Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 147

Listen To the Lies

Wrestling with the grave predisposition,

Clinging to a trusting nature,

Wanting desperately to find

A simple something to believe.

 

Hoping that the fangs have been retracted,

Waiting silently in shadows til

The shackles turn to butter,

Yearning for a fast reprieve.

 

Walk into the den of fire and lions,

Leave your weapons at the doorstep,

Slide the deadbolt from the outside,

Blindfold covering your eyes.

 

Judgment takes a permanent vacation,

Blinded by the situation.

Pavlov’s pet in its creation

As you listen to the lies.

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Gulch Jumpers

We use to jump through puddles

In the springtime

In the rain.

We laughed and then got yelled at

When our mothers saw

Our soaking shoes.

We spent our teenaged summers

Jumping gullies

Falling short.

We laughed and we got yell at

For our dirty

Dungarees

Our chasm grew much wider

When the leaves

Began to fall.

We laughed a little less and yet

The yelling

Had been stilled.

Now wintertime approaches

And our gully

Is a gulch.

And I don’t have the energy

To jump

To laugh

To yell

To cry.

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A Heavy Price

Danger is a constant force

That presses ever closer

When goals come into focus and

The prize lies just ahead.

Tiptoeing around it would be

Prudent if not easier than

Bulling past with helmet lowered

Striking head to head.

Lying dazed and shattered

Hazed and tattered from the battle,

Hearing sideline prattle wanting

Desperately to know.

Did I cross the goal line as

The seconds ticked to nothing?

Will I ride on shoulders or

Is this the final show?

Heroes are just suckers

Offered up for sacrifice,

Willingly forsaking as

They pay a heavy price.

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Scary, Scary

Monster faces…

         Scary, scary…

Moaning, wailing

         In the night.

Bloody hands reach out

         In darkness

Searching for a

         Throat to squeeze

Til every ounce of

         Precious life

Has left the soul to

         Take to flight,

Every thought snuffed

         Into blackness,

Life stilled with

         Delightful ease.

Damn you, Monster!

         Damn to Hell

Your crass satanic

         Evil ways.

I defy your

         Midnightrevels,

Stand with dagger,

         Sword and shield.

Ready to defend

         My castle

With my last

         Remaining breath.

Breathe your fire.

         Do your worst.

I shall never,

         Ever yield.

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Low-balled Again

Blanked and bewildered by

Low-ball deception,

Cranked up and shanked with

A shiv to the gut.

Offered up lamb-like to

Bare pagan ritual,

Left like road kill to

Rot in the rut.

 

You might have thought I would

Learn by now to

Stay out of the waters where

Sharks tend to tread.

But blinders and short-term

Memory lapses

Beckon for strangers to

Crawl in my bed.

 

I take exception,

Protest in anger.

No matter the offer from

Stranger or friend.

My eyes won’t falter.

My will won’t wither.

I will never be

Low-balled again.

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Ambush

Who would have guessed it? No one suspected.

You, so lucid, so docile, so meek,

So filled with scruples, so bent on tolerance,

Never suspected of vengeful bones.

 

But truth is a bitch who knows no remorse,

And facts lie before us in humbling rote.

You, in your passion, committing atrocities

No one who knows you could ever foresee.

 

Now in reflection I see you rehearsing,

Running your lines again and again.

No room for error. No turning back now.

Focused obsession your only meal.

 

Keep your head down and be very still.

Become invisible. Don’t make a sound.

Silence and stealth frame an alliance

Able to bring down the largest of prey.

 

Wait for your moment to leap from the shadows.

Pounce with a fierceness that overwhelms

The bravest heart, crushing resistance,

Crumbling will like an axe to the skull.

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Old Man

Look at you. You are amazing.

There must be a thousand stories buried deep

Behind that face. Every wrinkle proudly earned,

Every crease a battle-scar.

It wouldn’t launch a single ship,

But tells a tale of odyssey.

Furrowed deep by sun and smoke,

Brow and cheeks reflecting but a memory

Of taut and toned.

The mirror can be so unkind.

Burying the past behind a mask so heavy

That it’s only seen in pictures taken somewhere

Far away.

Long ago.

Hard to picture in my mind

You running, skipping, hurdling,

Making sweet love in your prime,

Bent to set the world on fire.

Beg me listen to your story.

Let me nestle at your feet.

Teach me. Guide me to your wisdom.

I have so much yet to learn.

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Tic Toc Tic

Ever forward, stepping out.

Are you enemy or friend?

Able to repair great sorrow,

Only to delay the bitter ending

That is sure to come.

Measuring in constant cadence

Ticking, tocking, ever so.

Far too busy to look back,

Never stop to find a home.

Bold and brave you sally forth,

Never known to shed a tear,

Wear a frown, laugh out loud,

Stone-faced bastard that you are.

Can’t you stop? Slow your pace?

Catch the fragrance while it lingers,

Or are you too busy trying desperately to

Reach your star?

Tic… No pressure. No emotion.

Toc… On board. No turning back.

Tic… No warning. No deception.

Challenging to raise the bar.

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You Can Run, You Can’t Hide

Darkened corners offer little comfort

As a hiding place.

Secret spaces so remote that no one

Knows your name, your face. Your alibi is

Suspect, just a rubber band that’s

Stretched to snap with one last tug.

Eye’s cast down trying to deny disgrace.

 

I was there.

I was witness to your folly;

So unwise.

Gambling your very soul, for what?

The odds of winning any prize were

So remote, stacked against your favor

From the very start.

But I could not convince you or

Erase the stardust from your eyes.

 

Now the knock upon your door

Coming to collect your debt.

Paying with a pound of flesh.

Sad conclusion.

Hard regret.

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Great Divide

We are just two bull rams seeking

Dominance among the herd.

Reason long suspended, vanquished

To some craggy mountaintop.

 

Now the only sound for miles is

Two heads butting with a crack so loud

It splits the crowded stillness,

Shattering the great divide.

 

Neither prone to letting go.

Neither one can walk away.

Hurling bodies seek to crush with

Fist-filled verbiage soaked in heat.

 

Blow-torch madness reaches fever

Seeking to crack skull to skull.

Who will finally succeed this

Caustic catastrophic game?

 

Neither bade such confrontation.

But it came,

No warning signs.

Evolution’s revolution,

No surrender…

No retreat….

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