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Martin Gross
- Male
- Chupei City, Hsinchu County, Taiwan R.O.C.
- Taiwan
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Profile Information
- Real Full Name
- Martin Robert Gross
- Literary Pen Name
- N/A
- Nationality
- Canadian
- Languages
- English, French, Mandarin Chinese
- Country of Origin
- Canada
- Country of Residence
- Taiwan
- City of Residence
- Chupei
- Biography
- I left Canada in the summer of 1996 to work as an English teacher in Taiwan. I have been here ever since. In my spare time, I write poetry, prose and music. My music is published on the Jamendo website.
- Poem #1
- Nadya
Her hair, a brilliant platinum, glows
On a head so delicate.
With feline eyes of piercing blue,
She'll lure and captivate.
My mistress has voluptuous lips,
Her skin a caramel brown;
Her face assails me with her desire--
An almost grinning frown.
When wearing that slight, scarlet dress
She mesmerises me.
Her ballerina legs push it up
So I can almost see...
The mystery within this girl...
Why does she want me so?
I'm just a face on her monitor:
So little can we know
Of one another; yet, perhaps
This is the whole appeal
Of finding online lovers. We
Know nothing there is real!
- Poem #2
- Kali
Her husband lost some loved ones, gunned down in the Gaza Strip.
A dread that more kin would be killed his gentle heart did grip.
He raced by plane to save them: now he's gone. She did equip
Herself with patience, fortitude and hope. She will endure.
She knows that, though night ends the day, a new dawn's just as sure
To follow. Understanding of life's cycles is the cure
For grief. She is with child, but she won't have it; for her womb
Is fragile, from an accident. Though it's where life would bloom,
Instead, it sadly has become the prologue to a tomb;
Yet she serenely will accept this harsh reality.
With life comes death--from death, rebirth. For her, it's plain to see:
These agents of destruction cleanse the world and make us free
From clinging, covetous attachment. Since all worlds are born,
They live and thrive, decline and die, we of them feel forlorn
And die with them, or we may calmly wait for the next morn...
- Poem #3
- Lavinia
O, would I had been Daphne, and transformed into a tree,
When two Apollos, on the prowl, had had their way with me.
Indulging their so bestial lechery, they did uncover
What none had any right to know, save my one, loyal lover.
That pair of ravenous wolves so gleefully gave me such grief,
And took away my innocence--each salivating thief!
I have no tongue that can articulate the words my tears
Rain on the ground: it's been cut off by shame's forbidding fears.
I have no hands to point those satyrs out or write their names;
They've been hacked off by enervation--I act without aims.
I wish that I could shed my sullied skin, and live again
Just like a sweet, unspotted virgin, as I was once when
I never knew of male combustible lust, save what I'd heard
From victims of these vile invasions! Now, my eyes are blurred
And cannot see what separates the good men from the bad,
And this, more than rape's horrors, makes me so abysmally sad;
For I still want to love men, and to trust them, and recall
The zestful joy that sex can give. But now, there is a wall
Between my sex and theirs: I don't know how to break it down,
Yet break it down I must, or never will I upturn my frown.
If I could catch those monsters, Chiron and Demetrius,
I'd savour my revenge in a manner aptly barbarous.
I'd have their throats sliced open, and collect their blood in a bowl.
I'd cook their flesh in a meat pie: this would show how the control
Of other people's bodies for the sport of it is cruel.
Such gory contemplations sometimes comfort me, so you'll
Forgive me for my grisly, vivid, vengeful fantasy,
For dreams and wishful thinking are preferred to reality
When one's endured what I have. Still, I must be brave and strong;
The pain will fade away, although the waiting will be long.
I wonder how my so protective father would react
If he knew of this outrage? Oh, yes! How would he exact
Revenge upon my tormentors? How would he cure my woe?
Would he think it were happiness for me to die, and so
Kill me? Sometimes, I like to think that; but I know it's wrong
To have such excess of despair. And so, I will be strong,
And fight for justice, not revenge. I will prevent what rapes
Can be prevented, warning girls to stay away from apes
And look, instead, for gentlemen. Stopping the man that maims
Girls' guarded places, once again I'll live a life with aims.
- Poem #4
- Salome--Proem
Salome, two millennia ago,
Beguiled King Herod with her loveliness.
He vowed to give her anything she wished
If she would sensually dance for him.
She undulated so seductively,
While every veil fell as leaves off a tree,
That he was overwhelmed with lecherous
Abandon. Thinking she would merely want
The finest jewels of the Orient,
Or some such mundane treasure, he did not
At all consider that her wish would cause
The execution of a holy man!
He ruefully agreed to put the head
Of John the Baptist on a silver charger.
This ghoulish gift Salome gave her mother,
Herodias, the wicked wife of Herod.
Salome's spirit has been incarnate
In many millions of great beauties since,
And Herod's foolish, lewd concupiscence
Has been repeated many times in men
Of ample fortunes, but with sparer sense.
Such men and women are the subject of
These sultry stanzas, which show that the sins
Of men lie not in our protruding members,
But rather, they reside in our crude minds.
Now, we will trace the transmigration of
Salome and the king in modern times:
A scheming naked girl and a panting man.
To My Late Father
My father passed away a week ago.
I lacked the time to contemplate his loss
Until today, when other pressing matters
Were finally behind me. Now I can
Begin to ruminate on all he did
For me and all my family. He was
A teacher, first and foremost: O, he taught
Us, and influenced us in many ways.
His was a special wisdom, and it's not
Found easily in our so changing world.
This is the tragedy of his demise:
Here was a father--when comes such another?
Few of us wish to take the time to value
The insights of the aged; we prefer
The giddy present and its new ideas.
We're like school-children: bored with history
And all that it can teach us; then, too late
We learn the past's mistakes when we've repeated
Them--all we had to do was listen to
Our teacher. He'd have warned us of the errors
That past civilisations made...and rued
When it was far too late to turn the tide.
This was my father's deeper understanding:
Conserving wisdom for new generations.
It pained him knowing that all cultures rise
And fall because too few would care for them.
It angered him that people take for granted
All that we have, not knowing it will die,
And sooner than we think. He hated death,
And would have die only those who have killed.
His love of life was such that, tirelessly,
He tried to stretch his life to the latest year.
And similarly, he'd preserve the values
That he believed in, and oppose those who
Would liberally make reforms of them.
Now, to reform them was to put to death
All that he cherished and identified with.
Thus, his frustration with this changing world
Would make him temperamental, and he'd lash
Out at us, his four children, in a rage
If we did not conform to his high standards.
This hard severity would make us feel
Antipathy to all that he held dear;
Thus, he could be his own worst enemy,
Since the conserving of all that he prized
Requires those sympathetic to his cause:
The preservation of the home, the Church
And our great nation in sweet harmony.
So much time has gone by that memories
Of when he walked with us are a faint blur.
If only we had worked to keep alive
What mattered so to him; we'd reminisce
With vivid mental images of his life.
Instead, we let it all just slip away:
We were too busy with other concerns.
--September 27, 2009--
I lacked the time to contemplate his loss
Until today, when other pressing matters
Were finally behind me. Now I can
Begin to ruminate on all he did
For me and all my family. He was
A teacher, first and foremost: O, he taught
Us, and influenced us in many ways.
His was a special wisdom, and it's not
Found easily in our so changing world.
This is the tragedy of his demise:
Here was a father--when comes such another?
Few of us wish to take the time to value
The insights of the aged; we prefer
The giddy present and its new ideas.
We're like school-children: bored with history
And all that it can teach us; then, too late
We learn the past's mistakes when we've repeated
Them--all we had to do was listen to
Our teacher. He'd have warned us of the errors
That past civilisations made...and rued
When it was far too late to turn the tide.
This was my father's deeper understanding:
Conserving wisdom for new generations.
It pained him knowing that all cultures rise
And fall because too few would care for them.
It angered him that people take for granted
All that we have, not knowing it will die,
And sooner than we think. He hated death,
And would have die only those who have killed.
His love of life was such that, tirelessly,
He tried to stretch his life to the latest year.
And similarly, he'd preserve the values
That he believed in, and oppose those who
Would liberally make reforms of them.
Now, to reform them was to put to death
All that he cherished and identified with.
Thus, his frustration with this changing world
Would make him temperamental, and he'd lash
Out at us, his four children, in a rage
If we did not conform to his high standards.
This hard severity would make us feel
Antipathy to all that he held dear;
Thus, he could be his own worst enemy,
Since the conserving of all that he prized
Requires those sympathetic to his cause:
The preservation of the home, the Church
And our great nation in sweet harmony.
So much time has gone by that memories
Of when he walked with us are a faint blur.
If only we had worked to keep alive
What mattered so to him; we'd reminisce
With vivid mental images of his life.
Instead, we let it all just slip away:
We were too busy with other concerns.
--September 27, 2009--
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