Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 100

Dinner at Five

Traditions begin in the oddest of ways,

Often defying all logic and reason.

Unlike the rotation of the seasons,

Seemingly out of our sphere of control.

 

Holidays circled in red on the calendar,

Parties on birthdates or

Sundays in church.

All on a schedule determined by others,

Marking of milestones as patterns unfold.

 

Other traditions, more privy in nature, 

But just as important and more resolute

To the nature and nurture

Of everyday struggle,

The mire and the muddle of staying alive.

 

Like summer vacations on lullaby beaches

Escaping the hustling, bustling hive.

Snuggling close by the fireside in winter.

Date night by moonlight,

Dinner at five.

 

Taken for granted, these well-worn excursions

Often unmissed until they are gone.

Looking back now and remembering fondly.

Like dinner at five,

Tradition lives on.

 

Wrong Floor? Maybe Not

Elevator doors open and

Out I step into the hallway

Only to realize

Not my intended,

Not my floor.

Looking around to get better bearing

When down the corridor

Rolls my beloved.

So unexpected.

Oh, so delighted,

Whispers of joy to

My quaint sense of hearing.

 

Where have you come from?

Where are you going?

On second thought

Matters naught

Now you’re here.

Had I departed

When judgement imparted

This moment might never

Have happened, I fear.

 

Together at last.

Together for always.

Lilting with laughter or

Laden with tears.

 

Friends Will Understand

Some may judge and

Think you soft when tears

Become an alibi.

They cannot know, can’t comprehend

The storms that torment deep inside,

The razor wire that pricks and bleeds

Until resolve is washed away,

Where stillness mocks to terrorize

And leaves no harborage to hide. 

 

But softness holds no part of shame

When hearts are ripped and

Torn to shreds,

When loss is real and

Karma steals all reason of reality.

These wells are deep and

Filled with demons

Void of hope and sweet redemption,

Praying for extended hands

Straining to bear empathy. 

 

Each day a struggle to survive

On limbs of rubber, feet of sand.

Strangers mock and taunt and tease, but

Friends, true friends, will understand.

 

Remember the Good Times

I was looking through

Old photographs today

Through teary eyes and

Smiles and laughs and grins.

How many fools we suffered

In our time and toil.

How many lifetimes did

We live back then.

The people, pets and places

Of our precious past

Captured in a two-dimensional world

Come rushing back to fill my

Conscious memory,

Charging forth with

Battle flag unfurled.

The many who have met

Their sleep before us,

To claim affinity, so bittersweet.

But focus not the heartache

Of our parting

Or lay the grief of anguish at my feet.

Instead I will remember

All the good times,

The joy, the love so easily defined.

Then I can place my head

Upon my pillow

With gentle reminiscent

Peace of mind.

 

The Caregiver

Often given forth in silence,

No benefit of thanks in offing,

Needy expectations coughing

Up one chore

And then another.

Vigilant at midnight’s hour,

Standing watch upon the tower,

Praying for ancillary power

Til the night becomes a blur.

 

Loving hands and loving heart

Perform each duty willingly.

Nowhere else I’d rather be

Than right here steadfast by your side.

Comforting the path you travel

Knowing it may soon unravel,

Taking you to places my

Imagination cannot bide.

 

Rest my dearest.

Calm your fears.

Let me be your eyes and ears.

Walk no more in twilight’s gloam.

Let me lead you safely home.

 

So Alone

The soft sound of your familiar voice…

Silenced.

 

The sweet scent of your honeyed hair…

Faded.

 

The gentle pulse of your loving touch…

Muted.

 

The warm assurance of your welcomed hugs…

A memory.

 

You are here no more,

Yet you are here.

You sing no song

To calm my fear.

 

Your absence chills me

To the bone.

So lost. So lonely.

So alone.

 

On Being Prepared

There be toils aplenty in this life

For which the wary may prepare.

Like when your Mom warned you

To be sure and wear clean underwear.

Like saving for that rainy day

When rations ferret short supply,

Or soldiers never questioning

Why they must keep their powder dry.

 

Paths grow feet,

And streams bend swift

To seek the seas of distant lands,

And Perseus must watchful be

With sturdy sword and shield in hand.

And every child of every child

Must listen to the zephyr winds

To learn the truth of nature’s call

And know the seeds where day begins.

 

Wouldst in twilight bold advance,

Or in the eyes of darkness stare

Without the prudence of a plan?

Without the forethought to prepare?

 

From Where Did I Come?

I came from a small town.

I came from the country.

Born and raised in a world of unrest.

One of six siblings growing together

Through good times

And bitter times,

Put to the test.

 

I came from the rolling red hills

Of north Georgia.

I came from the green of the Emerald Isle.

I came from the moors, the

Highlands of Scotland,

The outcast of England o’er many a mile.

 

I fought the brave Norsemen who

Challenged the seas,

The Redcoats, the red men, the blue.

I fought for the Maine and the Alamo.

W W one and two.

I fought the red peril,

The cold and the hot,

And those who in terror profess.

I came from a lengthy tradition of freedom

That nothing and no one

Can ever suppress.

 

Starting Over – Getting Over

Feels so strange

Here without you,

Still and restless, cold and wrong.

I keep listening for your voice

But all my questions fall to dust

And echo off these empty walls

Til silence cries to the Thunder god.

 

You would not have me sitting here

In mournful sorrow, daylight wasting

Tasting bitter vinegar and hasting

Sundown calm my fear

That I shall never know again

Your gentle touch upon my cheek.

 

Starting over, such a task,

A burden heavier to bear

Than all the Herculean trials 

Of ancient heroes rolled to one.

 

They say I must get over you,

Move on with new purpose and direction.

I find myself lost, confused and alone

Somewhere between prospect

And quiet reflection.

 

Black Stallion – Gray Fox

Crystalline majesty abounds 

As black flanks and silver heels

Launch lightening to a crescent moon.

While crazed eyes of the willful beast

Gaze far beyond the mountaintop.

Who can tame him?

Who will name him?

Who dares blame his stubborn way?

Staunchly defiant.

Non-compliant,

Free to run another day.

 

Gray fox slips behind the screen of

Forest foliage stealthily, so many

Predators farther up the chain,

Courage effaced by the need for survival, 

Cunning and quickness the tools of his trade.

So many enemies

Akin to infinity

Wary and willing to hide.

Weary at end of day,

Wrestling to find a way,

Thankful to simply survive.

 

Black stallion – gray fox,

Creatures of Eden. Both

Grateful for being alive.