I would say… oh, my friend
where’s your passion…
I would say… oh, my friend
where’s your risking…of
fortune and muscle and time
for the warnings are there
outside windows… and the
signage is there on your street
at your gate…on your steps;
hear the throwing of dice
at your wall…hear their rattle
of bones at your door
hear…
the cadence of marching
the clanging of symbols
the striking of bells in the air
Bonnie Marshall
Art by Shane Cotton
in Africa…
acacia slake the heat
into shadow pools
across savanna where
night stitches tighten dusk
and lion prides stalk and
dash and thrash blood lust
to feed fight breed their
needing not to starve
no guilt…simple
nothing trinity
imagine now…drone
predators…imagine
metallic lions…tigers
stalking…preying
from the sky
programmed tightly
with philosophy… and
needing not to feel
Bonnie Marshall
Art by Henri Rousseau
they sent children to wash windows
with vinegar and Thursday’s war news
small print columned row on row on row
and bunched to grayness in thin smallish hands,
mere time sop meant to numb bomb blasted hours
and fill hungry listlessness with acrid cider smell,
all blent with carbon infused ink and city smolder
inside out and outside in…glass panes they rubbed
to glistening…watched migratory wild geese fly arrows
across smoke smudged sky…watched steam hover
gray stink of cabbage soup boiling on a stove
until one day…glass shattered on the walk
beside the living room…and parents gravely
oh…so gravely, hung gas masks on necks of
their bare kneed innocents and dressed them
as for church…wool hats and coats for the exodus
long hours behind train glass windows and open
sashed trams to a country place
inside one such transport…as if on cue
children reached their arms through apertures
each side in unison waved one two one two
up down up down…as no longer framed
and ledged they future flew
Bonnie Marshall
Artwork by Elle McKay
Proem... 
You must be logged in to post a comment.