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Karl Marszalowicz Poem
Summer comes and goes with this guy's timely presence
The kids chase after the van much as dogs after a cat
Elusive though he is, we swear to run him down
For a few simple dollars money does buy happiness
His age old chimes ring the friendly bells
A welcomed euphony however short it is
The reminder of oral ecstasy start kids pleading to their parents
For five dollars they can bring their daddy back one too!
Tantalizing tongues going around town with his music astir
Making us drool in the same Pavlovian way
A mid afternoon snack for the children so good
And a promise they'll eat spinach at five o'clock
Passed from the man in the white shirt and hat
To the children who stand on tippy toes for ice cream cones
As they struggle to reach over the table between the two
They count their blessings when it doesn't spill
Two scoops of heaven and celestial sounds
Traveling countless areas of interest
Even his portable freezer cannot keep
Our hearts from melting for him
Copyright © Karl Marszalowicz | Year Posted 2011
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Karl Marszalowicz Poem
"Looking Into the Mirror"
Sudden realizations iced up his core
To form the frozen image of a man
He who stared in reflected embarrassment
While sobering silence takes over the room
As this was not the person he was to become
But for childish dreams that stuck with him
Fantastic machinations that warped a man's mind
So he'd remain a child who never grew up
And had to face his parents on occasions
The adult to them is just on the exterior
Because he made a living selling his voice
Though in using it to say I'm sorry
His parents would have to wait
Just like the forever he has waited
To hear them say we love you for what you are
A child never grows too old
For their parents open arms
Copyright © Karl Marszalowicz | Year Posted 2011
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Karl Marszalowicz Poem
"The Folk Dance"
On the backs of well formed muscular miners
Working hard in the trenches on a daily basis
For the men who need coal, fat cats and such
Dirty, sweaty and tireless toil try to wear them down
Dehydration and soot inhalation runs rampant
An epidemic throughout lower Appalachia
The jobs they need, for their survival indeed
Their meager paychecks insist they must do it for the love
Ten to fourteen hour shifts and then they collapse on the bed
Six days of the week it's merciless work to anybody
Sunday comes and they can take a day of rest
A certain buzz going around electrifies every last person
Timing is just right to surprise the deserving workers
Since people have prepared to throw down a hoe down!
The good old fashioned type with the elongated dresses
In classic style with seemingly everybody statewide participating
With a do-se-do and an allemande left good country spirits spin uproariously
Twisting and turning to chanted rhythms on a hard packed dirt floor
Inhibitions are nowhere to be found amongst these family friendly folk
Arm in arm with strangers they know each other wants a fair time
Soon the energy starts rocking to the extended company outside
The hootenanny has grown too big for just one barn, they are tireless
"Well Shucks." says the fat cat "I don't work them hard enough!"
Watching from afar he fumbles with his pocket watch just a little miffed
A raucous good time for a genuinely good people
The orchestrator slows it down some and pulls out his granddaddy's autoharp
Relaxing to an old fashioned twang, the couples do their thing
Getting closer to each other rocking calmly to and fro
Feeling four minutes of tenderness with filled loving concentration
Because those seconds are the fleeting ones
Then the banjos bring the pace back up to complement rowdy fiddles
Moving and twirling, elation fills the air for a chance at remembering
Why they are alive for each other, ingenious in its simplicity
While Merriness is their motto
And not even the coal mines can make them forget that
Copyright © Karl Marszalowicz | Year Posted 2011
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Karl Marszalowicz Poem
"Marching Band"
Dapper dilettantes take over one hundred yards
Showing their feathers like a cockatoo on pointy shakos
Displaying their talents on grass they are anything but green
Ready to give resplendent resonance through beasts of golden brass
Popping percussive drumming getting drilled into them by a sergeant
Time and time again by so many rehearsals they know formations by heart
The time for sweat and tears is over, they are here to perform
Atten hut!
Impressing the crowd with baton twirling
Majorettes turn into marionettes as the sergeant pulls their strings
Compact formation now, the crowd will wait for hot dogs
Watching a half time special while they stand alert in place
About face!
Witnessing scintillating choreography with a one, two turn
The symbols get their chance to be rim shot participators
And the Grand Marshall leads the baton twirlers aside
For the color guard and their blinding high definition radiance
No one is out of phase and the scene is picture perfect
Then they dive into the scatter drill
Show their true talents with life, love and liberty to move where they want
Individual inspiration takes over each one to the ensemble
This is the real reason they are here, for happiness
They make way for the gymnasts while maintaining play
Who express their own interest in the spectacle of somatic arts
Triangles and fantastic figures on three people straddled high
Build in the crowd a new love for geometry
They have to give way though in good measure
To guns of glory and so many shots sent high in the air
Puffs of smoke are burst sky high, evaporating a salutary good bye
Thanks for watching
Copyright © Karl Marszalowicz | Year Posted 2011
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Karl Marszalowicz Poem
"Images"
The God that never was, puts one shoe on at a time
And spends four hours in the make-up room
Putting on mascara and eye liner for the darker look
Occult man of seemingly rebellious nature
Is deified by the masses that show up to performances
He, a man of strong portrayal even at a skinny 155 pounds
Grows stronger with every compact disc sold and the overuse of base
Blowing out of a sound system which rocks the car next to you
While you wait for the light to turn green
Abandoning social mores of quietness well into the night
The appeal grows everyday for a man really just making a living
Out of his fans age group they have no idea what he is
Whether the media builds him up or tears him down
As a good guy to hate and a bad boy at heart
Any press is good press, though infamy might be better for sales
Topping the charts and making parents sick of his songs
He is a beneficiary of childhood splurging and so inclined to be
The adults wish for a mere fifteen minutes of his fame
So their children would listen to them with the same respect
But who were they when listening to cassette tapes?
And the bands of the eighties put on make-up then
A man of mixed persuasion people are drawn to his ambiguity
The role model singing about jail time and Hennessey
A toughness to some is a weakness to others
It makes you wonder if the man knows who he is!
Whoever that is and for all it's worth
There will be more than enough of him to go around
In his image that is larger than life
Copyright © Karl Marszalowicz | Year Posted 2011
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Karl Marszalowicz Poem
"Dry Throat at the Water Cooler"
Particle after particle,
Riding out the sandy dunes
Wanting so much to nibble
on the grapevine
My wind pipes crack, from dry wit and gossip
All the witty remarks are scarce
Snatched up by others flushing out
fabrications Diverting attention
from themselves Drowning in their own
Egos
Arid of thought for fifteen minutes
It is hardly a break at all
So dry of talking coworker factoids
Will I have to swallow their moist
Derision.
Copyright © Karl Marszalowicz | Year Posted 2014
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Karl Marszalowicz Poem
Ice King
By Karl Marszalowicz
Null in the numbness
Defunct system collapsing
His blight in my hand
Abuses don't melt
Reliving a time of need
Cold words blistered me
Crying icicles
Shattering a childhood
He liked me frost bit
Copyright © Karl Marszalowicz | Year Posted 2013
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Karl Marszalowicz Poem
Morning dew lets
drip essential
waters, the active
ripples drop,
landing, working
with the melting
ponds, to release
surface tension
The callings of
chirping birds,
resonating
pleasantries to ears
everywhere, fervent
life, the eager
promise of things to
come
The good morning sun
evaporates people's
resentment, feelings
over three months of
abandonment, making
it up with a return
Ceremonious
Rich with golden
beams
A father figure
Hatch lings making
their identity
known, breaking from
shells to survive,
congregating around
mother for advice,
Feeling the
strengths of
togetherness, still
insecure, even under
the gentlest of
April breezes, that
whisper comforting
thoughts
The Lush trees,
restore their former
selves, showing
boldness and beauty
and shade and
shelter, trying to
outdo each other
Nature and Nurture
Kissed by the broken
winds
Fragility fades
Strong showers
precipitate as the
tears of the sun,
bringing out regrets
for having left us
at all, so fondly
appreciated
Our offspring
play in the muddy
puddles, birds
flutter about to
bathe, flowers grow
bolder, while bees
work the sap
Libidos driven by a
fervor, wanting to
be part of it all,
form partnerships
and blessed unions
worldwide, we will
conceive
Our prosperity
Interlinking all of
us
Timeless equation
Copyright © Karl Marszalowicz | Year Posted 2013
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Karl Marszalowicz Poem
"The Circus"
The master of ceremonies taps his cane to begin the fireworks
While graduates of the ground exercise their prowess high above
They are wired with decent grip on balancing poles that save their lives
The crowd holds their breath to a well paced piece written just for them
Expressing god given talents in consonance to the format of the show
There are many circumstances of life and death to travel a topsy turvy wire
The crowd has gasped enough
Surprising all who thought they could not do it
The danger, the glory, all to the tune of "Let Me Fall"
A luscious aria for the ears begins to assuage the high tensions
Seeing participants of talent take on amazing feats
Colorfully contorting and twisting to terrifying positions
We could never dream about for it would break our backs
A motorcycle roars loudly without a muffler, majestically it comes
To ride the ring of fire for which rock anthems echo
Off the circle and through the heat while the elephants wait their turn
Standing on hind legs they rise to the occasion
Responding to measures that escalate the mood,
Agnes waves her dancing trunk in 4/4 time
The audience waves back and claps in satisfaction
For the show that began as the Circus Maximus
When Romans needed entertainment all those years ago
And the practitioners of stunt were truly at risk flying high
Without cords and wires for safety, they flew to new realms
Of daring and danger all meant for applauding strangers
Lions and tigers and bears oh my! Today will be so special for the kids
Looking at this and looking at that, all amongst a backdrop of darkness
The clowns flipping bowling pins flopping around in over sized red shoes
Their jovial exterior matches a beauty inside them
It's all for the children responding to boisterousness and glee
Tigers know when to roar and acrobats know when to soar
Adding to a perfect panorama no one can possibly take it all in
The finale comes to an end and they say good bye, taking a bow
Lights come back on and the atmosphere is gone
And leaving almost feels like a sin
Copyright © Karl Marszalowicz | Year Posted 2011
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Karl Marszalowicz Poem
"Music Box"
Wind it up to work her magic
Memories in a box unleashed with a flip of the lock
Releasing a small plume, you dust it off and sneeze
Turning the key to see a little painted ballerina in action
Missing flecks of the dress she has donned for generations
Time has worn her down
She spins a few rotations releasing a tune
Of Rock a Bye Baby, how mellifluous it is
That brings you back to good times again
A favor done for winding her up
You give her life, she gives you a chance
To recall when you once spent time
With your mother in the attic
And she thought you were old enough
To appreciate this grand memento
With cranks and pins and a dancer on top
Mama recalled she was once that age too
And shown an object, the very same
A lone tear starts you crying
Remembering she who is gone
And how proud you were to take possession
The dancer is bitter sweet
While the music winds down
She puts herself to sleep
With her own tune for bed time
Silence and thought take over the room
Until the baby down stairs starts producing
A whiny tune of her own
She will have to wait though
And the box will gather dust again
Until the time is right
Copyright © Karl Marszalowicz | Year Posted 2011
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