Intended In My Now

 

I’ll consider me to infinite…and
no longer margin think with news’
heart break despair…sensed Higgs
Boson sparking nebulous on my
event horizon about each cataclysm
in a hurting danger nether-worlding
far beyond my now intent.

I’ll fold ticking seconds into miracles
of sensing the immediate of eating
apple pie and listening to Bach and
gazing on my beloved who slumbers
on a couch oblivious to me, and words
I write about him to wash across a page.

I’ll charge me not to worry my impulses
for living of a life of infinite variety sensed
nebulous and instant into a moment’s
presence on event horizons imminent…
intended in my now.

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by Allen Keating

naked naked nude

he knew…diebenkorn…the artist…
about women…naked…naked…nude
look…look…look at them…indifferent
their angles linear he captured with his pen
and he blanked faces…slouched indifferent
their bones…gazed them toward horizons
his…(mostly males paint nudes…do they not…)
women are who was handy…possibly his wife…
he knew all her edges…best
although…
cassatt…female…knowing of the few
painted breasted mothers under clothes
their children not quite cherubim…
their daughters not quite vir-gin-al
of course…
o’keeffe…got crafty with her sex…
mostly one trick vagina flowers
there…in her goddess desert…
she caught at the heart of things

 

Bonnie Marshall
Artwork by Richard Diebenkorn
“Seated Nude, 1965”

 

Whispers In the Fine Print

 

1.

Always… it comes down to
how badly we could be hurt
by whispers in the fine print.

2.

What the hell…
we balance bright promise,
pain ease, smile…to brush away
side effects possible dire…grim
repercussions for a now relief.

3.

Deus ex machina…
–ex. Snow coughed up coma
apple when her coffin bearer tripped–
can’t be trusted, for we’re on our own.
–ex. Dorothy looked behind curtains,
Gretel baked a raving cannibal…and
Cinderella…for a warning… pigeon
blinded her bloody footed sisters
against their duplicity.

4.

Happily ever after…nebulous it
drifts…sleeps…dreams within us.
Mirror, mirror on the wall
who’s the fairest we can be
with one weird trick…the secret they
always they…those gods whispering
in machinery…want us to know
might cost us in the fine print.

 

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by theycallmeteddy

 

we argue silently

 

my self and I are out again;
we argue silently…and
if anyone is watching us
they’ll nothing angry see

no blush-ed face, no tightened lips
betray our inner din…no deepened
sighs, nor teary eyes betray our
out of sync within

complexity…time’s rusting of a life…
erodes us…ravels us at seams, as self
warps ever more from me, and sane
psyche…merely…drifts…in dreams

then simplicity…implicit in annealing
power of poetry and of music sculpture art…
heals the raveling of my soul, seals the rifting
and the sifting of essential self to me…to be
again graced blessed and myself whole

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by Jon B. Paulsen

brio day

 

 

brio mornings are sun steamed rooftops
infused coffee burn-ed toast-ed dash
encumbrance-ed in numb thaw rash
of blur into a crisp of cold

brio afternoons are a cricket chirping
in a bamboo cage on a sill while papers
rustle bustle on a desk and words are
brittle sliced

brio evenings are shadow harmonies
struck fragrant on green musked lawn
of fresh cut grass and damp warm-ed
earth-ed heliotrope and closing dandelions

and brio nights…and brio nights… are
crushed vermillion velvet careless bed-ed
sparkled tiger eyes watching in the room

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by Richard Diebenkorn