Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 108

Speedy Gonzalez

Racing, rushing, always speeding.

Trying to avoid the rush.

Pacing in impatient sneakers,

Ready, set to go.

Casing every target quickly,

Sizing up the what and how.

Basing each decision on

A hefty pull and snap.

Doing every dubious deed

As though it was your very last.

Pursuing with the hunger of

An urchin of the streets.

Viewing plans in overload,

No secondary details.

Stewing every slight delay,

Stretching to the end.

Speedy, you may get there first

But miss so much, my faithful friend.

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Letting Go

It was a good run.

Too soon, now it’s over.

Coming to the end

Always seems the hardest part.

Reflection makes it easier.

Well, somewhat anyway.

It’s never really easy

To mend a broken heart.

Gone now and forever,

Never to return.

Finding a far better place

To rest a troubled soul.

Leaving grieving tortured hearts

Who touched your magic world

To contemplate their future fate.

Sadly, letting go.

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Then I Found You

Wandering aimlessly,

Lost.  Alone.

A million and one and yet

Not one.

Blessed with a patience

To bide my time,

Bound and determined

To find the right fit.

Kissing frogs

To grand discontentment.

Dreaming Repunzel will

Let down her hair.

Waking to find there is

No Sleeping Beauty

To kiss on the lips and

Live happ’ly e’er after.

Such a sad sack,

Such a cliché.

Hapless… hopeless…

Then I found you.

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Hullabaloo

What the heck was all that ruckus?

Streaming, strumming, backbeat drumming,

Constant humming in the background.

Will it ever end?

Hump, bump, piddle, diddle,

Catch and carry back to middle.

Pricks and pins. No one wins.

Must you start it up again?

 

Stop the music!

God, have mercy.

I would never ask for this

Strange hullabaloo.

Only you would

Interrupt my perfect bliss.

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Without

With…

            I have the hopeful will to live.

With…

             I have the fruitful means to give.

With…

             I have capacity to know.

With…

             I’ve opportunity to grow.

With…

             The love of friends I will get by.

With…

             My dreams will rise to meet the sky.

With…

             I know what life is all about.

Dread to know my fate were I

Without.

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Seems to be a Theme

It’s the same old thing,

Same mistakes, sad retakes of déjà vu.

Reluctantly… seems to be a

Revolving door swings back to you.

Can’t be sure that we’ll endure

Whenever fever boils to pitch.

Can’t stand, won’t stand calmly by

As Princess turns to frosty bitch.

Fireworks loaded to explode with

Furious veracity,

Shooting flames into the night

Arousing curiosity

From passersby who blink an eye.

They’ve seen it all before.

The grand display. ‘You go!’ ‘I’ll stay.’

The slamming of the door

Then it all just goes away

As if it were a dream,

And we are left to start again.

Seems to be a theme.

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On Stage

Curtain going up on stage,

Audience is ready.

Steeped anticipation driving

Forward expectation.

Fluttered stomachs flustering in

Fruitless, flawless fancy,

Waiting for the spotlight

As the overture descends.

Studied, steadied, readied now

By weeks of planned rehearsal.

Tweaked by repetition to a

Peak of pure perfection.

Suddenly the lead in line

Leaps out in your direction.

No hiding place, no tortoise shell,

Too late for sad reversal.

Fantasy, reality

Comes leaping from the page,

And you are witness to the magic.

You are there – on stage.

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Dilly Bop - Soda Pop

Dilly bop – soda pop

Frosty-frothy-foamy, fill me to the top.

Hit me hard, won’t you, with a gracious glop

Before they come to take me away.

 

Dilly bop – clippie clop.

Praying for the wondrousness to never stop.

Expectations leaning to a flippy flop,

Turning silver linings to gray.

 

I was just a silly duck, misfortunes child, out of luck,

Then your loving heart smiled on me.

You could have a change of heart, a change of mind,

And our love could be history.

 

Dilly bop – hippy hop.

Knowing you’re the finest flower in the crop.

Waiting for the other shoe to go kerplop

Before they come and take me away.

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Wounds to Heal

Nations are just people. Right?

Collective thoughts in aggregate

Bordered by rivers, mountains and seas,

Shielded from those not of like minds.

Held together in common cause,

Taught from youth the ways that are best.

Given to sermon on heritage, on

Cottage and hearth, the things that bind.

 

Bested in battle, subjugated,

Bound and bonded to second class,

Steely hearts seek to turn the tide,

Unaverse to the letting of blood

If it need flow in a river of red.

So, let it be for the greater good.

The victor will decide what is right.

All in the name of brotherhood.

But who will heal the daggered wounds?

Who will rise to stem the flood?

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Terrible Thoughts

Close to death one year removed,

Should be thankful, should feel blessed.

Linear mortality hushed and shunned,

But not denied.

Staving off the Reaper’s scythe,

Delaying the inevitable,

The end is still as certain as

The rising sun, the evening tide.

One tries not to think about

The timing or the certainty.

Far too many daily dues to

Clutter up a busy mind.

Roads traversed, roads yet to travel,

Chores left from misguided youth.

Blisters chafing booted heels.

Far too much to leave behind.

Precious time, beating, fleeting.

No emotion,

So unkind.

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