As my shame

Poem by Marc Aupiais

On stranger tides,
Has life been been!
In stranger ways!
The heart does seem!

Somehow,
And I break and break!
Like ocean waves!

I see in truth,
My foolish ways!
My heart believes!
It always has!
Yet what good is belief?
What does it achieve?

I am either on the edge of madness,
Or the rim of dearest truth!

No, I am not!

I look at my compass pointing north!
And I see the world!
Pointing north!

And I wonder at my words,
My love!
With shame!

I regret it now!
With great shame!

Like waves breaking!
Breaking my name!

I pray and beg!
But I love!
Though I feel ashamed!

With every picture; every word

Poem by Marc Aupiais

"Winter thaw" - quote Mt Lewis!
My soul is thawing!
Ice removing!

With every picture!
Every word,
I find I love you less and less!

Oh the joy to abandon you,
Eventually when I get through this?

I should thank you, really,
For awakening my soul!

Uniting emotion, and
rational reasonable mind!

Which both know,
Your worth to me is Little!
Now!

Though loyalty,
Ought be my name!

For though I pray!
To be free!

It doesn't disappear!
It won't evaporate!

And Holy Mother at Fatima!
And Philomena, Joan,
And the saints!

Always answer no-
To my want to be free of you!

And my heart blood pumps,
And pumps!

Though I feel shame,
For still,
Loving dear you!

Tempest Treachery

Poem by Marc Evan Aupiais

I think of you, what you've done!
Its what makes me stay well away!
Its not some harmless fun!
Its what makes me shun!
You chose them, him, it, grit!
Over moi!?

And so though I love!
Stronger than ever!
Though I miss,
Adore!

I break my prison door!
And shackled chains I walk along!
You betrayed me!
I must move forward!
Have hope! Love! I love!

Yet until you are worthy!
You are not for me!

Though I miss you

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I miss you,
In my being!
Miss what I used to see!

I miss you, thoughts, fantasies!
Yet instead - I sign my cheque!
I give my soul-
My being!
To truth! Truth! You used
to be!

You are wrong!
Don't you see!
Cho?sing them, over me!
Yet! Love! It has to be!

That I must conquer these,
Thoughts of dear thee!

And should we speak-
Should you contact me!

Should we speak!
Should we speak.

Perhaps then I can give my heart and soul!
But not the parts- belonging to God!

I do not feel, I feel you

poem by Marc Aupiais

Though I control my fantasy!
Truth! Be told!
I love you still!
Not touch or lust!
Love in truth, and reality!

Gasson:

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Gasson! I spell the sound!
In France! A Dream!
Music! Classical! French!
In this fantasy!

A woman dances, and waiters move!
In this dream!
Of dear dear France!

This scene I imagine!
With Author's mind!
A scene of love! And tragedy!

Paris (pronounce paree),
Centre of my soul!
Oh beloved France!

To whom I have never managed so!

Oh Beloved France!
And the river!
In my imagination!
For I cannot afford to go!

Beloved! France!

I wonder! At my lack of, shall we call it money!
Or something funny or not so funny?
That keeps me from Romance!

With you, my love?
Though you are not in France?
Only a glimpse! My mind imagines!
As Mother and I drive home from Mass!
And music plays!
Parisian! My once truthful dream!

And you love?
Are you real,
Or but illusive?

Have I lost you forever!
To mine true enemy!?

My love, my love

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Ever faithful, paradox Marc;
Ever faithful; the work of God;

God did it; for you!
Made me for you.

Perfect; be assured.
I am!

Stop giving up on me!
I'm here just for one.

For you.
Custom! You alone love!

Made to specification!
Exactingly!

The green colour of our world

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Gold and Green,
The colours of a hope.
Die perde en die vuurwapens.
Die nasie van ons lewenskappe.

And I look into my memories.
Die perde in my badkamer!

And into the top draw of my old closet!
Die donker plek!
Waar ek kan nie gaan nie.

And there, a carriage.
For a perd.

And I wonder.
My love for horses.

And this old cart.

Die donker dag.
Die donker nag.

Die vuurwapen gaan agter die nasie.

And at us Gold and Green.
Are we that different?

Than those:
Whom we are taught to hate?

End die perde gaan weg.
Hulle Hardloop.

Die kat loop.
En sy groot vriende gaan agter die perd.

We are different.
I think.

As the history,
Our wars, our blood.

Gold in the ground.
Green in the trees where good men fell.

And yet!
Though different,

Parts of our stories,
Chapter: na ander mense se boeke.

Part of our lives!
Are not that set apart.

Gold and Green.
Not red white or blue.

Gold and Green.
Not yellow, that sheen.

Gold and Green.
The colour of our people.

Different from any other.
Yet not utter.

Complimentary.
But not through flattery!

Learn our lesson!
We love all: our brother.
Red, White, yellow, Gold, blue or Blou.

Broken is hope.
Until there is love's hope's faith's found!

Be quite clear now Love

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I wonder as the night wears on.
The question I haven't asked.
Even as I kissed you lips.
Trusted. Gave my heart.
What excuse have you?
Any to justify this.. Art?
Are you his,
Love,
As he claims?
Or mine?
Make a choice.. If need..
Make haste!
I yearn not to waste away.
I'll always wait!
Until I can't life bear!
Then I'd hope you'd already found me,
Quite soon,
Own up to me dear!

Love my dawn~ Sunshine~ Sunrise

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Love my dawn~ Sunshine~ Sunrise
Light. Bathes my skin.
The tiled floor.
It seeps. It seethes.
It seeks.

It grabs between my curtain barring it.

It goes between my toes.
You do see.

Dawn! it comes.
Love within.
See.

I see nothing!
But you! And me!
Its all I want to be!
Be with me!
Speak. Whispered winds!
Enter love, beautiful girl,
Enter my love with me,
Love me girl!
You are my Dawn.
My wind.
My icy cold.
My pink! Blue! Red!
My soul! I live off you!
Only you, in whom I drown all other but us and hope!
Hope of rain.
Smell. Know My name!
Do not feel of me shame!
My desert night breeze!

Meaning! I aim! Pray! Crave for!

Poem by Marc Aupiais

We are taught at nursery stage.
To be extra utter brave.
Trust no one.
Love no one.
Never be weak.
They tell the child.

Who. Me! Rejected a red rose.
From a pretty young girl.

And who awaits one to trust... Be trusted by.
Unless she's here.
Invisible.
Unseen.
Not trusting enough.
To acknowledge me!

I stare into the swirl,
The empty abyss.

For that to define my style, and life.
For that to make me,
My birth worthwhile.
Driven past every hurt,
And dis-ease of mind.
Of soul!

I can love. I can fall.
I can write. Fairies on a midsummer night or
Melancholy sprites.

I can define.
The length of oceans,
To and fro.

But I want you to define me.
My being. You are my ecstasy.
And for you.
My heart does bleed.
The flow.
For you to drink.

And into hopeless hope.
I see.
I sink and sink.
But believe.
And hope.

At you.
You oughtn't mislead.
The distraught.

Save me if you will!
Be my meaning.

Make me have worth.
Beyond my miracle of conception, birth,
Mere goodness, truth, morality,
And all Able dream.
And teach me,
To your heart, and truth serve.

The citizenship! Hell's request!

Poem by Marc Aupiais

They seem a bit larger.
Perhaps taller.
Maybe wider.

Appear: broken.
A million marriages they have.
And lovers. That don't love with heart and soul!
Exemplified by their song!
Their dance.

And somehow. With my morals.
And my experience.
Somehow. No matter my wisdom.
Am I not shouted down.
Ignored.
Entirely.

Isn't it true?
And as they sue,
And steal, and mislead.

Love! Do you also...
Ignore me.

Unimportant?
For blood or birth?
You see?
My descriptive tease.

I feel I only wait to cease.
Am I only a crease?

As they exemplify a deadly disease.

And I. Quite sane insane.
Cannot please.

Not if you are them,
Or seek evil to please!

I am nothing. To nothing.
Everything. To you. If you
are something.
If you abandon their
disease!

Acknowledge me! Please!
Jealousy, my jealousy appease!

I listen to sounds! Blackest ink!

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I don't want to say my name,
Its nothingness.
Beautiful to me,
To everyone.

But what is it!
If I can't hear,
Your lips speak.
Of me. You see!

Quiet! Silent!
Jealousy.

The hope isolated stance

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Wonderment,
Meant so little.
Sadness,
Is what I've kept.

Loyalty. Whatever costs.
Where is that? Not you?
Yet here I am,
Broken,
Melted.
Lost.

My structure bright orange.
Molten. Deathly lead.
Flowing into the ground,
As though set.

And I wonder at this, my bet,
And wonder why I set.
And why my loyalty,
I wouldn't reset!

Though my enemies say,
My friends do too...
I've lost! My bet! And set!

The water in the grey cave

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I sit in the darkness.
Grey water. Black now.
Our cave. Hidden.
But with no candles or
flicker and hope, to be
spoken to!

I wonder at the water.
Its around me.
Its above me.
I wonder.
I can't breathe.

As my lungs do heat.
And muscles relax.
Electric, in shock.

And I wonder.
Everything. Gone.

All I am. Sucked. Soaked.
Lying. As I fall below.

Shall you rescue me.
Shall you remember our cave.

My first book!

The Third Instinct - by Marc Aupiais

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0050VAGFS

Soon to be in physical format too!

Love to be fanned

http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Third-Instinct-by-Marc-Aupiais/123825231030011

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Marc-Aupiais/90710969887
Sancte Philomena Ora Pro Nobis!

What I don't want

Is this attitude.
Too good for the world.
Shunning those who care for you.
Treating others as dirt.
Money may separate.
But surely those with nothing else,
But ego self,
Promotion.

These I wish were but dead.
Empty of all truth.

Lying in bed!

I was lying still in bed.
Pc at the foot.
Pillow at the head.
Praying! What I'd done in bed. Praying! What I do in bed. That and dreaming.
Quite loud!

Faithfully! Real me!
No longer scared!~

The me below me~

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Please Lord; I can't control me,
I said looking down at me.
Lying on a bed.

I don't want to sin,
I protest.
But he controls me~

So God looked at me quite funny.
In my high tower of airs.

You aren't Marc, he said.
So I sank into Marc. Into me~

I was scared to pray what he said.
Scared to think it.
I hadn't... Years... Said.

And as me below.
I spoke clear to God.
Full sentences. Paragraphs.

Real! Real! .. Marc!

I explained to God my selfish wants;
But they weren't selfish;
Just needs, wants;

I explained how I felt;
I, I had drained away;

About her... About him... About me... I... Her!
My wants and desires.
Real Marc! Marc!

Then we talked sin!
My excuse was quite gone.

I said: God, I don't want to sin.
It makes me feel sad.

I sin because I'm sad.
I want to feel loved!

And I hurt her...
Jealousy... And to make her jealous...
Way back... I regret it so!

Suddenly that unreasonable foe.
Marc... Who has needs,
Wants so much.
Dreams... Hopes.

Who loves eggs. Dislikes bread.
Who dislikes what's wrong.
Likes good. Loves good.
Sexy, good is!

And light emerged.
Having waken from sleep.

And a beautiful dream.
Beautiful girl. In white.
Does singing to me!
Smiling. To me. Living all
to moi!

Real Marc! Who hates pretence.
Hates dishonesty.
And sluttery. Male and female.

And doesn't like those who lead us on.

But intellectual Marc used to object.
Today the higher Marc is gone.
And crazed. Real! Scary Marc.
Selfish Marc.
Marc I was embarrassed of.
Finally won!

Moi! Me! I!
You! Your! Truth!
Girl in white dress! Is quite!
Revealed to me!

The purple flowers in the mountain valley

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Among the blue and purple buds,
And greenest little leaves.

Time forgot to push up elegant weeds.
Life forgot flowers don't hate a breeze.

I pick a blue and yellow flower bunch.
Specifically for you.

And walk slowly to the valley slope.
Looking for cosy moss.

And I wonder, are you to be wooed.
Not by flowers or by moss.

And the pink and orange.
Frowns at me.

I'd forgot the sun had set.
And so I take my flowers,
My moss and love.

And make a cave tent in my love.

I should kindle sparks,
With written pages,
A fire, a flood.

Nothing above simply love!

And I wish you felt it for me too.
As I have even before we ever said!

And I lie. Thinking of you.
In my bed, life, my sacred gift.
Instead!

Chelsea Bun and the bathroom flood

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Kissing catchers,
Was suggested,
I joined in,
After much suggestion.

Yet ordinary catching it
was not,
Most girls chose just some guys,
But Chelsea anne or something,
Maybe another girl,
Chose me.

And stuck to only me.
I ran and ran.
And triumphed- I Quit,
Quite glad.

But Chelsea still ran.
And I ran.

And then she ran off,
Maybe crying.

And the head of the grade 0 girls.
The popular one I assume.
Gathered all of them,
For Chelsea's revenge.

My friend. Mike.
No help. He said I deserved my lot.

They surrounded me,
As they would visitors- the zoo.

And Chelsea jumped moi.
I kicked her shin too.

And off I ran. Somehow in trouble.
For what I did with my shoe.
She jumped me ma'am.
She kissed me.

No good in our grade nought too.

So I went to the bathroom.
Quite un-glued.

And ran the water.
At full notch too.

Comforting water.
Its quite true.

Yet so full I opened it.
I couldn't close it too.
I turned and turned,
In both directions,
Soon.

And fled the flood.
In trouble again too.

It wasn't revenge!
I swear! That too!

Dead little Emily, The Wrong March

Poem by Marc Aupiais

When she died it was,
At a young age,
Papers rage.

They handed out ribbons, pink ribbons,
For a girl I'd never met.

I prayed to her, after all she was dead.
Little did I know the reply I'd get.

Little Emily was quite upset.
Shot by carjacking.
A victim-less crime.

The school wanted a march.
Her picture full,
The death penalty.

They invited media to her funeral,
Martyr was she.
Against the wishes of her parents,
Who'd have moved her to St. Mary's.

So I prayed to her,
And got a sense.

I was not to march.
It was not her march.

I objected.
Junior school library.
Only me and some with
doctors appointees.

A long boring wait,
And then home.

I kept the pink ribbon.
And forgot Emily.

And yet, Today, my love.
Too ill. I staid quite home.

And fell asleep.

And in my dream I saw a girl,
Quite dead. Sitting in the library, quite stared.
Brown eyes, brown hair,
Was she a crush of past said?

I asked her who she was.
She, I asked: blood eye,
Why I erased her from my memory of the past.

Chelsea she said.
But no Chelsea I know is dead.

And she kicked my spine with her knee,
And made me pray,
On my knees.

I wishdrew quite scared.
Sitting among the desks,
Where I once blankly stare.

But I return to little Chelsea,
She makes me pray.

I wonder if she's evil.
She makes me say.
I pray. And she is upset she says.

What is it Chelsea?
You pray. Incorrectly.
You pray quite wrong.
For what's wrong.
Pray again.

I pray. Changing my request.

And I awake quite scared.
My cat perhaps kneading
-the duvet on my bed.

Wondering if I know a Chelsea,
And I remember Emily.
Dead Emily.
Superstitious,
It does not make me less,
Scared.

Beautiful Autumn

Beautiful Autumn.
Autumn. Red. Orange.
Fire upon Life was upon
... dawn to death
Hope destroy Autumn swirl whirlwind cutting winds ..
Storms burnt my soul,
Fire smoke burnt my eyes..

Autumn winds..
My love..
Are you..

And after you is Winter Death;

The fiery vision

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I sense it as I walked.
Above. Above. I want to cry.
To look down. Avoid her gaze.
She sees through.
To the marrow.
To the bone.
To the molecular structure,
Of my moan.

Fire is the eye.
Or rather reflection.
An eaglet's sight.

Like rain I hear fire - on my soul.
Her vision burns me.
Makes me whole.

Inside I feel her soul.
Hidden in my room.
Curtains close.
I feel her see me.
All.

The vision. Looks at me.
Into my soul.

She searches me.
Into my entire whole.

Every crack every chasm.
Filled in me.
Every weakness check.
Filled with putty.
Burnt to ash.

And though she burns through me.
Eyes that see.

I ask of God for this.
My every sin.
For her to see.

My only heat.
She seathes through me.

She is soft.
And silently.

I wear her on my shoulders.
A fur coat.

And below her skirts I hide.
And peer out upon the world.

And though I burn.
Ash and fire.

She drinks my blood within my heart.

And senses my senses from the start.

Our souls intermingle.
We are one.

This fiery mare.
This Night time scare.

Who sees all.
Who knows all.

Who peers deep into the deepest depths of mine only soul.

And I wonder at the clock.
That once graced my wall.

Does it head from right to left!?
2 to one.

B(arab)bas and the hope he gave

Poem by Marc Aupiais

You won't understand, perhaps,
My love!
That I don't share their joy:

Only tragedy at a soul condemned
The devil uses his generals,
Until he murders them,
No longer of use.

Obama O$ama Obama.

How they both specialise in terror,
In ideology.

The fox hunt for a human being,
One after another,
In Africa, and Eurasia.

And perhaps B-arab-bas gave some hope.
A voice however evil.
A force. Not scared to stand.

Against the imperials,
The empire of Rome.

And a fuddy duddy old man did die.
He would not surrender till the end.

And then there was a bullet in his head.
The kill was the command.

As in Egypt. As in Pakistan.
Though few but Wikileaks have said.
America. Our Lords. Our Wargods.

She gives us our icons.
Tells us what to think.

Says sin is good,
Good is sin.

And when a donkey brays at them.
American lives.
Forget all the rest.

Two, and more wars.
War plains. Jets.

To win an election.
O$ama must be found.

Mercy is over.
Next to the Pakistani military training compound.

Sovereignty. What is that..?

And where is our fair trail?
Was it even him?

Or just the devil's speakerphone.

The devil's general was once great.
Or so his soldiers and enemies said.

The devil's general.
He sent Hell more soldiers too.

Yet no strategic threat.
Facts must I repeat?

Of unjust war.
24 on 4. No hurt or casualties.

Killed "after" a firefight.
America. Instilling terror.

So, my love!
I'm sorry,
But I'm scared,
Not happy.

As I see sacred human blood.
Spilt without so much as pretence.

All life is sacred.
If a Green card it has.

And I wonder.
At B-arab-bas.

Spared for a season.
And disposed of quick-ily.


A political statement.
Vengeance. Cold and blood.

B-arab-bas is dead.
Yet long he lives on.

John Paul II Yesterday Beatified.
Yet to them that turn to terror.
Yesterday was born a saint.
His demon soul patrolling oceans.

His master,
Abandoning him.
More useful for something else.

Osama Bin Laden executed?

USA claims: No us soldiers, no civilians killed, Osama's 2 wives, 6 kids arrested. "Targeted operation". "Buried at sea". 3 males killed, one female. 24 navy seals sent in. Killed "after" a fire fight! - SkyNews UK based on USA reports. Note "after firefight".

Al Qaeda in Yemen admits death of Al Qaeda leader.

Splinter groups will be strengthened. No strategic value- Sky News.

US embassies on high alert. Death could set off splinter cells. Gradual deterioration of relations between usa and Pakistan. Body taken to Afghanistan before sea. Pakistan will see this as an affront on sovereignty. USA says Osama Bin Laden told to surrender before being shot. But said to be killed "after firefight".

Source on this update is SkyNews UK;

Osama Bin Laden killed

Bin Laden killed in USA military operation involving Apache helicopters attacking his upper class mansion in Pakistan just next to governmental military academy. AlJazeera is quoting USA official: women; children taken arrested, while men, Osama Bin Laden killed in "gun fight". CNN says USA likely thinks Pakistan knew Osama's location.

What I mean

Revenge hurts those who take it. Special forces to assassinate. They could have captured him. They could have tried him. Had him help them dismantle his organisation. A fair trial sends a message of justice beyond ideology. Killing a man creates a "martyr".

Osama Bin Laden was hardly central anymore. Other groups are now more important. The devil only let's his generals be murdered when he doesn't need them anymore.

This was revenge just like in Israel, and revenge breeds bloodshed.

It also destroys those who take it. Human life is sacred. All human life.

Osama Bin Laden dead

United States of America confirm they succeeded in murdering. Terrorist Osama Bin Laden. Seems a bit too Israeli to me. Even Hitler's paid murderers got a trial- for society not for them. Hopefully the revenge ends in American people and another Al Qaeda leader say in North Africa doesn't simply become the next top dog. As in the Middle East.