Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 13

Flowery Branch

TheIndians named you Flowery Branch, most appropriately.

Nestledon a hillside sitting high above the brook.

Sleepylittle village where the

Train-tracksused to stop for just a moment,

Hardlylong enough to look.

Almostmissed when driving by

Ifsunlight makes one blink an eye.

Causingyou to miss the charm

Whichthere within her borders lie.

Thestyle of Simpson's grocery

Or Carlisle's barber shop

WhereSaturdays were made for swapping tales

Anddrinking soda pop.

Thesmall town manufacturing...

Thebait and tackle store...

Woodframed homes so old

Nobodylives there anymore.

Alittle slice out of the past,

Thissmall town by the creek.

Treasuredgemstone from our youth...

AnAmerican antique.

 

Dad's Come Home

 

Weekendswere special in our house.

Thatwas when dad came home.

Hisjourneyman labor was rough on us all.

Hejust never knew where his job bade him roam.

 

Hedid what he did... What he had to do

Forfood on the table, clothes on our backs.

Hefought and he struggled to make our lives better,

Takingthe strain that hard labor exacts.

 

Butno matter how far his travels would take him,

Howhard the journey back home was required,

Weekendswere his and ours together.

Hewas never too busy,

Nevertoo tired.

 

Saturdaymorning...  Crack of dawn...

Motherwas up... Breakfast was done...

Notime to dawdle...  Too much to do...

Nosleeping in today... Dad's come home.

 

Plastic Money

Plastic money isn't funny.

It's become our way of living.

Whether for necessities

Or buying gifts for giving.

 

It's so easy when we're asked,

"Will that be charge orcash?"

We lay that plastic money

On the counter in a flash.

 

Yes, it's easy. Much too easy.

We seldom contemplate.

We charge and charge like ragingbulls

'Til sometimes it's too late.

 

We really need to think on all

The spending we are doing.

This crazy madcap lifestyle that

Too many are pursuing.

 

For when it all is said and done,

Remember what they say.

The piper's waiting down the road,

And someone has to pay.

 

Procreation

What is this obsession that

Man has with procreation?

Why so rushed to overcrowd

A crowded situation?

 

Standing arm to elbow

In a mock civilization;

Creating more while having less

To feed the population.

 

When will man be sated

To his full realization?

Why is he obsessed with such

Destructive procreation?

Take My Picture

Take my picture, if you please.

Capture a moment in time.

Caption it. Frame it. Make meimmortal

For the next generation to find.

 

Pull out the Polaroid. Load up theNikon.

Prepare to put time in a freeze.

Wait 'til I smile for the world toremember.

Take my picture... Please!

 

The Miracles of Life

Ours is a memory of sweeter daysgone by.

Days of lilting laughter; nights tomake us cry.

Memories of growing up in harmony,through strife,

Learning through experience themiracles of life.

 

Miracles of "laughter"and good humor that we share;

"Faith" and"hope" and "charity";

The things that make us care...

"Compassion" for ourfellow-man, and with the one above...

"Friendship" lodged with"loyalty". "trust" begetting "love"...

"Aspirations" giving riseto even greater change.

While "health" will bearour burden,

And "truth" will hold thereins.

 

And all of these are miracles.

Each cause has its effect.

And every one will follow one,

And each one will direct

Us as we make our way from dawn todusk.

They give us our direction;

For each one has a special link...

A valuable connection.

And when they come together

To form that special chain,

It's a band that can't be broken

And no mortal can explain.

 

Signs of Spring

The blue jay laughs at the youngtermite

Who tries to cut down the greatpine tree.

The wind sighsthrough the thickly needled pine.

The lilac'sfragrance is one of a kind,

And the quietspring rainbow smiles down at me.

 

The showers come softly, soothingand quiet.

The sweet shrub in the meadow growswild and free.

The wind sighsthrough the thickly needled pine.

The lilac'sfragrance is one of a kind,

And the quietspring rainbow smiles down at me.

 

Daffodils smile sweetly as theyrise to kiss the sun.

The dogwoodflaunts its' stately ware for all the world to see.

The wind sighsthrough the thickly needled pine.

The lilac'sfragrance is one of a kind,

And the quietspring rainbow smiles down at me.

 

Calendar

Three hundredsixty five partitioned units...

        Partitioned totwenty four.

        Multiplied byseven...

        Divided by twelveor more

        Or less or inbetween,

        Except for onethat's never seen,

        But pops up eachsecond even year.

        All this makes acalendar.

 

Just like a boy

 

I've never seenmore

And I've neverseen less

Than a wee littleboy

Make a great bigmess.

 

War

Serpents creep...

Men sleep.

Tigers walk...

Men talk.

All is quiet...

Men fight.

Birds fly...

Men die.

Creatures sleep...

Mothers weep.