Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 157

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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Life Is Like a Ceiling Fan

It goes around, and round around

In never ending circles,

Stirring up a little breeze

To make its presence known.

Never asking questions...

Designed alone for comfort...

Offering relief to all

Who step into its zone.

 

A thing of giving;

Never wanting,

Never a demand...

Arms outstretched

As far as they can go...

Harvesting the air and

Giving forth its gentle blessings.

Life is like a ceiling fan?

If it were only so.

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Neighbors

We have good neighbors, I suppose;

Though we see them hardly ever.

They wave politely, "hi- de-ho"

And go about their way.

I see them prying out their windows

As we're coming in,

Out of curiosity

I guess you'd say.

I see them on occasion

Hanging over back yard fences

Catching up on gossip

They're afraid they might have missed.

It worries me to see them laugh

Then look in my direction.

It makes me wonder why

I'm on their list.

I only hope in time of need

Or hopeless desperation,

When all the world is dark and cold and grim,

That I can call and they'll respond

With kindness and compassion,

The same way I, in turn,

Would give to them.
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Paradise

Coconut palms and gentle breezes,

Beaches washed with golden sand...

Crystal waters dance their ballet

As they softly kiss the land.

 

Never a word of thirst or famine...

Never a need to fear or hide...

No more wanting... No more lacking...

Every need is satisfied.

 

No more hunger... No more dying...

No more souls to sacrifice...

Love and kindness ever growing...

Wouldn't that be paradise?

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The Wishing Well

Have you ever seen a wishing well?

I wonder if they're real.

Wouldn't it be marvelous

If there was such a deal?

Just toss a coin and make a wish,

Whatever it may be,

Then sit back, relax

As it becomes reality.

It's too bad

And it's so sad

Life doesn't work that way.

The wishing well,

So I hear tell,

Comes from working hard each day.

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Falling Through the Cracks

Details, details, details...

All the tasks that we must track.

Little wonder some things wind up

Falling through the cracks.

So important... Must remember...

Don't let me forget....

"Do you?" "Will you?" "Have you?" "Did you?"

No, I didn't yet.

It can all be so frustrating,

Bordering on mean,

When the unexpected

Interrupts your set routine.

Taking actions out of sequence,

Anarchy attacks,

Leaving more important details

Falling through the cracks.

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A Mouse in the House

There's a mouse in our house.

He's an uninvited guest.

A furry little flash of gray;

A brash unwelcome pest.

He doesn't seem to realize

As he streaks across the room,

That by coming in from outside

He has surely sealed his doom.

I can hear you

Puttering about inside my wall;

Seen your little droppings

In the corner, in the hall.

Shared a slice of bread or two;

Although you didn't ask.

Tried to teach you manners;

Yet another futile task.

No, I'm afraid there's only one

Solution to affect.

I'll set a trap

And bait it well,

And snap your furry neck.

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A Taste of the Grape

Red or white, rose or blush...

There's nothing so sublime

As vintage nectar of the grape

Taken from the vine.

Pallet pleasures boldly bottled;

Placed upon the rack,

Silent soldiers at attention

Ready to attack

The senses of its' victims

Until they're overwhelmed,

Sending cold reality into

Another realm.

Softening and mellowing

And loosening the lips,

'Til the temperamental tongue

Starts shooting from the hip.

But done in moderation

There is nothing quite so fine

As the sweet aroma of the grape;

The nectar of the vine.

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Gypsy Woman

Gypsy woman, call my name.

Tell my fortune true.

Is the future bleak or bright?

Give me just a clue.

As I cross your palm with silver

Free me of my doubt.

Tell me of the deep dark secrets

Lurking all about.

Looking in your sphere of crystal,

Seeing through my soul,

Turning cards upon the table,

Playing out your role.

Gypsy woman, can you hear me

In your trance so deep?

Offer hope to all who pay you.

Never let them weep.

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A Small World

The world is small and growing smaller

Thanks to technology's boon.

Journeys that once took days to complete

Are now done in one afternoon.

With the bend of the arm and the touch of a button,

With the swiftness to make your hear whirl,

Your voice is transported almost immediately

Anywhere in the world.

Though seldom we stop to contemplate

The wonder of it all,

We must not forget how we got to this point.

It's man who has made the world small.

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