soul I tear

 

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

sky pilots

 

where alpine oxygen is scarce
blue phlox taproots through the talus
for nourishment… a bare existence;
the air is iced and once ached my breathing
of the urine stink of dense flower bloom
no matter…its common name is sky pilot

and chaplains who pray over airmen flying
frightened into battle are tagged…the same
along with  those…you’ll have stars in your crown
pie in the sky holy men preaching more in poverty

and Greek sophists…if ever there were sky pilots
rarefied…planting pure idea…insinuating soul seed
piercing blue sky fancy through rifts in adamantine…
oh…implications of a nothingness chill me to the bone

 

Bonnie Marshall

Painting by Marc Chagall
“Le Ciel Bleu”

nine and twenty abalone

 

the Pacific is angry after storms,

spits its vehemence upon a beach

I scry for transcendental relevance

 

fool am I to want the reassurance

of a chambered Nautilus…oh, my soul

to find meaning in the glow of sea glass

 

I watch children scavenge tidals for detritus,

pocket sandy bi-valve clams…all life dissolved;

think their skeletons are treasure…none

 

why then…do I nail upon a yard fence

nine and twenty abalone…grayed…barnacled

rainbow radiance diminished…there

 

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by Ray Ortner