Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 145

Perfect Pitch

Outside corner, low, away,

Paint the black. Strike three.

Hometown crowd erupts with joy,

Fanatics roar with glee.

 

Mezzo soprano sharpens. Ends

Her aria with ease.

Audience is mesmerized,

Mezzo soprano pleased.

 

Salesman standing, foot in door to

Satisfy my itch,

Amaze me with your talent for

Illusion, bait and switch.

 

Braced for failure, seeking out

Perpetual perfection.

Seldom finding sweet success

Advancing my direction.

 

Goes to show, one never knows

The what, how, where or which,

The subtle canvas that we paint

In finding perfect pitch.

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Sold Into Bondage

Once with a dream sailing off into daybreak

Probed to excitement by bold wistfulness,

Prodding the notion that nothing else mattered,

Dancing on razor’s edge. No second guess.

 

No fear of falling. No vain malcontent.

Challenging challengers. Beckoning more

With youthful exuberance, sad inexperience

Setting the stage for the heartbreak in store.

 

Out on the treadmill the dream becomes whitewashed,

Stripped of its colors, robbed of its gold.

Traded and peddled in markets of plenty.

Altered by robbers; finally sold.

 

Who are these heartless merchants of cunning

Selling off souls for a guilder or less?

Killing off dreams like assassins for hire.

Bloodless desires that never confess.

 

Waiting for rescue will not lift these shackles.

Cut off an arm if it helps to go free.

Back to the marketplace, into the fray.

Banner a dream for the whole world to see.

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The Private I

Come around some other time.

There’s no joy to share this moment.

Laughter just a distant mem’ry.

Smiles lost to unseeing eyes.

 

Unaccustomed as I have become to

Fits of melancholy,

These are strange emotions swarming

Over me like hungry flies.

 

Must need time to sort it all

In simple logical progression.

Must find reason, must make

Season follow season to conclusion.

 

Every cause must make effect.

Cannot let the sequence vary.

Cannot let deception carry off

My thoughts with vague illusion.

 

Focus!

Focus. Find the answer.

Scout the glen from mountainside.

Loose the falcon. Set him free.

Revel his unfettered glide.

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Get a Grip

What is this fantasy I’m in?

Could it be much more inane?

To dicker here and dawdle there,

To walk the boundaries of insane.

 

Must be in a sleepwalk state

Mesmerized by candlelight

Flickering. Bickering,

Trying to decide what’s right.

 

Can’t be any tried and true

Imaginings to lead the way.

Left to falter, left to flounder,

Left for yet another day.

 

Somewhere in this canyon deep

A river must flow out to sea.

Oh, to craft a simple raft to

Take me where I need to be.

 

Stripping out the colors until

Flesh is bared in subtle tone.

Reaching out to grab a limb…

Pulled into the safety zone.

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Big Fat Liar

Bogus lips who wave and waddle in

A wind of fabrication.

Bastardized capitulation to the

Terms of simple reason,

Killing any last good hope that

Principal might will and win.

Withering on sun-dried porches,

Wallow in your dismal dregs.

 

When did it become such labor?

Such a ruesome journey just to

Find a fact and lay it out in

Rhythmic sweet simplicity.

 

When did stealth subversiveness

Become the ruling master plan?

Is it greed? Is it mead to

Grace the face of conversation?

 

Am I ill to be pragmatic?

Wanting fact in place of ilk.

Cast your fate with yellow dogs

When truth subverts to holiday.

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Together for Never

We can’t seem to get together

In this helter-skelter mix.

Pathways never quite converge in

Forest green or meadow bright.

Often time it’s hill or mountain

Blocking view, come between.

Even when we find a tunnel

Funneled miles without the light.

 

Seeking grand and righteous virtues

You fly high above my brow,

Teasing me to grab your wing, to

Fly beside you on your quest.

But flying high above the crowd,

Beyond the clouds, is not my cup.

Grounded here on common soil,

I seek only happiness.

 

No doubt somewhere eons hence

Our kindred souls shall meet again.

But for now we close our blissful eyes and

Dream what might have been.

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Heartbreaker

Hail to the heartbreaker,

Standing tall.

May you get all you consider your due.

May the puppy you thrashed

Bounce back biting you

In the ass as you sit high on your wall

Looking down, sad, smug smile on your face.

Never imagining you’re the hard case.

Never considering you’re a disgrace

To your gender,

Pumped as you are with such gall.

 

Truce and truth…

Let the moment subside.

Pry yourself from the crack

Where you hide.

Sample humility… swallow some pride…

See what your stifled mem’ry recalls of

A time you sat in opposing chairs,

Totally baffled, unaware of

The lead ball headed straight for your heart,

Leaving you desolate…

         Lost…

                 And small.

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Breakdown

Smothering clouds hold the sunlight at bay while

The raven’s scream cuts deep in my soul.

Spirit sinks low in a bottomless pit of despair

Where no one can find their feet.

 

Drifting in aimless, directionless haze.

Shifting position, adjusting my gaze.

Lift me please from this impossible maze.

Sifting out options, however discreet.

 

Where is my mindset?

Far gone my passion.

Blasted to pieces – a million and one.

Washed up on beaches as

Fodder to seabirds,

Or left undiscovered to shrink in the heat.

 

Tear-stained,

Mind drained of any compassion,

Weakened to sniffling, sniveling flesh.

Yield to the travesty.

Abandon logic.

Embrace the comfort of utter defeat.

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History Speaks. Is Anybody Listening?

Echoes bounce back constantly,

Reminders of transgressions, blind

Oppression, sad impressions,

Allegations of what might have been.

Someone even wrote it down,

Polished every detail, printed,

Sold it retail, turned a profit

Baked in mortal sin.

 

Prepubescent innocence is quell

To feed on fervorance,

And dies e’er it becomes intense

Enough to feed the quakes.

And we forget, or just don’t care

To read the notes of yesteryear,

And so are doomed beyond repair

To make the same mistakes.

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The Right Tool

Sometimes it takes a hammer,

Other times… a sponge.

Driving nails, driving home a point,

Or simply cleaning up,

Absorbing all the overflow

Emotions generate.

Tearing down the bitter

Brick and mortar of mistrust.

 

Raise the sword of savagery

When faced with fearsome foe.

Embrace the dove and laurel leaf

When beckoned to converse.

Face the world with pen in hand

To foster your belief.

Seek the book of knowledge

In ravenous repast.

 

Measure twice your choices

Before cutting them to fit.

Level every surface, every

Angle neatly squared.

Keep your tools in order,

Cleaned and ready; within reach.

Choices make the difference

Between sanity and strife.

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