Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 152

Whispers in the Dark

In the stillness of the dark

When all the senses rise to shine

And every nuance of a clear

Subconscious mind is kindled new,

Every whisper becomes thunder

Echoing from bedroom walls

Of darkened canyons cut by glaciers

A hundred million years ago.

 

No one answers when I call;

Not a soul for miles around;

Just the shadow of the raven

Gliding across canyon floor.

 

I search for you to hear my whispers,

Long to find your gentle voice,

Need to feel your heather hair

Brush gently on my waiting skin.

But senses fail me... no response...

Nighttime becomes cold and stark, and

No one's there to quench this thirst

Or answer whispers in the dark.

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Office Gossip

Gaggling, babbling, rambling on,

The office grapevine yields its wine;

The vintage often unimportant,

Bottled quickly, swallowed fast

Then passed along in bits and snippets

Changing as it passes hands

'Til uproar lifts its ugly head

As ire is raised and doubt is cast.

 

Still we listen, still believe,

Though third and fourth or fifth-hand told,

And take to heart and pass along

Like tall tales told as lullabies.

And even though discovery lies somewhere

Just beyond our reach,

We take without a grain of salt

And gladly swallow all the lies.

 

I shall not be part and parcel.

I will dig to find the facts

When office gossip rears its ugly head

And, without shame, attacks.

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Saint or Sinner

Mother Theresa, save the children.

Be their beam; their guiding light.

Show them by your pure example

Good from evil...right from wrong.

Keep a distance from their praise

That you may not be vainly turned,

And hold your candle in the air

So you may lead and not be burned.

 

Had young Adolph known your wisdom as

A growing Aryan child,

How much grief might have been spared

A World beleaguered and beguiled

By his charisma at a time

When hope wore out and hearts were sore;

Finding audience to lead

A world embattled, primed for war.

 

Worlds apart, yet oh, so near;

Subtle differences abide.

Choosing between saint and sinner;

Sailing off with evening tide.

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A Fox in the Henhouse

Someone must have left the latch

Unhinged and open overnight

For the late night hunter, nocturne villain

Hiding in the faded light.

 

The crickets cry, the bullfrog sings,

The night owl questions, "Who is there?"

But not a sound the stealth night raider

Makes as he roams far and near.

 

Could I have faltered so unwary?

So Assured? So confident?

Must I now pay for caution's flaws?

The answer is self-evident.

 

The fox will raid but to survive,

And he will journey far and wide

To find the point of least resistance

In the shadows where he hides.

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The Mighty Have Fallen

Such a tall parapet to be stood upon;

All the world gazing up, anxious to see

If your wings will carry you over the rainbow

That rides, like a crescent, your haloed head.

 

Humanity worships its coveted heroes,

Lifted on shoulders of sinewy brawn and

Placed on a pedestal, put on display;

Rose petaled path on a carpet of red.

 

You never asked to be part and parcel

To overwrought passion carelessly aimed

In random direction, seeking a savior

To fill the void of the grossly mundane.

 

Yet favor has fallen in your direction

Placing a laurel-leaf crown on your head

That doesn't quite fit and strangely has thorns

That start early on to harbinger pain.

 

And those who placed you there gather below

Holding their breath to see how you will fly.

Waiting to see how the mighty have fallen,

Giving no pardon...

No alibi.

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Flying Downhill I had a recurring dream as a child That...

Flying Downhill

 

I had a recurring dream as a child

That I could stand on the crest of a peak

And, with the aid of a running start

And a trailing wind, could fly downhill.

 

Light as a feather I glide on the current

Of upswept air beneath my feet,

Gliding the wind to converse with the eagles,

To share their adventures, the uncommon thrill

Of the danger inherent when anyone tries

To defy the nature of gravity's rule.

 

But in a dream rules stand for nothing;

Everything's possible; anything goes.

Worlds expand and vision increases

Beyond the horizon and into the future

Where eyes are born of imagination,

And rules can never restrict or impose.

 

Ah! The wonder!  The absolute thrill!

Capturing Heaven...  Flying downhill.

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Backlash

Maybe I should have been more in tune

With her sea of emotion racing to shore.

Always obsessed with the raving and craving

Attention, I often neglected her needs.

 

Pity the soul who is blind to the passion

Of everyday Odyssey born on the wind.

The caring and giving is lost in the shadows,

And naked compassion is measured in deeds.

 

There comes a time when the piper needs paying.

It usually comes at the end of the dance

When it's too late to take back the words

That were spoken in anger like hurricane winds.

 

The backlash has torn every stitch of her fiber,

Ripped at the seams and carried away

All the essence of caring leaving a void. Filled

With rock-hard emotion of hearts on the mend.

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Tabloid Trash

I can't believe you read that trifling,

Half-baked, made up garbage can liner...

Headline grabber, sensational bilker

Of common sense reasoning out on a ledge.

Even the Ancients knew two-headed monsters

Were only a fable made up on a lark,

But tabloids would have us believe they are real,

Would push to the brink and go over the edge.

Alien babies and six-year-old mothers,

Sightings of Elvis and J.F.K...

Three headed llamas and reincarnations

Of Christ on the cross on the Vatican walls.

Stories "bizzaro" ... Stories "fantastique" ...

Psychic phenomenon spoken as truth.

Callous predictions of armed Armageddon

Sweeping the Earth as democracy falls.

Such a waste of out forest's treasure;

Unwanted ink spilled onto a page.

To think that the human race is so gullible

First makes me wonder, then

Fills me with rage.

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Stealing Lives

They buried Weaver Tuck today;

A child of six barely sprung from the womb;

Caught in a cross-fire, snuffed like a candle,

Victim of senselessness barren of shame.

Where was his crime to be paid for so heavily?

What did he do to deserve such a fate?

He only wanted to play on the sidewalk;

Sidewalks demented by torrents of hate

And the violent steaming of senseless demands

That sink the level of genuine worth

To a point so low that life loses value,

As urges and cravings beguile common sense.

Shame becomes shapeless without recompense

And the Preacher is helpless

For no one will hear,

No one stands close enough to shed a tear,

And justice is silent or slow to dispense.

 

We live in a jungle where no one survives,

And hate is allowed to go on stealing lives.

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A Kiss and Then...

I remember the anticipation

Sitting on the saber’s edge,

Not knowing how the blade might slice

Or just how deep may be its thrust.

 

We were children, so it seemed,

Bursting full with naiveté,

Asking questions born of promise,

Seeking out each other's trust.

 

You with lips so full and ready,

Waiting, Oh! So patiently to

Give your heart, your very all

To one whose step will match your own.

 

I look deep in the well of your eyes

And see right through your very soul

To realize that I was meant to

Spend my life with you alone.

 

I hesitate for but a moment,

Savoring the sweetest sin;

Moving closer, hearts aflutter...

Lips commit...  A kiss, and then....

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