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We’re so summer

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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.

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__________

©Marie Marshall

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Late May

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let-lie cinders

greying in my grate

while the birds sing

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__________

©Marie Marshall

Being kissed by Yvonne

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She’d sipped her blackcurrant juice

to make her mouth sweet for kissing me;

no one turned a hair; the geezer in the corner

chewed his stout and sighed at the air;

it’s always the halfpenny’s tar or the nail

that scuttles love, but right then the clock

was ticking and still had its run, still had

time to make its bloody murder of us.

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__________

An old poem of mine, ‘By Ballachulish Bridge’ is now on the StAnza Poetry Festival’s Poetry Map of Scotland site. It’s No. 303. Please visit.

©Marie Marshall

old posies

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old posies fill new spaces

fading as soon as made

old poesies for new faces

spring grass blade to blade

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__________

©Marie Marshall

spring

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cut the green stick

and spring bleeds

on the old wall

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__________

©Marie Marshall

equinox sunrise

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the new day gold

stakes its life against

those dark corners

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__________

©Marie Marshall

Inundation: Still in love with Veronica!

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When last St Mark’s Square was flooded,

you and I stood to our ankles, warm in lapped love,

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but now I’m past my neck, exhausted

from treading water, calling out to your ghost

to let me in God’s name leave; and as if by miracle

your voice, soft, calm, oh so irritating,

affectionate, says Mary, Mary, wood floats.

Sometimes I think I’m wrapping a heart of iron.

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__________

My ‘Veronica’ poems still keep coming, still keep saying something. I hope.

©Marie Marshall

Veronica and the dream house

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I offered to build Veronica a house,

she shook her head, told me to build her

one in my dreams; I made it in virtuality instead,

a modular thing, oh the empty echo. I recall

her last: I will my poverty to the streets.

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I wondered how many virtual homeless

I could shelter, my eyes old, my memory running,

rippling, youthful, endless water.

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__________

©Marie Marshall

that dull fire red

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that dull fire red dawn gendered f

we hand-in-hand barely able to see

each other smile close in the murk

will magic heal the new wound and

birth the good grey baby day

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__________

©Marie Marshall

Sea Lions

I don’t often reblog stuff.

LucentSea

fairest minds we see

waves rolling strong former she

surfacing the fight

flailing hard to breathe

drowning often unbelieved

neath a stilled glass sea

(c) Janni Styles

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