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Best Poems Written by Marco Bing

Below are the all-time best Marco Bing poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Rugby Grass Roots

The grandstand is gelid by a sharp wintry breeze
Carried off from the field are the last of dead leaves
The shrill of the whistle, muffled calls from the crowd
From the tunnel stampede, metal studs echo loud.
With high, flick-tossing coin each Captain his reason
To kick-off with his mates a new rugby season.

The kicker announces starting ball high and long
And on lumbering wind sings a rugby man’s song.
Fifteen players below impatient stand waiting
Eyes fixed to the heavens, the ball falls rotating.
To arms of the hardest with sweetest possession
Grueling match has begun— the rugby obsession!

Steaming bodies in scrums, deep grunt of engagement
Weary boots grappling earth now frozen like pavement
By tackle-ruck-lineout, each man one-and-for-all
With a powerful push a try-bound rolling maul.
Players leaping for joy, heads of others hang low
Elation, deception such do rugby games go.

So Grand Final is here, a long winter has passed
The crowd and the speaker say it happened too fast;
Cut-throat right to the last; Wing, Second Row to Prop
A try, then conversion, to make every heart stop.
(Far left of the uprights flew last quiet ball spent
but with westerly drift over black dot she went!)

…

And with sweet summer grass blowing crisp in the sun
where butterflies frolic, spider webbing is spun
White sidelines are missing, fields all ripe, rich ‘n’ green
Rugby season has passed, but young spirits are keen
A rugby ball punted, a lone boy, polished boots
To play for his country, his dream built on grass roots.



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Alexandrine Poem in balanced six syllable cesurae for each 12 syllable line

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Birdie

Fly! White Bird o'Golf
To Green where by yonder Flag
'neath Pin is thy nest!

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Eagle

Strike! White Bird o'Prey
At flagged burrow wherein hides
two-under par Feast!

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Tears From 1914

Fallen boys with white crosses,
your nightmares now peaceful dreams.
Gone the shrapnel, the bullets,
trenches of blood crimson streams.

To earth, condemned, fears of men,
fertile ashes to brave dust.
Rouse from warm brotherly beds,
dear sirs remind us you must.

Listen! Trumpet now calling
by dawn soldier's silhouette.
Heed the Last Post of battle,
forever lest we forget.

Arise ye from deep slumber,
Unknown spirits of unseen.
Weep and we will wipe away
your tears from Nineteen Fourteen.




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(Syllabic' verse with end-rhyme, 14 syllables per line, 7 syllable caesura)
24/04/2014

Details | Marco Bing Poem

The Sunflower Mystery Part 2

Pixies in the fields
not fairies from the skies,
Turn sunflowers facing East
with well-trained fireflies!

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The Sunflower Mystery Part 1

We all have seen the sunflowers
turn their heads by day
But who has seen the fairies
turn them 'round the other way?

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Gray Smoke Nine Eleven

There's a New World
An anchor falls into the Hudson,
There's one half a moon
The Indians fall to their knees.
Red oak leaves are burning
High fly the ashes
Grey smoke signals of warning
Over Manhattan.
Gray smoke,
The drums were sounding loud.
Gray smoke signals of warning
Lost into the clouds...

Can you hear the Indians sing?

(CHORUS)
Brother Bear were you there
When those ships sailed into Manhattan?
Hey Brother were you there
When the White Men came?
Did you see it happen?
Hey you, look over there!
Now over the River
At the skyline of Manhattan
Were you, were you there
When the terror came?
Did you see it happen?


There's a New World
where shadows fall into the Hudson.
There's footprints on the moon
The people fall to their knees.
Red oak leaves are burning
Farewell Autumn ashes
Grey smoke in the morning
Covering Manhattan.
Grey smoke,
The sirens sounding loud.
Gray smoke signals of warning
Lost into the clouds.

Gray smoke
Nine, Eleven, Sixteen O Nine
Gray smoke signals of warning
Now Lost in Another time.

Can you hear the Indians sing?

(CHORUS)




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Lyrics by Marco BING, written for the song 'Gray Smoke'

Note from the author:
11 September, 1609. Aboard the Dutch Ship 'Half Moon'
Henry Hudson discovers Manhattan Island.
I imagine the local Indians at that time (The Lenape people)
watched in awe and amazement as the giant sails 
made their way up the Hudson river from the Atlantic;
perhaps lighting fires as warning signals to other tribes in the area.
Their lives would change forever from this day.
Then, 392 years later in the year 2001, the inhabitants of the area
once again watch on in disbelief as a different kind of ship appears over Manhattan...
Their lives would also be changed forever.

Peace to all
Marco

Details | Marco Bing Poem

La Cinque Terre

Waves crash down each day by day
As fishing boats dare make their way
The village square, by dawn, now quiet
as endless waves, with rocks, play riot

Then hustle and bustle, taunting streets
With men and boys from fishing fleets
Children scamper, scurrying, scream
While women weighing fish they clean

When midday sun offers no retreat
And cobblestones lie hushed with heat
Siesta silence creeps into town
Except where waves come crashing down

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I Am Alone

I am alone, venturing seven high seas
By Fjord and by Strait with the slightest of breeze
Searching horizons, to no such avail
Bountiful winds filling forever my sail
And dolphins weave waves in liquefied ease.

Beyond Venus and Mars the night stars appease
With rope and mast rolling in constant trapeze
As I watch stars fall in dusted gold trail
I am alone.

Then by reefs picturesque, by blue tinsel keys
My yacht kissed the coral, to sand she agrees
And here I lie shipwrecked, ‘neath palm and pine veil
I am one with my dream, I cry and I wail
I am alone.

Details | Marco Bing Poem

Autumn Ends

Burning leaves blowing
Through brown half-naked branches
Birds above fly South