Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 127

COMFORTABLE SHOES

Faithful conveyors, what I would give to

Ease the burden you must bear, and

Help you to carry this flesh and bone from

Hither to yon and back again.

 

Strapped with the bindings of fashion or season,

Designer's opinion of what you should wear;

Punishment undeserved and unwanted,

Wondering what must have been your great sin.

 

Blessed relief when the trial is over,

The buckles undone, the laces unlaced.

Wonder on wonder, why were you subjected

To such cruel torture meant to abuse,

When a few more moments of searchful reflection

May have offered relief and quickly erased

All the suffering which could be avoided

By choosing a pair of comfortable shoes.

 Lulu Storefront: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/dsmartin

THE CLEAN CRISP AIR OF AUTUMN

Something is different as I wake this morning.

The air has the freshness of cool satin sheets

As I rise to greet the new day at it's dawning.

My mind starts to race and my heart skips a beat

In anticipation; something has changed.

The air is new and clean and alive;

No sweltering mire of the dog days of August

With laboring breath meant to merely survive.

 

No sweat-stained nightshirt.

No ragweed filled head.

No tossing about through the night in half-sleep.

The breeze falling down from Saskatchewan beckons

A peaceful serenity, silent and deep.

 

The trees know the difference. they've started to blush

Knowing full well their nakedness soon will appear.

The Sun itself seems to be more in a rush

To shorten each day to the end of the year.

But I'll not waste these precious days.

I'll count each one with loving care;

Recording the sights of the changing seasons,

Breathing the clean, crisp Autumn air.

 Lulu Storefront: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/dsmartin

THE CREEK BELOW THE GARDEN

God's little acreage just below a grove of pine

Which in season wore the sweet cologne of nature's gift;

The warm clean scent of honeysuckle lingering in

Morning dew which touches wild huckleberry bushes

Clinging near the ground.

 

The garden clearing held a maze of bush and vine,

A quarter acre filled with roadside vendor's ware

Which mother rather gave away than charge a tariff

For their growing; an abundance more

Than we could use before their freshness faded past.

 

But I, in youth, was forever intrigued by

The narrow strip at the garden's edge, where a

Trickle of water somewhere upstream grew to a band

A few feet wide and sliced a miniature canyon through

The lower quadrant of our land.

 

Tall trees bordered on all sides, ancient in their guardianship. 

Moss and fern attested to the quiet seclusion from the sun.

Elderberry lined her sides with deep red-blooded sweet repast,

Which mother captured in a jar to last

Through winter's coldest days.

 

In Summer we would force her waters back

Into her shallow banks with stone and stick and sand,

A man-made dam of rudimentary skill, which washed away

The first strong rain that fell to quell

Our foolish youthful dreams.

 

Funny how the time goes by and memories fade into night.

But certain aspects in our youth are lasting thoughts... unwavering.

The creek below the garden is undying in my meager mind;

A cave-wall painting etched in stone...

A fond remembering.      

Lulu Storefront: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/dsmartin

SPEED

Motion... building...zero to sixty

And beyond until the friction

Singes against supple skin,

And eyes begin to mist and blink

To focus on what lies ahead,

As passion quickly turns to dread,

Adrenaline pumps fast and fierce.

A pounding heart pounds harder yet

Like jungle drums foreboding doomed

Anticipation of regret.

But it keeps moving; cannot stop;

Becomes addicted to itself,

An all-consuming fervent passion

Fueled by fever, cloaked in stealth,

Feeding on it's own desire

Speed keeps building higher, higher,

Higher!  Faster!  faster yet...

Until it's time to pay the debt.

 Lulu Storefront: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/dsmartin

BRIDGES

Whether to cross a wide river or gorge,

Or some symbolic abyss of our lives,

We all build bridges

From dreams to realities

Looking beyond what we see with our eyes.

 

There is strength in a bridge;

A power unspoken;

A built-in resolve to inhabit the land,

To cross over boundaries and

Seek out new faces and places

So that we might understand

All of life's little secrets

Lying just "over there";

Just over the harbor, beyond the divide.

We keep building bridges,

Seeking her treasures,

Until mother Earth has no more to hide.

 Lulu Storefront: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/dsmartin

WHITE PICKET FENCES

Straight and tall, poised and polished,

Bathed with the purity of white

The silent sentinels stand guard

Along the quiet streets and lanes;

A symbol of serenity,

Of a haven housing peace and love;

Standing duty round the clock,

They drop their guard to welcome home

The weary work-worn wayward souls

Who toil to keep them in repair.

Their gates swing open, beckoning,

Inviting in with loving care.

 

Not a barrier at all

Are these brave soldiers of the lane;

Their presence not intended to

Lock out a single sound or soul.

Instead they bid a welcoming

And offer sanctuary

When panic rushes from all sides

And madness takes its toll.

 

Picket fences... purest white...

Vigilant both day and night.

 Lulu Storefront: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/dsmartin

WATER

Here I stand at my back door window.

The robins have not yet awakened to sing,

But sleep has eluded my senses this morning,

Chased by the gentle tap-tapping you bring.

 

I stare at the streams of fresh liquid crystals

Which dance in the floodlight in chorus line fashion;

A river, an ocean which falls from the Heavens

And cleanses the Earth with a demonic passion.

 

I beckon the taps, for I must have my coffee,

And you, most obediently, quickly obey

In an act which is commonly taken for granted

A hundred, a thousand times every day.

 

My mind starts to wander and worship your treasure,

You giver of life we both fear and revere;

Your presence a barrier or a conveyance;

A reason to weep, a reason to cheer.

 

We span your expanses with bridges and monuments,

Ride on your whitecaps to enchanted isles

Where waterfalls freshen the mist of the morning

And crystal clear streams seem to go on for miles.

 

Married to sunlight... Creator of life...

Earth would be barren if you were not there...

Sustenance too often taken for granted;

Water... water everywhere.
Lulu Storefront: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/dsmartin

OLYMPIC GLORY

They came from every corner

Of an ever-changing world,

Diverse in dress and culture,

Speaking unfamiliar tongue,

Each with their special talent,

Eager to put on display

The exuberance and energy

Inherent to the young

Who's' lofty goals exceed the limits

Of our grand imaginations.

Records are no obstacles

When sights are set on high.

Success is bought with passion,

Perseverance, perspiration

And the fortitude to carry on,

Never asking why.

Each and every one of them

A unique song to sing.

Don Quixote's quest pales

With the telling of their story.

They all seek dragoned windmills

To topple in their dreams;

Chasing immortality

To find Olympic glory.

 Lulu Storefront: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/dsmartin

FORTUNE'S FAVORITE SON

The lottery jackpot was

Twelve million bucks;

So, I bought my ticket like

All hopeful fools.

Somebody, somewhere,

Favored by luck

Will find the right combo

To capture the pool.

Who knows what might happen?

So, might as well try it.

If someone is going to win,

Why not me?

It surely won't happen if

I fail to buy it;

And no one is likely to

Give them for free.

So, I'll take a chance and

Wager a dollar,

And hope for the best when

The drawing is done,

That luck is a lady and

I am her child.

Oh! to be Fortune's favorite son

 Lulu Storefront: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/dsmartin

THE BLESSING

To say that we are truly blessed

In understanding God's design.

So many gifts are undeserved.

If we would stop and take the time

To count our blessings one by one,

The pause would be forever long.

Time and again these miracles

Have been immortalized in song

And story sometimes ages old;

While often others go untold

And we are left to sort it out;

Discard the stones and keep the gold.

 

Thankful for the daily bread...

Thankful for the warming Sun...

Thankful for the air we breathe...

For restful sleep when day is done.

Thankful for the fortitude to

Face the daily stress and strife,

And for the greatest gift of all...

The opportunity of life.

 Lulu Storefront: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/dsmartin