Archive for September, 2013


much was in the way
walls of pain masked the true you
your death made me love

undone of mundane
features in rest emerging
your new pyjamas


What died inside of me and comes alive in darkness
I fear the most as through its eyes
I saw the curtains be tormented faces,
the child died in my arms
when it did not that time, the cutting knife.

It’s memories of waiting in a place of mud,
a blanket all around me and a mother figure,
but I have never been there
still I feel and smell the nearness of our death,
more real than I could have imagined.

Although I think that chemicals have killed the demon,
the therapist who yawned a lot
extorted it with reason, I know it’s there.
Its offspring waits.
It can not be aborted. It got eternal life.


Now I am talking to a coffee mug at 5 am,
thinking of the night before.
Nights have ways to make things worse.
But reality came just in time
for some overdue adjustments. An early rise.

Often good ideas join the dark of night.
These days I tell them to get lost, I need my sleep.
They take their attaché-cases and turn their backs at me,
I hope to memorize some of their truth
but can’t be bothered now to lift a pen.

Today I shall not try to be
a better soul, only a coffeedrinker
who worries about rain and disappearing socks
and why it is that all you do when I am dozing off
is going for a p and wake me up to say so.


If your mind falls apart again
in shattered figments of a wine drenched eve,
keep your head up well.
Do not drown in the toilet bowl. Not yet.
This too will pass like kidney stones.
Bereave your hangover of untrue memories
by drinking water from the tap. Get sober.

We have been there my friend,
we all have met each other
in the gap where you have been,
between the party flavoured fantasy
and the taste of moulded paper in the morning.
It’s where the truth lies buried
and guilt hides under cork.


The latest of the mist that lingers tells me there’s a moon,
but otherwise the morning waits.
Some crows are sleeping in the dead tree up the dune.
I see them shiver in the damp. Wars start like that
and horror movies.
Our laundry hangs forgotten on the line, the clothes still soaked.
A spider made a web
between your dark blue boxershorts and the wooden table.
This is my world. I breath in Autumn air.
Old air, old earth, of moss and mould.
The crows awake, their screams are nails scratching a chalkboard.
Above me lies the lid of leaden sky.
The day repeats itself and I am still amazed.


The cold and silenced grey of Autumn never liked me,
it throws bitter glimpses at me from behind the dying trees.
All over Autumn’s face mortality is written,
my make-believe of going on forever and forever young!
stumbles crippled in the wood to hide in a deserted hole.
A mist outcasts me from all colours, I feel locked in
and hated throughout Winter. This is no illusion but the truth
and will be so until the light of April comes my way.

A little review: “I am not a fish” – Poetry by Marie Marshall


“I am not a fish,” says Lazarus Jackson. His pseudonym is Mr. Coelacanth.

“The Coelacanth (pronounced “seel-uh-canth”) (Latimeria chalumnae) is often considered the ultimate fish in the Nintendo ‘Animal Crossing’ series. It is worth 15,000 Bells and can be found only when it is raining or snowing and in the ocean at certain times of the day. It is extremely elusive. As in real life, the Coelacanth can only be caught late at night or early in the morning.” (wiki)

In ‘I Am Not a Fish’, through the wonderful poetry of Marie Marshall, we see how Mr. Coelacanth’s mind works. There is also Beatrice the Rat and others.
Marie uses words that intrigue, make you want to know more and draw you into a world of surprising thoughts. 🙂

Thanks Diane for helping with my grammar 🙂

I am not a Fish – Amazon

Overstepsbooks I am not a fish

Free gift

What to give you
as the word moon is already taken
by more romantic souls than me,
abused a lot and worn out;
flowers die too soon to linger as a gesture,
while all the feathers of a bird
won’t make a bird, and birds
should just be free.
I’ve entered the bookstore
and realised I don’t know the books you like
as much as I thought I did.

Will it mean some,
as I bring you no such presents:
I manage a thought of you in murmuration,
scattered moments such as we have shared,
sound of thousand wings across the sea,
while no spoken word of mine, no words
can find you, or be heard
in spite of my affection.
Maybe I should give you bread,
something to eat, to emphasize
that nothing is here to last forever.

Should we wait then,
as we both don’t know how to move
out of our bird shitted fortresses
well made from the sand grains that blew over from sea,
solid for unpractical dreams
since all the feathers of a bird
won’t make a bird. Still words
won’t cost me much, are free.
I have decided you don’t need
anymore possessions. If you want love,
it’s all that I can manage.

What we share

Between the common features that we share
and our uniqueness is no border;
I find you differently in any order of my mind,
there is no box in which to place you
though I’m aware that you and I are much alike.

I saw you sip your coffee carefully as I sip mine.
Like me, too often did you burn yourself in eagerness.
Between the common features that we share -a frown, a line- ,
is what I know so well of you and maybe you of me.
It’s there we might continue our voyage to each other.

To leap an abyss

An abyss on either side of me
I stand and wait for senses to return.
It’s dark and every step I take
means falling back. The crumbling road
behind me is already overgrown with
strings of ivy that won’t let me go,
and purple toads are watching in the shades.
I have no choice. I take the leap
and I shall do so every day
until I am where I can rest. Where I am me.

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