A continent we haven't yet worked out,
it may be barren, may contain high worth.
The more we learn, the greater grows our doubt.
A place of poison spiders, clot-red earth,
it's huge. Marseilles to Moscow isn't quite
the space which separates Penrith from Perth.
When first we meet it, promise glitters bright.
Its sun is strong, its vegetation lush ...
Harsh truth defeats analysis so trite.
This beauty is skin-deep. Sweet waters gush,
but only on its gaily-colored fringe.
Interiors are ominously hushed.
Just scratch the surface, there's an ocher tinge
which speaks of life extinguished. Dead rocks seethe
beneath cruel radiation. Reptiles cringe
in crevices. There's nothing here to breathe.
We took the Marseilles Road,
sunset streaking the bay,
drank lemon tea
while travelling friends
searched for cheap wine.
We are alone
exploring magnetic boundaries.,
hands stalking
a checkered tablecloth.
That night we translated
Spanish to French
with the prayers of our flesh.
Dawn arrived with gulls
and guilt.
Our shadowed eyes watch
the coach to Perpignan,
as it heads for a border
we have already crossed.
Curious about the origin of the universe back in the day
a French fry took a spin in a centrifuge in Marseilles
Decided to stay in until 2021
had himself a whole lot of fun
By 2021, that solanum tuberosum, by the sum of its parts, gave onlookers
quite a start
~ emerging more divergent than 'Napoleon Blownaparte'
I miss the open highway
I’m besotted with quick getaways.
What other sensation can compare
to pulling G’s with wind-whipped hair?
When my foots on the throttle,
I feel unstoppable.
Faster, faster, no faster,
that’s the rush I’m after.
Where are we going?
There’s just no knowing,
but no matter where we roam,
the GPS will get us home.
One thing was guaranteed,
the speed limit would be exceeded.
I adored the wide open straightaways
and the feeling of a racing-day at Marseilles.
I remember in the Appalachian mountains
the plunging, snake-like, winding canyons
as the digital dashboard display passed ninety
how my eschort, Charles, would glare at me.
I’d let off - a little - and laugh, I mean,
isn’t freedom the American dream?
To hear the growl of a V8 motor,
as it turns rural-roads into roller coasters.
Translated from the Slovakian
I enlisted with the god of second chances
Knowing my chances were second to none.
I surrendered my soul and my passport
When I entered my new life’s routine
In service to the colors of France.
I’d pledged my honor and fidelity,
Or whatever romantic sh*te was required,
When I’d earned my coveted ticket
For the train ride from Marseilles to Toulouse.
A sheep that's learned to fill itself on meat.
The training was tough, but the treatment humane.
Not like the nonsense portrayed in the movies.
But I was prepared to march or die
On the day I was given my name,
Vojak Bojovnik, Légion étrangère.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
DIEN BIEN PHU
Millie’s mother Mabel mended macrame
Mainly Marseilles-made macrame,
Maddening moments mending machine macrame
Mostly made-to-order, mostly May macrame.
Making May mostly made-to-order macrame means
Many months modifying Malaysian macrame, mostly!
written February 2, 2022
Death from above 1953
My uncle
Was seaman
Died in Marseilles
A pig on a balcony
Fell on him.
Mother said
He died at sea
When a mine
Struck his ship.
A likely explanation
That served
His widow well
When telling her
husband was
a hero.
We took the Marseilles road,
a cambered sun streaked the bay.
Lemon tea while others
search for cheap wine.
We are alone
exploring magnetic boundaries,
hands stalking a checkered tablecloth,
predict ourselves as a nocturn
far from other eyes.
Night, secret unfolding’s,
while we translate
the prayers of our flesh,
the tidal crests of our needs.
Dawn arrives with gulls
and guilt.
I catch the bus to Perpignan,
head for a border
that we know
we’ve already crossed.
Delete Fear and Dance
(Ode to Joy)
Many fear-mongers met at Marseilles!
To make sure all nations shook in dismay.
They used Covid for their piece de resistance display.
Schools, shops, towns all closed down.
A bunch of morons masked us, like idiot clowns.
We fools bought it all, and so now everyone frowns!
Sane people knew the score, they were not buying it anymore.
Tyrants were jailed behind doors, when people thankfully knew the score.
Grandparents are not left alone to rot.
We had enough of Fauci, masks, vaccines and elected snots.
People lived normally as before.
Masks became an international joke.
Just like those life killers from Marseilles~ top idiot pokes!
They even used Covid to ruin one national election?
But truth overcame, that mucked up idiotic, demented selection!
The Land of Dominion shall never be in the land of the free.
Health, happiness, hope was their pleasure and ultimate, joyful, destiny!
11/29/202O
2:45 am
We took the Marseilles road,
a cambered sun streaking the bay
with gold threads.
We drink lemon tea
while lovers and others
search for cheap wine.
We are alone at last, free
to explore our magnetic boundaries;
hands stalking hands
on a checkered tablecloth.
That night we translate
the prayers of our flesh,
surfing tidal crests.
Dawn arrives with gulls
and guilt.
I catch the bus to Perpignan,
head for a border
we have already crossed.
THE SLEEPERS AWAKE
For century or more they served
Unchanging paths they always kept
As in a dream the tracks preserved
With faith immovable they slept
One day as on a given sign
Their somnolence came to an end
They woke and each looked down the line
Thought: ‘Now’s the time to make amend’
The drivers were caught by surprise
(They never chose to left nor right)
And they could not believe their eyes
At unexpected views in sight
What should have been a vernal place
With nothing but some cows and sheep
Revealed a bustling teeming space
Of cars and people half asleep
Some passengers were due for shock
Arriving not in Waterloo
But disembarked at Pembroke Dock
Some stayed; (it was a nicer view)
Some thought they headed for train boats
To Marseilles Nice or yet Cadiz
But woke in sight of John O’Groats
Got off the train with shivering knees
These days of glorious free ride
Gave inspiration, passing strife
When they could choose and they decide
And thus perceive a truth of life
Then with a satisfaction deep
They resurrected each old line
And laid down there once more to sleep
Perhaps to wake another time
awake
look
listen,
today
is here:
lets
move
walk
run
towards
the future
not
looking
back
but
ahead
inspired by clip of Marseilles
At a corner cafe', in south central Marseilles,
While drinking imported Chablis
As people passed by, from the corner of my eye
Came a lady, she was smiling, at me
Well I looked around, feeling like a clown,
At the patrons, sitting nearby
They seemed to be lovers, talking to each other
I spun around, just in time, to say "hi"
"No parlez vous Englaise", was all she could say
So I stood up and pulled out a chair
But she walked up and hugged me, practically mugged me
Then kissed me like we were a pair
I shook myself loose, held up a deuce
For the waiter to bring her a glass
Then I sat back down, still looking around
Expecting to be rudely harassed
She had dark mousey hair, and oh what a pair
Of the sexiest dark brown eyes
I guessed her for thirty, obviously flirty
When the waiter finally arrived
He poured her some wine, she looked over at mine
Got up, started walking away
Then turning her head, In English she said
"Who the hell drinks imported in Marseilles"
by Daniel Turner
THE BIRTH OF MARSEILLE
This was the feast of a marriage decree,
first of his daughters to be,
but she must hide til the feasting was done,
before he'd let her pick one.
Gyptis, the daughter of Celt royalty,
her father reigned to the sea;
down on the beach he would offer her hand,
but who she chose was not planned.
He was a strange one from faraway tales
sailing on Aegean sails,
looking for somewhere he might not grow old
before his story is told.
His brother Simon, and Protis was he;
putting to Gaul from the sea,
came to the wedding where Gyptis would say
whom she would marry this day.
Protis was quick in requesting a share
of all the land he saw there,
and in his argueing, he was a stone,
like the king had never known.
From her seclusion she went to the shore,
gold for her suitors she wore,
egg-yolk and ashes to brighten her hair,
she counted all who were there.
Her father smiled when she offerred her hand,
"Protis, you've got your new land,
all of the world will remember this day
as the birth of Marseilles."
© ron wilson ARBUTHNOT
aka vee bdosa the doylestown Poet
????? ???
In the corner of the bookstore is a man playing dominoes
the crowd outside doesn't notice the confusion,
there is the sound of firecrackers and people turn
in all directions, the cameras searching for an answer
??????
no one will ever know the truth, it is well hidden
they will look for it in all the faded photographs
but it is a mystery to the world, that fatal day in November
some will say it is this, some will say it is that
the love, that inspired it
???? ??????
I say to the handwriting on the wall,
it was you all along,
anchoring away, marching through Marseilles
with your epaulets and caps on.
beauty in the eye of the beholder.
? ??????? ???? ??? ?????????
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