White Dove

White Dove proffers Olive Branch in timely intervention;
peaceful coexistence on the table once again. Then
juggernauts and holy hats upon their pale horses
thunder in--asunder--hungry, over-zealous men.

Stinging insults decimate the delicate alliance,
consequential dialogue in dumbshow disarray;
wounded rage runs rampant, exposing cryptic messages
borne of hate and avarice. White Dove flies away.

The blackened blue ablaze with apocalyptic symbols,
Armageddon bubbles underneath the bloodied waters.
Voices pierce the darkened sky, "You must stop the madness!
Please come back and try again. Save our sons and daughters."

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White Dove hears the mothers' pleas, observes the scene below.
Has the folly gone too far to keep the End at bay?
Brilliant flash! Silent night! Olive Branch in ashes...
Powerless, the Dove of Peace looks down on Judgment Day.

All Rights Reserved
White Dove, copyright 2008, Jackie Marx

Change. Can You Feel It?

Author with epiphanies
bold beliefs, a burning need
embarks upon a noble mission...
can the chronicler succeed?

Dipping quill in holy water
feelings bleed upon the page
strong opinions bubble over
leather binds them for the Age

Cycle does a turn around
joy abandons writer's heart
'progress' races unrelenting
tearing status quo apart

Desecrating Bill of Rights
freedoms heaped upon the pyre
Founding Fathers' words subverted

First Amendment in the fire

Tabula rasa, that's my brain
as the deadline looms...
eleventh hour panic,
frantic for a spark.

Pen poised on the naked page...ah
yes, I see the light!
Story finished right on time,
rescued by my muse.

The Dream

Sightless tightrope walker, suicidal impetus

teeters over shark tank on the slipp'ry wire,

free falls into trolling teeth, making scarlet splashes

Sifting through the seaweed, hopeful, rediscovered

floating in a wonder tub of effervescent tingles

bathed in honey bubbles sent from seventh heaven

I have been studying Cubism (1907-1919). Objects are broken up, analyzed and reassembled in abstract form. The object is depicted from many viewpoints. There were three branches of Cubism. Pablo Picasso was one of the founders.

This poem was prompted by Picasso's The Dream.

Will You?

Will you mourn when I leave this world--smile unhinged,
veneer cracking, crashing to the white, Lysol-scented linoleum?

Will you miss the sleepless nights, the thrashing turmoil ...
that dreaded phone call giving you the final update?

Will you conjure me hopeful and blushing, veiled in white,
or pained and pale in my pink polka-dotted shroud?

Will you thirst for me after I'm gone, your heart parched in the night,
or will you drink deeply from the well before I am dust?

"Will you remember me?" I whisper. Tears stain your cheeks
as you take hold of my wasted hand, reading my mind.

"I will love you forever," are the final words I hear
as I close my eyes for the last time. I smile, knowing you will.

Phoenix Sky

Rising Phoenix morning sky
found its way to camera eye
captured now for all of time
subject of my latest rhyme

Wild Ride

Bumper car careening
little time to stop the skid,
knuckles white upon the wheel
heart thumping in my chest.

Escape a distant fantasy,
what else can I believe
with friction sparks exploding
right underneath my seat?

In one fantastic motion
the car screeches to a stop
just before it hits the wall...
I smile and thank the Lord

The Escape

Little time to make a move

stop my world from spinning upside-down,

my hands reach out

in one fantastic motion

I escape, my heart intact

as friction finds me lacking

I believe in fantasy

and distant, smiling moonbeams

Just the Way Things Are...as it Turns Out

You're born alone...you die alone...

Heard that somewhere.

On Velvet Feet

Wicked, on velvet feet
flashes pearly whites
welcomed in for scones and tea
demolishes the china

Naani Poetry Form: Naani means an expression of one and all.
It is one of Indian’s most popular Telugu poems, consisting of 4 lines.
The lines total must be between 20 and 25 syllables. The poem is not bound to a particular subject.

On Second Glance...

looking down upon what was
I see it all
every last bit of my life
and realize
finally
that it was good
so blindingly glorious
that I never saw it
never found it so
until now
on second glance

Mother Mars

Please watch the youtube version of my poem, Mother Mars (also found at this blog).

Happy Independence Day, 2009. Let's keep it that way.

Starlet

Starlet settles in the West,

west of where she left her past.

Past performance covered up;

up 'til now she's pulled it off!

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Off and on the cameras flash;

flash in pan, kliegs light the truth.

Truth? A silent casting call.

Call collect. Go home, starlet.

Aural Tapestry

Yin and yang entwine

in the fabric of my day

aural tapestry

unfolding panorama

glimpses of Eternal Life

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This poem is an example of the tanka form: 5/7/5/7/7

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Aural Tapestry copyright 2009, Jackie Marx
Photo copyright 2008, Jackie Marx
All Rights Reserved