The Web Poetry Corner
DreamMachineThe Web Poetry Corner is a Dream Machine Site
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web

The Web Poetry Corner

Marshall Blackett


Glasgow, Scotland, UK

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback

If you have comments or suggestions for Marshall Blackett, you can contact this author at: (Marshall Blackett)

Find a book store near you, no matter where you are located in the U.S.A.!


...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

Gypsy's Photo Gallery

Child of Light


Marshall Blackett

I followed the path of a grey stone wall,
could see the gathering crowd,
and as I approached I heard a song,
a thrush who was singing aloud.

The people were all draped in black,
whilst the sky was a smokey grey,
And just as I reached, I was right at the back,
I heard them begin to prey.

Then through the throng a pathway cleared.
The front was now clearly in sight.
And my eyes were accorded a feast of delight,
for the colours were vibrant and bright.

The sound of the praying was lost to my ears,
my sight was accented and clear.
For there I could see, almost brought me to tears,
the flowers so loved and dear.

The reds were so red and the pinks so intense,
the yellows were golden and gay.
White also was present and fondled my sense
but violets seemed flowers of the day.

But one solitary flower stood out from the crowd.
In the centre attended in ranks,
A bright orange lily proundly held its head,
as if offering to heaven its thanks.

And from its bright trumpet a silence flowed.
It covered the crowd in its shower.
A mushroom shaped haven enclosing us all
oh, what a gift from a flower.

And then i could see a shimering haze,
that began as a whisp of mist.
Formed from the haze came a wonderful child,
who approached a dark figure and kissed.

If only she saw it, if only she knew.
Her mother would now be so bright.
For the child at her side had returned from the grave
and appeared as a Daughter of Light.



Marshall Blackett

Our feet left imprints on the frozen Arctic snow
Our feet trod the wild grass flat on open wide prairies
Our feet crushed purple heather on ragged mountain slopes
Our feet furrowed trackways on scorching desert sands
Our feet trudged on walk-about tracing hidden lines well worn
Our feet splashed with kindred on sea shores strewn with shells
Our feet led us through eternity
to here and now
Our Pathways are the same

Our eyes watched in awe as stars came to ignition
Our eyes beheld the wonderous birth of suns
Our eyes peered as the stark darkness turned to light
Our eyes saw the planets find their place and purpose
Our eyes gazed as life sent forth her stirrings
Our eyes witnessed plants send out their roots and grow
Our eyes percieved the struggling, slow ascent of man
Our pathways are the same

Our hands held aloft the writhing new born baby
Our hands crushed the hunting wolf when he attacked
Our hands moulded clay and built soaring high cathedrals
Our hands touched and healed the wounded hearts of many
Our hands penned poems of wonder at His works
Our hands placed the noose round naked thankful necks
Our hands played their part
for good or ill
Our pathways are the same

Our hearts pulsed as one when galaxies were formed
Our hearts sensed the blaze as copious worlds unfurled
Our hearts sobbed with joy to see our fellows prosper
Our hearts knew the pain of progress sweet
Our hearts throbbed in time and urged our fellows
Our hearts sadly yearned when we were cast apart
Our hearts bled the blood of suffering pulsing deep
Our pathways are the same

Our feet and hands, our eyes and hearts
are miniscule and tiny parts
of the vastness that we jointly are
and try to comprehend
but outward senses are looking through a mist
and words cant tend
we each manifest in times and places
sometimes recognising faces
but then
perhaps eons later, we come close
to that which we recognise most -
we meet, we know, caress and grow
We suddenly find ourselves made whole
we sense the utter joy
as soul unites with soul -
the bliss, when
Our pathways are the same

strolling bare foot on the beach


Marshall Blackett

Her bare feet,
Into the grains, they sink,
Imprinting their marks along the sandy beach.
Her flesh,with tiny grains,
Sitting comfortably on,
Taking a ride on a hot summer day,
Enjoying the moment.