Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 12

The Ocean Breathes

Standing beside her to seek her horizon,

Struck by her aire of august majesty,

Watching the cadence of white-cappedmigration,

The rise and the fall as she strives to befree.

 

But freedom forbids her to glide past herborders,

Confined as a victim of proclivity,

Trapped by the steeliness of gravity and

Shaped by the odd folds of geography.

Slowly she rises in vaporous billows

To sky above mountains, rivers and plains.

Offering nurture to land-loving presence,

Her cycle facilitates life-giving rain

While deep in her catacombs giants roamfreely

To feast on her sustenance unceasingly.

Teaming with buoyant, benevolent bounty

That seems to reach far beyond eternity..

 

Witness her lifeforce,

Marvel her wonders,

Sing her a song so sweet no one conceives

Of the beauty she bears,

The glamour she wears,

The wonders she shares

As she rhythmically breathes.

 

The Weather Report

What will the new dawn awaken

To this little corner of earth

Where we wait with wandering wonder

At the advent of daylight’s rebirth?

 

Will skies be sunny with luminous luster

Or dank with the dreariness of cheerlessclouds?

Will the winds make us cower, the rainsdrown the flowers,

Or shall we assemble in frolicsome crowds?

 

Harken the prophets of prognostication,

The gurus of guesswork and technologies,

Whose bold postulations are merespeculation

Given in faith but without guarantees.

 

And we give them credit,

And we consign blame to

These ardent messengers of prophesy

For plans that we make,

For plans that we cancel,

For plans that we modify with impunity.

 

So, harken, my frolicsome friend, to theirforesight

With dubious wisdom before you cavort.

Though nothing is certain

Til they pull back the curtain

No harm comes from heeding the weather report.

Feeling Small

Do you feel small in the grand scheme ofthings?

No? Take but a moment of deepintrospection and

Hold yourself captive to imagination

As awe overtakes

And reality quakes

At the breadth of the universe

In mock indignation.

 

Consider the gnat.

You are larger than that,

Yet he flies in your face

Without fear or remorse.

While elephants tower with unfetteredpower

And leave you to cower at their fearsomeforce.

 

And how do you feel when you stand by theocean

With nary a notion of where it might end?

Or look upon Everest ascending to Heaven

Or the canyon so grand that you can’tcomprehend.

 

Do you feel small?

 

Take a look at the moon with face shiningbright,

Reflecting the luster of brilliantsunlight.

The massive expanse of our galaxy fair,

Just one among millions of millions outthere.

No mind can imagine the breadth of it all.

So, I ask you again.

Do you feel small?

 

Save the World

Yes, it is true. She is only a child,

But something special dwells in her soul

To set her apart from the status quo,

Beaming her aura with a spirited glow.

 

Call it compassion or empathy

In such a small and guarded girl,

More worthy than a precious pearl

Who only wants to save the world,

 

Whose thoughts and dreams are pricelessschemes

Of building love and hope for all,

To be a lynchpin in the wall,

To help protect the weak and small.

 

Often sad is she who serves

As empath to a broken life

Reaching out to those in strife

When sorrow cuts them like a knife.

 

Planning projects, large and small,

To serve the masses drowning in need,

Restore the plenty lost to greed

And be the first to plant the seed of

Love where fields of flowers grow,

And rows of rainbow flags unfurl.

The spirit of one delicate girl

Whose only wish:

To save the world.

Age is Just a Number

FatherTime is masterful at

Changingplots and storylines,

Andall bear witness as

Thetransformations are discerned.

Asseason shifts to season

Etchedin incremental stages,

Mortalitybecomes

Anunavoidable concern.

 

Butage is just a number

Andold is but a state of mind.

AndI’ll be here (until I’m not),

So,set the feast and pour the wine.

 

LikeMister Frost whose lifelong task

Wasoft misunderstood,

Butfound the road to longevity

Ina lonely yellow wood.

OrGlenn, the younger, circumnavigating

Timeand space

ToGlenn, the elder, after

Sevendecades and still in the chase.

 

So,let the aging process roll

Uncheckedand unforgiving,

AndI’ll be here (until I’m not)

Tomake the most of living.

 

Finally

So, now we come to the very end.

This is the last poem in my book.

Just remember, when life serves you lemons,

Make lemonade,

And don't shoot the cook.

 

Baking Cookies

Holiday cookies at our house;

A traditional affair.

To see them stacked from door to door

And floor to ceiling isn't rare.

 

Whether plain and basic,

Or decorated with a flair,

Each is made from start to finish

With our tender loving care.

 

Is it worth the effort?

Is it worth the wear and tear?

Is there any satisfaction

When we offer up our fare?

 

With all the people waiting

We would be remiss to dare

To call off our yearly Christmas

Cookie bake extraordinaire.

 

Broadway

I've only been twice to a Broadwayshow;

Saw the same show both times.

Marveled each time at just beingthere;

All the glint and glitter on fortythird,

The "Majestic" the"Helen Hayes",

The magic of just walking through Times Square.

There's something truly special in

The lights along Broadway.

They beam to say they've nothing leftto hide.

And after dining on the veal from

Sardi's evening fare,

One tends to overlook the seamy side.

But it's inside, when lights go dim,

That the senses exercise.

The stage transforms to a life of itsown,

And a new world fills the eyes.

Reality takes a holiday trip

To a playwright's fantasy;

To wake the mind,

To stir the soul,

To set the spirit free.

 

Page One Fourteen

Here we are on page one fourteen;

Our reading just begun to glean.

Have we learned anything that’s new?

Kindled up a thought or two

'Til it becomes a soaring fire

Forty stories, maybe higher?

Have you stopped to see yourself

In the eyes of someone else?

Will you read and read again

From beginning to the end?

If you only stopped to think,

Poetry could be a drink

Nourishing the very soul,

Nurturing to young and old.

Don't stop now. No! Please, read on.

Many battles to be won.

There's more beyond page one fourteen.

 

A Day at the Races

Stepping out with ticket in hand

And hope riding high on a yet unseensteed,

I stand in awe of the spectacle,

Unknowing of where the adventure maylead.

 

Unlike those to whom the event is

A common occurrence, a daily routine,

Mine is a mindset of freshundertaking,

Reviving old memories evoked by thescene.

 

The oval of sand and sod stretchingout

And around the lush pasture offreshly mown green.

The anticipation of speed, grace andpower

Makes me feel like a child ofsixteen.

 

The princely procession parades forthe masses,

Stately and proud their colorsdisplay.

Noble demeanor etched in their faces;

Confident, each one, that this istheir day.

 

The strutting completed, each onetakes their places,

Guarded and stroked by encouraginghands

Until, on a cue, the portals burstopen

And power emerges to meet theirdemands.

Around the wide oval they unleashtheir power,

Demeanor abandoned, forsaken forspeed.

Muscular strides of sinew and sweat

Stretching and straining to get tothe lead.

Around the turns race the thunderinghoard

Attacking and churning and tearingthe track.

Surging and soaring to stretch forthe forefront;

No time to pause, demure or lookback.

 

And now to the stretch, as they runfor the wire,

Unbridled excitement and tensionabound.

Knowing that one and only one

Can lay his claim on the winner'scrown.

And all who are standing and urgingthem on,

With a lump crying deep in the pit oftheir throat,

Pray that the ticket they clutch totheir breast

Will offer them the honor to gloat.

 

And now the great mass of sinew andflesh

Break their stride as the race is atend.

And I look at my ticket, tear it inhalf,

And go back to the window again.

 

Next race in twenty minutes.