Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 130

GEE / HAW

"Gee" to the right and

"Haw" to the left.

Father's voice rang with those

Simple commands.

"Giddy-up" go and

"Whoa! mule" to stop

Was all the old Dobbin could understand

Of the English language,

Though I'm quite sure

It was much more than he

Ever wanted to know.

He would have been more

Contented for sure

Just to roam in the pastures

Where wild clover grows.

But striding along with Dad

Traveling behind,

Plough shear between them

Tumbling the earth,

Tilling the soil for the

Planting of seed

Vaguely aware what his labor was worth.

Stalwartly, trodding, plodding along;

An acre behind; and acre to go.

"Gee" to the right and "Haw" to the left;

Minutes to hours; row after row.

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HOLIDAYS AT THE MALL

How did you spend last Memorial Day?

Did you stand by the grave side

Of fallen soldiers and

Weep in their memory for the sacrifice

They so bravely made just to keep you free?

Did you think about them at all?

 

How did you spend Independence Day?

Did you waive the flag to

"Oh say, can you see..." ?

Did you wear funny hats,

Clothes of red, white and blue?

Or was it just a day off from

The helter-skelter week of work?

 

Holidays... Sale days...

Spent at the mall,

Searching for bargains in climate control.

Another day older...

Another day off...

Another cash sale

Of our spirit and soul.

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FIVE O'CLOCK

It begins almost immediately

As warm bodies filter halls

Which last night were void of

All human conveyance. Of

Trite conversations of yesterday's weather,

Of ball scores and dinner plans

Yet to be finalized.

 

Now it begins all over again,

The wishing, the longing to

Be somewhere else.

The nagging complaints about

Time better spent somewhere,

Anywhere else but this vast

Ho hum dump.

 

Time for a break; cut away from the wheel

Which incessantly spins

As the day drags its feet.

Must walk away for a moment or two

Or else throw up hands

In a sign of defeat.

 

Trucking along through

The muck and the mire,

Biding time just like one of the flock.

Secretly waiting for transformation,

The magic which happens

At five o'clock.

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The Wedding

...And now the plans have come together,

Preparations finalized.

Every deadline met its match;

Every detail, its condition.

 

The crowd of friends

And fond relations, fanning in anticipation,

Waiting to be entertained

By ceremony and tradition.

 

Dirges played on organ, though

You wish they'd choose a happy tune

To celebrate the grand occasion.

Solemnity is such a bore.

 

You snap the children to attention

Whose fidgeting becomes obsessive,

Give a nudge to Grandpa just

Before his wheeze becomes a snore.

 

Now all the waiting's over as

The wedding march fills up the air.

All rise to view the party as the

Toothy smiles grow ear to ear.

 

The nervous groom mysteriously appears

And waits before the altar

As father fills his chest with pride

And mom fights back a single tear.

 

And now a vision dressed in white

Floats softly down her aisle of dreams

To seek a hand filled with her own

And make a vow to never part.

 

Two people who have found each other...

Two lives which now reside as one...

Two into one: a solemn promise.

Two souls together of one heart.

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AFTERLIFE

I can't help but wonder

What awaits in afterlife;

Can't believe we simply die

And that's the end; the final step.

The spirit, the soul,

If they truly exist,

Must be carried off to

A higher plain which can't

Be seen by mortal eyes,

Much like the light at the

Edge of the spectrum,

Reaching to levels beyond our vision,

Waiting to reveal itself when

At last we shed this mortal coil.

 

Where do we go?

No one knows.

No mortal has been there

Then come back to tell.

Call it Heaven if you like;

A place where peaceful souls may dwell.

 

Whatever waits in afterlife,

Whatever consciousness abides,

Will be a new adventure

When we finally reach the other side.

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BUILDER OF DREAMS

It's a feeling that consumes you;

Deep within your inner soul

It grows from seeds sewn long ago,

Expanding to excessive measure.

 

Tall ship glides into your harbor;

Regal as her masts undress

And rest a while, lashed to your pier

Awaiting orders to set sail.

 

You, her captain, store her ballast.

You approve her manifest.

You alone must chart her course

And choose the sea she rides upon.

 

Destination at your bidding,

Sun and moon, the stars to guide as

Open seas unfold before you

And your crew unfurls her sails.

 

Favoring breezes build your hope

Preparing you for stormy seas.

Hope, your first mate, scans horizons

Searching to fulfill your dreams.

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THINGS WE TAKE FOR GRANTED

I can wake up in the morning

And walk down the stairs

Because I have feet which

Will carry me there.

 

I can watch television

Or read a good book

Because I have eyes which

Allow me to look.

 

I can speak to you

And hear your reply.

My ears catch your question.

My voice tells you why.

 

I can reach out and touch you,

And stroke your hair;

Let my fingertips tell you

Just how much I care.

 

These marvelous senses;

A joy to behold;

To take them for granted

Is callously cold.

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MOONSHOT AND BEYOND

I envy those who have been to the moon;

The chosen few who have touched her soil,

And viewed first-hand the earth in its glory,

Set on a canvas of dark lonely space.

 

One might imagine the exhilaration,

The rush of adrenaline speeding the heart

Until breathing shortens or stops altogether,

And the awe of its grandeur reflects on your face.

 

The pause is but a moment or two

And the task of survival quickly returns.

But the realization of how tiny we are

Gives new meaning to our humdrum lives.

 

This platform is a portal to a galaxy beyond

Where every possibility resides...

Where man is but a player whose part is yet unknown...

Where mystery exists and hope survives.

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THE PLAY IS THE THING

Nestled in a darkened room.

My feet pulled back beneath the chair

Meant to avoid late-coming traffic of

Those too unfeeling to arrive on time.

Ploying my neighbor to wrestle the armrest,

A respite of comfort as evening advances.

Straining to read the last lines of the program;

Looking for hints of what may lie ahead.

Patience thins with the slightest delay

As anticipation stands on its toes

And stretches and strains to be

Launched on its journey,

Longing to see which direction it goes.

 

The overture starts as the crowd becomes hushed and

Familiar melodies fill the room...

A sour note from a horn breaks the air as

Peripheral motion is spied in the wing...

The crowd settles in with focused attention,

Awaiting the miracle yet to unfold as

The night becomes magic, reality fades,

The stage fills with life and

The play is the thing.

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MONEY, MOOLAH, DOLLAR BILLS

Would it be trite for me to say that

Money is of no importance?

After all, we must transact

The basics of society,

And since the sense of simple barter

Is antiquated in our time,

Seems little else is useful in

Acquiring life's necessities.

Sad that it's become the driving force

Of all ambition's quest.

Sad replacement for the values

Honor gave nobility.

Graven image placed on altars,

Worshiped as a god on high,

Crass excuse, when all else fails,

For loss of sensibility.

Would that times were simpler,

When hope lived steadfast in each heart,

And life was not a mockery of

Blaming others for our ills.

When the art of living off the land

Was still a possibility,

And life was not a cutthroat game of

Money, moolah, dollar bills.

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