Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 102

I’m Not Ready to Let Go

How many memories can one heart hold?

How many years are enough?

Why must the ending be so bittersweet?

To where does the time disappear?

 

There are no limits on memories, I’m told,

As Father Time teases his bluff,

And endings lay treasures of gold at out feet

As life gently soothes every tear.

 

At least that’s the theory.

It’s what we are bid to believe

As we grieve day by day.

But deep down inside

Where the soul shrinks to hide

There’s an aching that won’t go away.

 

And I must admit

That the mantle won’t fit

As I sit in a stuporous throe

And stumble and pray

Someone shows me the way.

So unready to let you go.

 

Honey Do

There’s no need to badger on

With such incessant urgency

About the “oh, so many” tasks

That plague to steal my precious time.

 

“Don’t worry, Hon. I’ll get it done,”

My good intentions always say.

But I’ve had odd priorities,

Other hills to scout and climb.

 

But don’t you fret,

I’ll get to it, Babe.

Though time may slide and slip away.

No need to rush.

I have the list right here.

 

Just let me sit and rock a bit

And then I’ll get right on it

And finish in a flash,

So, don’t you fear.

 

But this old chair is comfy and my nap is overdue.

So, the numbers just keep growing

On my list of “honey-do”.

 

I Can’t Eat That Anymore

Hot dogs topped with sauerkraut and the

Spicy mustard I adore.

Blaze-hot jalapeno

Meant to make me sweat from every pore.

Greasy, cheesy pizza crowned with

Every topping in the store.

Take it all away ‘cause

I can’t eat that anymore.

 

Time was, not so long ago,

(It really seems like ages though)

That any grub to grab and go

Could fit my appetite.

And though I’m not persnickety

There’re many foods that get to me

And seem to wage a battle

I am not prepared to fight.

 

I could just grin and bear the bill,

Or have a cup of chamomile

And maybe I’d be fine as wine

To even up the score.

But I just keep on tempting fate,

Remorseful over what I ate,

Regretfully repeating,

“I can’t eat that anymore.”

 

My Best Girl

I couldn’t guess the many-a-mile

We walked together hand in hand,

Both literal and metaphorical,

Til viscid palms would not let go.

And people stare and whisper low

As though it’s hard to understand

How those our age can still engage

In childish act we should outgrow.

 

I don’t care what others think

Or how they act or what they say.

She’s my best girl,

My lucky song,

My guiding star,

My rudder, my sail.

She’s everything precious in my world as

I travel on life’s weary way.

With her hand in mine

I always can find

A peaceful ending to any travail.

 

We may not see the ending together.

Life can be cruel that way.

But I’ll hold her hand til

The last fleeting moment,

Fulfilling the vow of our wedding day.

 

This Book

This book in my hand

Does not weigh me down

Nor spawn an encumbrance

To imagination.

It lifts me on wings to

Fly through the mirror

To magical shores

Of intense inspiration.

 

The yeoman in me craves

The bliss of blind whimsey,

Borne over oceans,

Shared in the sky to

Glide to adventures

Beyond sweeping eons,

Landing in who knows where,

When, how or why.

 

Leafing and leaping and

Launching through time

From the comfort and cozy of

My easy chair.

No matter the object

Of my fascination, this book…

This book will take me there.

 

If Only

If only I could capture

This sate feeling of elation,

Learn to seal it in a bottle

For when times are not so fair,

Open it for faithful friends

In loving lavish celebration

For lusty dreams and tangled schemes

Of common themes we share.

 

If only time could take a pause

To relish in this treasure,

To taste the clover honey

Of a sunny afternoon,

To linger but a fleeting breath

And savor life’s pure pleasure

With ne’er a thought that

It might all be over much too soon.

 

Every magic moment precious,

Every fence an open gate,

Every blessing sent from Heaven

Is a cause to celebrate.

 

A Sonnet to Joy

Easy to rejoice in jubilation

For fair and festive victories in life.

And revelry proclaims the celebration

In rituals complete with drum and fife.

 

Praise to all who join in my elation,

Who frolic with delight my happiness.

To share the mirth and hoist a stout libation

And sing a song or two to my success.

 

But in the subtle ecstasy of others

I oft time lack the glee they entertain.

Perhaps a touch of anxious envy bothers

To douse my eyes with feathers of disdain.

 

Lord, help me find the wisdom to attend

The joyful celebration of a friend.

 

Texas 1971-72

Leaving home for newfound adventures,

Just the two of us on our own

Two thousand plus miles from

Family and friends,

Fledgling companions together – alone.

 

Who can we cling to?

New town – no friends,

All unfamiliar in fit or flair.

Olive drab convoys humping the highways on

Juxtaposed journeys going nowhere.

 

Who chose this Devil’s den

Void of amenities

So near the shores of

The Earth’s ragged end?

Where disquiet dwells in

The green sky of hailstones

And summertime swelter

Is nobody’s friend.

 

Test of our testament to one another,

A decade of displeasure packed in one year.

Thankful to flee, once our sentence is over,

Back to a place where we won’t disappear.

 

Life Lessons

Who was that angry young hot-headed hooligan

Ranting and raving in rivulets of rage?

Awash with the angst of

Contrite consternation,

Keen to react and so quick to engage.

Hustling highways and bristling byways

To get it done my way and rush to the end.

Smashing resistance with strident insistence

Til left and bereft in pursuit of a friend.

 

Always in danger of onerous anger

Amidst all the clangorous chatter and noise,

Struggling with all my might

Just to avoid a fight,

Grappling to score without losing all poise.

 

But tough times and trials and tragic tears

Can soften a once stoic steel veneer

Til tall walls of frowns come tumbling down

To fancy as winglets for fantasy’s fears.

And though these life lessons so smartly serve

As treasures (much more that I deserve),

I would not, will not, cannot swerve

And allow old angers to reappear.

 

On Being the Age of Us

Boomers, beware! The seasons are changing,

Paths rearranging and fading fast.

The soft silent Spring that rained on your Summer is

Fumbling, tumbling into the past.

 

Try as you may to stop time in her paces,

She flashes many faces,

Escapes without traces.

And though you may witness

Her bounty of graces

You know she must win in the end.

 

She doles us her favors on limited basis

To run out our races

In various places.

With all of the gusto good harvest embraces

She dons the mock mask of a friend.

 

But those of our age

Are not fooled by her witness.

We’ve seen where her

Nightmarish limits reside.

We live in our moment

Secure in our hour

With faith in the prize

On the other side.