Prophesy (POEM)

Prophesy

And it happened one day that,
As I was walking alone in the deep woods
The time arrived that had been awaiting my arrival
And the sun melted the last from my skin
And I stopped
And a single tear tickled my cheek
And I looked up and beheld mother earth
Beholding me with her warmth
And I looked down at the sky
And laughed with my grandfather
And the river called the name I gave myself
After that time that the rocks had regarded me
And a single doe glanced my way
And a badger took his stories back
Above the top of the ground
Back under, and into the earth.

I saw my toes grow into roots
And my hands into leaves
That sucked in the new sunlight
Filtered through blessings
Far into the violet daylight
Past years, eons, moments
Through molecules of time
Breathing in Creator
Breathing in rain
Taking from
And then
Giving back
Simple
Life.

--Eric Marley
June 2012

Trail, For April - (Prose)

Trail

I am a muddy trail

Not sloppy mud

Just moist

Impressionable

Her sneaker dented me

And the sun dried me

And I sat there

No longer smooth

With her footprints

In me

Helpless

You,

Wind that wends

Unwinds, undoes

Makes mud crumbly until,

Over sweet time,

Molecules meander

Just wander away

Hastened by you

Summer zephyr

Redeeming breeze

So now

Her footprints are barely visible

Dust blown away

Dis-remembered

My trail, my self

Now feels clean again

Safe from imprints

For wind leaves none

Ready for autumn

And the kiss of sweet rain...

--Eric Marley

June 2012

The Interview - (Short Story / Soapbox)

The Interview

I stood in front of eleven of the strangest looking people I’d ever seen. Several eyes too many. Mouths on their chests. No hair anywhere. And not a smile in the house.

The remains of what looked like about two dozen deceased humans lay in pieces here and there. Blood was everywhere. A stupid quote from a Jim Carrey movie crossed my mind, and I smiled. But as soon as it did, I forgot it. Such was the state of my mind in those days.

The Things (as their kind had come to be known) sat behind the table, staring. Amazing that they could talk with their tongues like that, but the small one said in perfect English with a strong Australian accent, “And what is YOUR explanation for what has been going on here, on this ridiculous planet?” It seemed implied that I had better impress them with an answer or I would be summarily disemboweled like the bodies around me.

I was too nervous to stutter, actually. Another Jim Carrey quote crossed my mind and I remember smiling as I spoke the words that would save my life.

“They started it.”

I guess they had been expecting something else; a type of response they hadn't liked before, evidenced by the carnage all around me. The Things stared, and then looked at one another incredulously. One of them opened its mouth to speak and then closed it again, literally speechless. Two of them began to stand, presumably to come to me to do whatever they had done to the people that they had interviewed before me. I stood where I was, unafraid. Whatever they were going to do was no worse than what I’d been through before the Things arrived. It had been a long couple years.

It was then that the Small One (who had, dare I say, feminine features) started to chuckle. The others all looked at “her”, and one by one, also started to chuckle. They did this in a way that I found completely unnerving; like I used to feel when birds would fly too close to my head, when there were actually birds in the world, before the Great Extinction.

“Now, I’m nervous,” I thought to myself, with a sense of doom.

They kept chuckling, making a sound almost like chickens.

They chuckled some more.

After they were done chuckling, they started, you know, chuckling. All the while, they looked at me. One of them drooled into his cavernous navel that was situated next to his third arm. 

“Mr. Marley,” the Small One started abruptly as the others ceased their inane cackle, “we have been here on your planet disguised as humans for over a dozen years. We watched you from our aircraft for thousands before that. By the time we finally decided it was time to come out of disguise and take over this place two years ago, you had nearly annihilated one another. Wars were constant. Famine rampant. Your elderly died poor and alone, and your young squandered their youth and health on entertainment. Your planet is polluted to the point that the bulk of the life that started on it has either become extinct or has had to adapt to be able to live in squalor. Your females grow breasts at age six due to poor diet, and your males are oversexed to the point that they are uneducated about anything but the procreative act, at which they fail miserably for lack of interest in the actual act, preferring fantasy. The one nation on earth that had a chance to do something remarkable had become just like all the others; ruled by those that could gain power by whatever means were at their disposal. Since humankind are generally governed by their own ethics above all, and since the human with the lower moral state will always have more tools for the obtaining of power than the one with ethics in a system such as this, eventually only those with low ethics were successful. This occurred until there were none of the original freedoms left, for unethical rulers always have the removal of the freedoms their subjects once enjoyed as their top priority. It makes them easier to rule.”

Small One looked at her colleagues, who looked back and opened their mouths large in agreement, as is their custom. She continued.

“So, when we ask, ‘what happened here,’ and you say, “They started it…”

Again with the chuckling. I swear it went on for 35 minutes as they stared at me with all those eyeballs. "Things", in general, have no appreciation for time. This may have gone on for hours if one of the severed legs that had been balanced precariously on a torso against a wall suddenly fell over. At this they all stopped, as if they simultaneously remembered something.

“Explain, please,” said the Small One, with a hint of impatience.

Another Jim Carrey quote. I swear. Something from The Mask, I think.

“What I meant was…well, I don’t know who started it. Well, kinda I do. You’re right, you know, about the powerful people. Looking back – and I used to really study this stuff – it seemed that really bad people took the things that all people love the most and figured out how to use it against the weaker ones. So you had, for instance, the institution of Religion using the natural love that people have of a Creator from the earliest stages of their lives, against them. So, a long time ago, maybe even before you guys started watching what was going on here, some bad people found out that they could use this love of Creator to rule over people. They made up lies that the people would believe, put it in books they called “sacred” and taught them as truth. They made them so believable! They mixed some truth in so they could fool even the smart ones of us: all this so that they could take away the freedoms of the people that believed the lies. Eventually, the people forgot most of their original freedoms and the religious rulers became very powerful. By the time the dark ages hit you had to be considered “righteous” to count for anything, to count as “human”. This was not only in America, but all over. While this sentiment ebbed and flowed, by the time you showed yourselves, it was pretty much the reigning philosophy among the "righteous" ones.

“Yes,” the Small One said, “we saw that happen. Continue.”

I paused, not really knowing what to say, but I knew I'd better say something. So I decided to talk about one of my own observations. “Well, the strange thing was what was considered ‘righteous’. Although the main guy in the holy book for the religion in America taught and lived Compassion very effectively, the ‘righteous’ taught that compassion had to be earned in order to be given. Not only by their God, but by themselves towards other people. So in the end, if it was determined that you were too different from the ‘righteous’ ones, you were simply out. You were outcast from their society. They didn’t want you polluting their ‘righteous’ children, or making them doubt their ‘righteous’ lives. In the end, if the outcasts, for instance, blocked a road with their bodies that was being used by their own country’s military to invade other countries, and take away the freedoms of people in foreign lands, the ‘righteous ones’ would get upset. They would make fun of the appearance of the outcasts, call them names, and even look on with satisfaction as they were beaten. Compassion went away. The question, “what would make them block that road like that?” was not asked any more by the ‘righteous’. It was assumed that only ‘unrighteousness’ would make the outcasts question the military. The same was true, of course, of their religion. To the ‘righteous’, even asking a question about the validity of a statement made by a religious leader was an act of spiritual treason, especially if it were not easily answerable, even though that’s what the main guy in the holy book the Americans carried did. He always asked questions of the corrupt or confused spiritual leaders in his own day, and in the end they destroyed him, just like the 'righteous' really wanted to do to the outcasts they saw, one way or another. In the end, it was all turned around. The outcasts, when they tried to preserve freedom, were called “traitors”. The ‘righteous’, when they tried to preserve the corrupt government in power, called themselves “patriots”. It wasn’t until just before you arrived that the outcasts refused to be ruled any longer and became true patriots and did what patriots always do - tried to take back the freedoms that people are born with; the right to love whom they want to, the right to choose their own government in a way that is not influenced by people with money or other types of power, the right to build their own lives without undue pressure from organizations – including the government and organized religion – in whatever way they want, the right to a planet that is not polluted. And that’s what started the final war, really. So when I say ‘they started it’, that’s what I meant.” 

The Small One opened her mouth wide and solemnly took off her hat with one of her ears. The others all did the same (except the one with the cigar, who seemed unsure of me still). They regarded me.

“You are free to go, dude,” was all she said. 

And I walked out into the silent world.     

Why? (Prose)

Why


"Why?", laughed she to I
A quizzical smile in her eye...
I took a breath
Closed my eyes
And replied...


"Because although Samson slew an army with the jawbone of an ass
Deliliah owned his;
Because Helen's face launched a thousand ships;
Because my testosterone, as scary and domineering as it looks,
Bows like a schoolboy to the royalty of your estrogen;
Because the last thing I expect to hear in my mind as my life leaves-
Is your voice, calling me home;
Because no matter how overcrowded this world can seem,
When you were not in my heart, I wandered it alone;
Because when a mountain stares back at me and asks for the password to ascend,
Your name is the answer it seeks;
Because I can live like a spartan in a cave, surrounded by rock,
But your presence in my life makes me want to make a rug of the bear
And keep a fire going, and let small things live;
Because your smile makes my breath stay home;
Because although I am stronger, you are wiser;
Because you can bear children;
Because I want to fight for you;
Because I want to stop fighting, because of you;
Because the confusion I feel in your presence
Feels like wisdom to me;
Because in my soul it is always winter, but your tulips push up through the snow;
Because there is nothing like a sunrise after a cold night-
And you are like that hope to me;
Because you don't let me forget that there is at least one person pulling for me;
Because I can take all my talents and make something nice for you (if you help);
Because I try harder when you're looking;
Because whether you know it or not,
You have what it takes to be the love of my life;
Because when my knees want to buckle at the sight of the onslaught,
Your flower in my pocket makes my fingers grip the club;
Because you don't apologize for being as beautiful as you can be;
Because you came here, in this moment, when I needed you most
After I had cried to the Universe for help 
And you heard  
And made it seem like it was my idea to find you
So I could still be a man."


"Oh", she smiled.

--Eric Marley

Raw (Poem)

Raw

I got in a fight with a girl

And she kicked my ass.

She took a bat to my ribs

And then she kicked me in the balls.

When I got up from the dirt,

She dumped me face-first into the rocks,

Drove her knee into the back of my neck,

Raked my skin with her nails

And punched me in the face,

Nearly closing both eyes.

From a headlock,

I cried, “Uncle!”

She said it wasn’t enough.

I said “Aunt, then!”

And she laughed.

But it was a cold, distant one.

Eventually she tired

And she went away.

The sun was low

So I got up

And limped home.

For two months I stayed indoors.

I slept on the couch as my bones

Knitted back together.

I ate chicken soup

Until my jaw worked again.

And then I ate fresh vegetables

And sat in the blessed sunshine

On my porch

For days.

Eventually I returned to the playground

Alone.

I saw you there,

And shyly smiled.

You smiled back.

You asked about my eyes,

Still slightly bruised.

But you didn’t laugh,

And you showed me your knee...

We played all day in that playground

And the sun sank low on the horizon.

Shyly, like a female wolf

Approaching an irresistible treat

You approached me

While I waited.

“What about the bandage on your elbow,” you asked.

“Doesn’t it need to come off?”

I nodded solemnly

Because I knew it did

And that it would hurt to remove it.

But it was You

And the day had been

So nice

So I let you try.

“This is how you do it,” you said.

“Fast.”

I closed my eyes while you pulled hard

And I sucked in air against the sting.

The bandage fell to the ground

And you ran away into the approaching night.

I stood and watched your sweet figure disappear

Alone

Fresh blood dripping

From a new, old wound

Onto the warm, dusty earth.

--Eric Marley

January 2012

Geoff's Station

I wrote this just before, months barely, I read an article in a magazine (National Geo Adventure) that changed my life. I was about to awaken. I didn't know it cognitively, but my soul did, and it was stoked!

Geoff’s Station

The sun beat translucent light into the room where Geoff still slept, snoring. How long he had been there was anyone’s guess, but since he had arrived he had done nothing but sleep; sound, solemn, deep sleep.  

Time passed, and he finally stirred.

“Ah,” he said as he stretched his back. He blinked his eyes and a weary smile crept across his face.  The smile faded almost as quickly as it had started and his eyes closed and his breathing deepened once again.

Later, Geoff’s eyes sprung open, as if he had been jabbed in the backside. He did not move, but lay there in his bed.

“Oh, I wish I could go back to sleep,” he thought to himself in his groggy mind.

Just the memory of the rest he had just experienced brought a dimming smile to his face. But Geoff could not now go back to sleep; he was certainly awake. He shifted back and forth in his bed, but it was as if it had grown too small for him. His covers were apparently tucked in too tightly in the edges, and he swore softly as he struggled to be free of their suffocating embrace. 

“Come on…what the…” as he struggled to get one of his arms free, which he couldn’t do. 

Geoff stopped struggling for a moment, panting. The covers held him tightly as before. Feelings of claustrophobia swept over him, but he batted them away.

Geoff looked up to the ceiling, which seemed now much closer than it should be. It showed a steady dim glow from no source in particular. It was as if the whole room was made of thick paper. Oddly, no point of the room was brighter or darker than the other. Also, he noticed, the covers on his bed were the same color as the walls. The room was monochromatic. 

“Some decorator,” Geoff thought to himself. “At least the bed is comfortable. Or was,” he thought wistfully. 

Geoff tried a half-dozen more times to free an arm, either arm, from the bed’s grip with the same result. He lay back in bed, resigned for the moment, panting. His mind raced. He felt bound and he began to panic. This time he was unable to brush is feelings away.

“This must be what it’s like to be in a straitjacket! I have to get out of here. This is too much. I can’t handle this any more!”

He had an idea.  He would bang his head on the ceiling, which was now right in front of his face. He couldn’t move his arms, but his head and neck were free enough. He could move his neck, flex it backwards as far as the bed would allow, and then fling it upwards to bounce his forehead off the ceiling, which seemed to be getting lower all the time.  This he did. The result, at first, was familiar. However, as he was in the act of flinging his head upwards with his might, to his surprise, his right arm broke partially loose of the covers.

His struggles against the ceiling ceased for the moment as he concentrated on freeing his right arm, which he did.

A look of relief spread over his face. He now felt he could get more leverage. Alas, he was wrong.  The room was so tight against him now that he could not get his arm up in front of his face in such a way as to be able to push with very much force.

“Ah!” he yelled, and banged his head with all his might against the ceiling.

To his terror, a crack appeared. It wasn’t the fact that there was a crack in the ceiling that caused the terror. It was the light that came in which was hard and blinding.  Although he had been breathing hard from anxiety and exertion of the situation, he now held his breath as he closed his eyes tight. But the light seemed bright even through his eyelids. After a while, when the surprise and pain of the light subsided, he was able to think clearly and look at the crack through squinted eyes. He could see nothing beyond the fissure; the light that came in prevented it.

Geoff lay in his bed, breathing almost normally once again. The light beat down into his eyes and onto his forehead, maddeningly. A small bead of sweat started at his hairline and coursed into one of his squinted eyes, stinging. Geoff fought off another wave of panic, but his conclusion was the same.

“I have to get out of here,” he thought, “Why would this happen to me? What did I do?” He had these thoughts even though he was afraid of the light, as bright as it was.  He had never experienced anything so bright. In the end, however, his fear of staying in the tight bed and room overcame his fear of any light. He resolved to get out of there, no matter what.

With that, he made another frantic push with his head against the ceiling. To his surprise, his whole face stuck up through the ceiling, framed.

“What in the world?”

The fact that his head was held up in the ceiling gave his right arm just enough room from below his body and he gave a tremendous shove against it. This tore away a large chunk of it. His head, right arm and shoulder were now out of the confining space. His arm held him up as he surveyed his surroundings, his eyes adjusting for the first time. He could feel his left arm free the last of it’s restraint from below, helping to support him.

Geoff couldn’t believe what he saw. As monochromatic as his room had been, this world was not. Colors he could not even comprehend now massaged his senses.  He stared, gape-mouthed, at his surroundings. 

“I can’t believe I ever wanted to go back to sleep!” he exclaimed joyously.  “I’ll never sleep again!”

Green grass, white-tipped mountains, blue sky, brown soil, dark woods and an azure ocean were all within Geoff’s line of sight. He took a deep breath of the warm air and smelled ripe fruit mixed with an oceanic breeze, welling up to the top of the hill where he was. He was home.

His gestation now complete, Geoff smiled broadly and with a final, mighty shove pushed away the outer shell of the egg, freeing himself completely.

--Eric T. Marley

February 2006

Dirigible - Poemrosestoryofshortnessbutkinddalong

Dirigible

Sometimes

Sometimes I

Sometimes I feel

Sometimes I feel like one of those

Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade

Balloon People.

Not the people.

The Balloons. 

You know what I’m talking about?

They’re those balloons that are Beings

Being towed along by people on the ground.

The people on the ground are not really paying attention.

They were at first, like

When we first got put up there,

We Balloon-People.

It was all,

“Did you get the right amount of gas in her, Hank?”

And

“Wow, that one’s huge!”

And

“The kids LOVE this one!”

They say this

While they’re looking

While they’re looking up.

While they’re looking up at me.

Then their eyes go level

And what’s left of me

To them

Is a rope

And a responsibility.

“The Mayor is gonna want to check this one out

Personally, Mark. His daughter designed it.”

And

“Hey get that idiot out of here, he’s drunk!”

And

“Can we get this started, already?”

“The thrill is goooonnnne”

Is what BB King would groan.

I’m still up here

But my handlers never look up.

Not really.

I just float,

Away from the

Chattering

Smiling

People. 

I have a smile painted on my face.
The smiling face of a cartoon character.

I float along

Looking at the crowd

Looking at you.

Our eyes meet.

You are laughing

There

There in the crowd

There in the crowd at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

But I am not smiling.

Not really.

The face on my face

Is not mine.

People think hot air is hot

But it’s really not.

It’s only hot enough

To keep me away

To keep me at bay

Apart and separate

From the earth-

But air is really cold

As far as guts go.

And where all the people are

Is where I want to be.

And they feel secure

That I am up here

Floating and smiling

When all I want to be

Is Down There.

I want to be filled with something warm

Like real guts

Like love

Like care

Like hope

Like smiling

Like you.

I want to be in the crowd

But

I am here

I am up here

I am up here apart

From where I once was

Not a part of you any more

And I am held by ropes

Ropes that are not smooth

And I strain against them.

The ropes keep me up

And I hate them.

And the people love

What the ropes do-

But they love me, too

They say.

The people on the ground

Are satisfied

To see me at a distance -

Up, with my happy smile painted

On my bereaved face

As I float,

Within sight

In control,

But away.

Sometimes I think that maybe

The people

The people on the ground

The people on the ground that are smiling

Are like me

Dirigibles

With smiles painted on

Being held by ropes

Away from the people

And places

And things they love

In and on the earth.

Are they cold inside?
And if they are

Do they know it?

--Eric Marley

February 2012