John M. Marshall Poems

Within the sun and cloud shaped halls
of ancient, sculptured windswept walls
you were waiting
for me to find you.
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A night with black clouds, eminent, foreboding;
a wind filled with snow and arrows of ice
through which flew on massive wings
the Silver Bridge cryptid with ruby-red eyes.
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The black wolf howls
as dusk prowls among the shadows.
Freed from the stones of ancient altars
his haunting song drifts above the willows.
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When asked we speak in chromatic tongues,
polytonal, quadraphonic, tetravalent, precise.
We think in ultraviolet. We dream in cyan.
Our names are endless and alphanumeric.
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The Vision of Delphica
(A Sibyl - one of the oracles of Apollo at Delphi, Greece – circa 600 B.C.)
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Time Machine

against a black sky
blacker than any coal
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Sky Pencil


So wistful within the spirits I call to the clouds before the light,
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The Red Street

(for Neda Agha Soltan)
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The telephone rang beside my books;
I picked it up.
'Start walking, ' she said,
hanging up her phone.
...