Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 150

November Rain

I shiver in November rain;

Never should have come outside.

Each needled drop a pin-prick

Penetrating into tender flesh

Left uncovered and exposed to

Elements so raw and rigid,

So dank and frigid that I'm

Left to question

The very sanity,

The sanctity of my decision.

Perhaps it's time for another plan,

Or at the least, a bold revision.

 

Taking on the elements

With no protection from the cold,

Exposed to late November's wrath,

Enduring every ache and pain,

I struggle forth upon my quest

Seeking answers sorely needed,

Knowing not what lies ahead

As I defy November rain.

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Watching the Freak Show

Now, I'm no raving beauty, it's true,

But there is one thing, for sure, that I know.

The freaks are alive and they live everywhere,

And they never fail to put on a show.

They travel the halls and they frequent the malls

Aimlessly roaming the streets without fear,

And I wonder and ponder as they pass me by

Is it possible they own a mirror?

If they do, do they use it? For I just can't see

How they hope to be understood.

Do they stand there before it and think to themselves,

"Damn it all! I'm looking good!"

It seems that they've really gone out of their way

To tickle the fringe of the truly absurd.

My thought is to laugh, but I hold it inside,

And just shake my head... Don't say a word.

Oh! To be different! To stand from the crowd.

To totally be so unique.

The price that you pay to have people say

As they point at you, "Look at the freak!"

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Pursuit of Happiness

It's not so elusive; not so hard to find;

It's all around every day

There for the taking...

A well never emptied. No matter how much

Is drawn from its reservoir

There's always more.

It rains from the sky...

Rides on the wind.

Its comfort is like the

Embrace of a friend.

A tickle, a tingle,

A twinkling eye,

Smiles on the faces of passers-by.

And though the World may be humbled and hard,

Days may be long and travail deep and dense,

The Happiness waits with the patience of Saints

At the end of the journey to help us make sense

Of a life that is otherwise

Filled with remorse...

It's in the pursuit

That we find our true course.

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Nasty Boys

Men are pigs!  Face it.  It's true.

Nasty little boys whose minds never grew

Past their genital area, never matured

To emotional freedom, always subdued

By an ego inflated with masculine pride

As to fashion itself to be cocky and rude.

Picking to pieces the fairer sex.

So unaware of the harmful effects,

So uncaring, so inconsiderate,

Like a child growing older illiterate,

Stumbling in darkness, direction askew,

Seeking to remedy his solitude.

Never aware of his needy condition,

Sowing his oats with no need to be coy,

Finding too late that his cup is half-empty.

It's time for you to grow up,

Nasty boy.

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Lies In Your Eyes

There are secrets that we keep

Beneath the surface dark and deep,

Cloaked in shadows creeping

Through a labyrinth of hidden sins.

Breaking all the rules of custom,

Shaking the forbidden tree

To savor the fruits not meant to taste,

To see the sights not meant to see.

 

... And you have come to tell me

That your faithfulness is still in tact;

That you wade in fidelity; that

I should see your heart is true;

That I must keep you in my trust

And that you lust for no one else;

That history should be my guide

And blind faith keep me close to you.

 

... But no matter how you struggle to

Manipulate and vocalize,

There's no way you can deny

The lies that I find in your eyes.

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Patriot's Revenge

Marching steadfast through the rain

To points ahead as yet unknown,

Knowing only when the trek is finished

Will the point be made,

The enemy confronted and

The final debt be paid

To obliterate and liberate

The high and mighty from their throne.

 

He was but a simple man

Meant to live a simple life,

Wishing harm to no one,

Professing peace, lamenting love,

'Til grave obsession played its hand

Sweeping down from high above

Enslaving those of unlike value,

Saddling their hearts with strife.

 

Now the husk is off the corn;

The closed door taken off the hinge.

The patriot is primed and ready

For his taste of sweet revenge.

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Running From the Back of the Pack

I can see the leaders up ahead;

So confident, not looking back,

So self-assured, so self-absorbed,

Not considering the lowly pack.

 

They seem to run so effortlessly

With posture not unlike

A standing portrait, straight and true

With eyes fixed in a stoic gaze,

The rising, falling movement of

Their heaving chest a testament

To patient training of their skill,

To calm resolve and confidence.

 

Their demeanor serves them well,

But I have one advantage here.

I can watch their every movement

From my trailing vantage point.

 

So, I will let them set the pace

As I wait patiently behind

And we'll just see who happens to be

First to cross the finish line.

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In Other Words

I hate when someone says to me,

"In other words, what you're saying is..."

What I'm saying is just what I said.

What part did you not understand?

Was I not clear?

Did you not hear?

...My words not make it to your ear?

Or were you just distracted by

The simple gestures of my hands?

 

People hear what they want to hear...

What suits their purpose at the time,

And though your words may be crystal clear,

The buzzer stuck inside their head

Distorts and blocks, manipulates

And turns around your meaning 'til

It suits a purpose quite unlike

What you originally had said.

 

And so you hear," In other words..."

And you just want to scream and shout,

Or worse, to take them by the neck and

Squeeze until their lights are out.

 

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Rest in Peace

You were quite the Dapper Dan

In your own way; in your own day

You kissed the girls. You made some cry,

Then kissed the teardrops from their eyes.

You made sweet love, then said, 'Goodbye.'

You didn't know what else to say.

 

Tiny points of starlight twinkled

From the corners of your smile, and

Laughter was a specialty that

Seemed to spread contagiously

To fill whatever room you might be

Occupying for a while.

 

People loved to be around you,

Loved to share your point of view,

The sure quick-witted sharp retorts

That bound back smartly, clean and short,

A rubber ball bounced off a court,

Like arrows flying straight and true.

 

Now you're silent, dearest friend.

Someday soon we'll meet again.

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Cannibals

The drums... The distant drumming

Is foreboding Evil's eminent

Approach as I lay sleepless

On a breathing jungle floor,

Knowing when the drumming stops

The silence soon will issue forth

It's summons and the chase begins

As I seek sanctuary's door.

 

Heading deep into the underbrush

I seek a hiding place,

Praying to avoid the common predators

Of lower cunning;

Knowing my true enemy is one of like flesh,

Closing fast.

I cover tracks as best I can

And task my weary legs keep running.

 

Faith is shaken, and all calm

Is turned to fitful flights of fright.

Satan must protect these cannibals

Who stalk the restless night.

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