London Eye

london-eye-westminster-andrew-grant-kurts

 

loop a piece of sky into the London Eye;
suspend in a gondola upon a Ferris rim
and circumnavigate beside the River Thames

to arch above pale hidden schools
of gudgeon barbel pike carp dace…
mere boney things unfit for proper plate

they swarm their level…place;
they wheel and twist and tilt
held there…oblivious to future

horizon circumscribed…by less degree
my own…South Bank to North across the city
rooftops and Westminster…stern Big Ben

time…time
around…around
seconds…minutes…hours…years

the Ferris wheel takes on peels off
its riders without stopping…save for
infirm arthritic handicapped

beside the murky water
spindle tied….bicycle wheeled
and going nowhere

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by Andrew Grant Kurts
“Westminster through a London Eye”

dream docked Portland man

james-mcneill-whistler

I know a Portland man…
his salt pepper beard taps and shakes
upon his breast bone; dun trousers sag
enfold his shanks…are ragged hemmed;
with dimmed eyes he squints to calibrate
chill coastal skies

some time long past he plunder jousted trees
hewed pines and  hemlock  for a living;
on instinct now with street grimed hands
he strokes wood fences benches…searches for
the grain, caresses for the plane, encounters splinters

once virile muscles dwindle atrophy
diminish neck chest arm thigh shoulder;
once limber feet no longer spring his stride
on timber loam sod bedded deep within
a forest edged with sea storm drench
that steamed his manhood

today he vagrants oil tarred wharves
where freighter…ship…and liners rock;
he…soiled…fastened as he is with old
breathes in a rank dank ocean where
he will…dream docked…age locked
intrigue my memory

 

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by James McNeill Whistler

mead hall time of year

 

julian-beever-artist-fireplace

it’s a mead hall time of year with me
with cravings for smoked shadows
salt crystalled cod and clove mulled wine
crisp partridge and roast deer
the heart strong wild of bear…

for I must taste strong flavors
touch sweat from sharp stone walls
smooth splinters roughed in pine

drip tallow on my palm
watch dust motes drift in shafts of light
hear sighs of sea-born rain
gnaw shreds of happiness
from bones of memory.

Bonnie Marshall

Art by Julian Beever

soul I tear

dali-cadaques

 

these days my brain
is incessant solitaire…
it flips present moment
into bits and pieces
through a shuffled time

no matter…luck of the draw…
my flimsy card slip apprehension
plays sequential consequence of now
with all time wasted…scattered to a table
where a three dimensioned plane
is littered with distraction

oh…there is no damnation…none

somewhere beyond this sphere
that pulls upon me…holds me down
spreads immensity of space
where stars collapse and recombine
in chaos of a deep design
I cannot think to think

 

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by Salvador Dali

wilderness in women

balthasar-denner-woman

 

I’m old…
I can tell you this

women need wilderness
…especially when they’re young

for in wilderness they learn
not to trust old maps;
and they swim in icy streams
if bridges are washed down

in wilderness…
they hear honest sounds,
and know when nestlings
rasp for raw sustaining flesh
they hear healthiness…
not the noise of whining

and on the day they die
women raised in wilderness
sing to themselves…remembered
songs to float with them from
this world to the next

 

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork Balthazar Denner