in the margin

she forgot she’d written mind melt
…only it wasn’t that prim…
in the textbook’s margin
for Walt Whitman’s poem
“Crossing Brooklyn Ferry”
she’d flashed that page
on a classroom screen
tenth graders…
got their attention
and a parent’s call

she wrote on all her books…
ones she paid for…ones she kept
ones she hoped someone
would find some day…
interpret her handwriting,
read some comments
from the margins of her mind
engage enough to disagree
or think…right on…you nailed it girl
make that connection
mind melt…time and space

bonnie marshall

Bruegel Games

What did they say to the children?
Go to the town square and play !
Oh, glorious riot of clamorous din,
of jostle and swearing,
and singing and shouting…
they race and they leap-frog,
twirl dizzy and stumble,
eyes shining…cheeks blushed.
Bring on the rough…
and bring on the tumble!

Yet there are spaces
for reflecting calm…
solitary children,
complete in happiness,
study bird wings
sculpt red clay
fly rag kites
blow a pale balloon
from the bladder of a pig.

I lose my self in paintings,
especially this one by Bruegel,
…enter whole within the moment
and leave its childhood…reluctantly.

Bonnie Marshall
Go ahead dear Reader…join the games. Which child would you be?  The Wikipedia site…below…shows details from the painting.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children%27s_Games_(Bruegel)

Such thoughts there are…

Such thoughts there are
that lull my mind
to blissful witlessness…
like the time a camper said,
“Jesus is like a floor lamp.”
Made sense at the time…
deep forest…campfire talk.
“Go on.”
“Plugged into God like no one else
…has no on/off switch.”
Wood settled. Smoke and sparks.
“What about the time…”
There were dissertations.
I gazed at distant constellations
and fell asleep and dreamed
of crystal chandeliers.

Bonnie Marshall

tipping places

like the first sip of a Napa cabernet
that slips along the taste
velvet cherry berry sauvignon
held…then advanced to the blood
for lightening in the brain

like Tilson-Thomas leads
an orchestra…he knows how
to gather feelings in his hands
shape space between moments
soar with strings…lull with violas
pare flutes…slide arpeggios of cellos
then last note…hush…applause

tastings and…finales
that was this…now it’s that
the wine…the symphony
transporters…tipping places

bonnie marshall