoods and tangerines, bells,”
said the girl, a cry of sunshine;

Satan is not called the father of
lies because he is a liar, but because
he cannot lie; he reveals the truth

to us, and in awe of the truth we
can only lie; you, on the other hand,
find yams for blind, and petries;

II

“Peach, paygold,” moonlight gloss,
swirl of romany gesture, “Chances,
a raw test, persimmon, ambers, a;”

God created evil* in order to free
us, thus every day he suffers the
pains of childbirth; reason is a

good and faithful servant but a
tyrant king; last night a woman
dreamed of Jesus, as she lay on

a grey shore, wooden strakes
that were a boat thrust into the
sand, and she woke up a mother;

the two things are unconnected,
but her life became a posy, briefly,
until her butterfly child fled;

Day 1, an emperor resigns his crown,
gives it to the first man he meets;
Day 2 the crowned revolutionary

III

walks into air, meets two entities,
one with a blue face, the other with
an elephant’s head, thinks no more;

a wise woman says that when we
pray we bother ourselves and are
deaf to the voice of any deity; a

revolutionary woman refuses to
take a gun that has belonged to her
enemies from the hand of a donor

who kneels before her, saying that
to do so would be to dishonour
her dead comrades, and that the

act of offering shames the donor;
nevertheless the donor continues
to kneel and offer; the revolutionary

woman suffers a nosebleed,
gathering men around her, but
the donor continues to kneel.

__________

* Amos 3:6 “Shall there be evil in a city and the LORD hath not done it?”

jupiterThis poem was started as a project for International Women’s Day 2017, but grew into something else. It is markedly different in tone from my current crop, but it is what it is.
MM.

 

47

47

As the lyric slips further from you, what can you see from the new, clear vantage point? More relevant – what can you sing? ©Marie Marshall, but not as © as you are!

jupiter

46

46

A retreat from the lyric, but not a retreat, more an advance in a different direction. ©Marie Marshall

jupiterI don’t just do this, by the way, there’s all kinds of other stuff going on. For instance, recently I was asked to come up with some Dr. Who / Dr. Seuss mash-up poems, to be incorporated in ‘parade throws’ for Mardi Gras in New Orleans – yes, that’s how far I’m in demand! You can find them on the links below. And you can also click Jupiter to be taken to my web site.

Dr. Wheuss

Dr. Wheuss 2

Ood (more Dr, Wheuss)