Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 156

Competition

Don't be too hard on yourself

If you don't win each time you try.

It's the trying that's important.

You never need an alibi

If you have given every measure

Of true effort in your quest.

Competition stirs the spirit

Bringing out your best.

Demons try to undermine us.

Selfish dragons snap and snarl.

Pushing, pulling, nagging, yelling,

Baiting... Begging not to quarrel.

Just remember in the end

You've just one life to save.

You can't let competition

Put you in an early grave.

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Logic

My all time hero is Mister Spock;

Not the doctor, but the trekker;

The science officer of the Enterprise.

Born of logic, freed of feelings,

Void of human fallacies.

No emotions evidenced

When gazing in his eyes.

Although his stoic countenance

Was carried to extreme;

Too complex for us to understand,

The aspect of his character

Is simple in its form;

Pointing to the frailties in man.

 

All things must be logical;

Adhering just to facts.

Science forms the singularly

All-embracing tract.

 

Fortunately, Spock was not

Completely void of feeling.

Even though his training hid it well.

His human half emerged and helped

To guide in his decisions

Like Pavlov's dogs

Responding to the bell.

 

So, even though I do admire

This "simple logic" notion,

I wouldn't really want to be

Void of all emotion.

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Organization

What makes us do things just the way we do?

Who makes up all the rules of order?

Tell me. Was it you?

What makes a captain

More than a private?

What is a C.E.O.?

What gives police authority

To tell us where we cannot go?

What makes us put our things in order

And make a daily plan?

Explain to me why we do things

As we do, if you can.

Is it habit?

Is it logic?

Is it strategy?

Is it drawn upon a map

For all the world to see?

Can we simply let things happen

As they would anyway?

Why must we be organized

In planning out each day?

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The Forest

When I was young

I loved to take off

Strolling through the woods;

Especially in autumn when

The leaves began to turn.

To watch the rabbits scamper

As they forage through the brush,

While squirrels stockpile food before

The weather gets too stern.

The tall trees tower over me

A hundred feet or more.

The babbling brook sings out its' cheerful song.

The life that fills the forest

Overwhelms the mortal mind.

It touches deep the soul

And lets you know that you belong.

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Candles

We burn candles in our house.

It's kind of a tradition.

Not so much for the light they give,

Although the glow is nice.

We light them for the cleansing

They provide; the sweet aroma

Of vanilla, lilac, potpourri or spice.

Every fragrance you imagine

In your wildest dreams,

Plus a few of which you're not aware,

Placed in candles, sealed in wax

Until the fire screams,

Insisting you release them in the air.

Slowly melting, softly dying,

Giving of itself;

Flame that flickers, dancing to and fro.

Mesmerizing, hypnotizing

As it casts its spell.

There's something special in a candle's glow.

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Eating

Eating is fun!  I like it. In fact

I do it all the time.

Perhaps at times I do a bit too much.

Munching on those tasty morsels:

Candy, cakes and pies,

Ice cream cones, bananas, cheese and such.

It's pure delight;

A welcome sight

When hunger's little pangs

Come strolling up to me on beggars' feet.

Perhaps I'd even lose some weight

If I ignored his plea;

If I didn't oh so dearly love to eat.

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Brat

You can be such a bitchy brat

When life doesn't go your way.

I would console you,

But no matter what I do or say

It all gets twisted, turned around,

Mixed up, misunderstood;

As if you were expecting

Ill advice instead of good.

 

No matter what occurred to put

That scowl upon your face,

It's time to lighten up

And make your world a happy place.

No need for making everyone else

Miserable as well.

You just create a wash

Of your own private little hell.

 

So, don't take things too serious.

Don't dwell on this or that.

Life's too short to spend it

Being such a bitchy brat.
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The Traveler

He can't sit still for long at a time.

His feet get itchy to roam.

Mind wandering to far off places;

His walking boots are his home.

A malcontent? I'm thinking not;

Just curious is all.

He simply must investigate

That mournful distant call.

It beckons like the sirens

Calling out to passing ships.

Its lure becomes obsession

As the frenzy stirs and whips.

There's nothing to control the urge;

No way he can evade.

The traveler must follow.

The journey must be made.

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Building Blocks

Construction workers use them.

So do children at their play.

Housewives, clergy, taxi drivers

Use them every day.

 

Half a life is spent in learning;

Building a strong base.

When we try to run without them,

It's a losing race.

 

A life without foundation

Is often filled with strife.

Pinnacles are reached by using

Building blocks of life.

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The Artist

Capturing the earth, the moon and stars

On the canvas of the mind,

The artist paints;

Creating worlds apart

From normal thought,

Worlds of wonder...

Things unseen by the naked eye.

Scenes not quickly understood;

Requiring thought

And quiet reflection,

Until his sight emerges from the canvas,

And the work becomes his soul.

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