Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 153

Thrown In a Well

Pebbles cause ripples that no one sees

When unceremoniously thrown in a well.

Like the tree in a forest when no one's around;

If it falls does it matter if it makes a sound?

Do the squirrels or the rabbits, the foxes or bees

Really care if it cried as in anguish it fell.

 

Pain that's unseen; is it pain at all?

Does silence absolve and secrets abjure

All the senses to feelingless flights of emotion?

Tasting the dredges of serpentine potion

'Til no one remembers, no eyes recall all

The torrents of torment we're meant to endure.

 

No one will know us.

No one will tell.

Our lives are like pebbles

Thrown into a well.

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Breakwaters

Staring out beyond the horizon,

Past the breakwaters of

Souls lost at sea;

Stories abound of lives

Filled with adventure,

Of poets and pirates

And slaves of indenture,

Monsters and mutinies,

And dark mystery.

 

Shelter and safety out of harms way

Abides in the harbor,

Lives on the shore.

Aweighing the anchor belays every caution,

Reeking of danger

From every direction,

Permeating every pore.

Such fools, the land-lubbers,

Playing it safe;

Denying the ocean spray

Pounding their skin.

Praying the moorings of

Pristine white harbor

To coddle their comfort

As they yearn in silence

Watching with longing

The ships sailing out.

Watching in wonder

The ships sailing in.

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When Will It End

It builds in silence

Like a wake...

A teardrop shed,

A moan, a sigh...

The dreadful quake of a muffled cry

As emotions burst into open flame

And the circle breaks

To a world of dread,

As the Serpent comes to

Lay his claim.

 

We leave this life

In a silent rage,

So unsure yet

Longing for more

As we leaf through the book

Reviewing each page,

Wistfully hoping the

Final score

Will prove us worthy

Of a second look.

Not really sure what made it begin...

Life's fatal question:

"When will it end?"

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A Voice on the Radio

I fell in love at seventeen

With a voice who's face I had never seen,

Echoing quietly, soft and serene

On the airwaves traveled a million miles

To touch my soul with angelic tones.

Speaking in voice so much like my own;

Whispering softly for my ears alone.

Soothing contentment...

Tickling smiles...

 

Where can nostalgia tempt us to go?

Seeking the joy that we knew long ago,

Harboring secrets that no one can know;

No one may enter our private domain.

 

Wild beasts may beckon to break down our door,

Serpents may slither across barren floor,

Gluttons may hunger... Longing for more,

But settle for silence...

As memories remain.

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Search and Destroy

You were on a mission, weren't you?

You knew from the start

Where this roadway would end.

You sought me out bringing wild abandon

To the table to serve as dessert,

And I was swept up on this wild Carney ride.

Breathless and helpless to call to a halt,

We punched every ticket 'til long after sunset

Never believing the fair would shut down.

But you never stopped seeking new rides to venture;

New thrills and spectacles were your demands.

Never content to just sit close and snuggle,

Never enough to just walk holding hands.

So sad you never could learn love's contentment.

Too bad your fickle heart couldn't be coy.

I'll not participate.

I'll not be party to you on your mission

To search and destroy.

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I Found It in the Dictionary

Prophesizing visionary

Praying hard for luminary

Foresight to the tertiary

Limits of your goal.

Ever seeking sanctuary,

Running from incendiary

Passions that could crush the very

Essence of the soul.

Nodding off to Sprite and Fairy

Cold and dark as January;

Sailing on the tributary

To an open Sea.

Every micro capillary

Plays the tune both sad and merry

From conception 'til they bury

And we cease to be.

Playing the reactionary

Found in Webster's dictionary.

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Personal Ads

I watched it as it grew from

Just a single column in the

Arts and Entertainment section

Of the local Sunday news.

I thought it at first to be an oddity

To place the Personals

In such a section, so obscure,

So hidden from the public view.

But week to week it became clear

The lonely souls were reading

As column grew to pages

'Til it quite obscured the Arts,

And it finally occurred to me

And filled me with delusion

To think there are so many

Restless, searching, lonely hearts.

 

All those people reaching out,

Longing for affection.

No time left for subtlety;

"In search of" ... direction.

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Canvas of Life

The artist's hand moves stealthily

From palette to board and back again;

Almost as if in a single stroke

As colors unfold on the canvas of life.

 

Slowly at first as the medium blends

And lays down the backdrop on which to compose

The outline, the structure of what is to be;

Brushing the texture;

Caressing the soul.

 

Soon are the bright colors flashing and glowing,

Going in every direction at once;

Yearning a structure to give some direction,

Seeking the meaning of what is to be.

 

Days become weary and move Oh! Too swiftly,

Demanding a signing; a final review.

Praying the images left on the canvas

Will serve as a lesson for others to view.

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Pieces of Peace

Every man searches for peace and prosperity;

Not always consciously; sometimes in vain.

Sometimes it's simple,

Like silent contentment,

The sweet fragrant air that billows the Earth

And follows the trail of a gentle Spring rain.

 

Often as not, it is more complicated

Trying to fathom the meaning of life,

Searching out goals that will somewhat relate

To the patchwork pattern

Pieced together from scraps of a cloth cut

With a dull-edged knife.

 

Seeking perfection in an imperfect World

Can lead only to madness, heartache and grief.

Pieces of peace...

The best we can hope for.

Take our contentment in snippets of joy

'Til the darkness of night arrives like a thief.

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The Way of It All

I'm trying hard to understand,

But questions are too numerous.

They fall so hard the weight

Is like a boulder rolling down a hillside

Giving new perspective as

I view them from a distant plain

Escaping their destructive force.

 

So many wheres and whats and hows

For unwary travelers of this World;

Unwittingly I journey on

Seeking the knowledge, the freedom to choose,

And that choices be forever true

To the nature of my lowly being;

To serve the right cause,

To seek the right goal.

The plot becomes clear as stories unfold.

The answers are there,

Though not always seen.

The trick is to

Question everything.

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