Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 16

The Future is Now

“Oh,I’ll get around to it someday,”

Theprocrastinator chimes.

“Rightnow, this, tomorrow, that.

It’sonly a matter of time.”

 

Buttime doesn’t stay,

Itkeeps running away,

Andtomorrow may never arrive.

Wecannot foresee and there’s no guarantee

We’llbe lucky enough to survive.

 

Theyoung man may look to the future,

Andthe young woman sketches her schemes.

Butchance and delay comes to get in the way

Causingchaos to shatter their dreams.

 

Rosannaretired with a whimpering whine

Afterdecades of struggle and sweat,

Butthe greatest desires

Ofher youth have expired

Andnow she looks back with regret.

 

Tomorrow’sdark phantom

Looksback with a scowl

Tohumbly remind us…

Thefuture is now.

 

Watch the Horizon

Life,they say, is much smarter

Whenwe live in the present and

Learnfrom the past.

Butthis ship moves incessantly forward

Withno clue to how long

Thevoyage may last.

 

So,we watch the horizon

Forsails and for shore,

Watchthe sky for the birds on the wing,

Blessthe bounty below and

ThankGod up above

Forthe hope opportunity brings.

 

Butperilous waters on tossed stormy seas

Givepause and are cause for alarm,

So,the vigil we keep

Aswe traverse the deep

Isthe passport to keep us from harm.

 

Hence,we live in the moment

Enjoyingthe warm,

Butwe watch the horizon

Toweather the storm.

 

 

At the End of the Day

Morningawakens a jumbled agenda of

Caffeine-fueledfluster and clamoring clashes,

Maddeningmashes and time-crunching dashes

Sprinkledwith flashes of

Echoedbacklashes.

 

Onwardand upward the dreaded commute,

Thebottlenecked bobblehead manic pursuit.

Everyhalt or delay, every pothole in route

Sendingblood pressure soaring in hosts of hot flashes.

 

Theworkaday fever a muster of frenzy

Ravingand ravaging every last nerve,

Drainingthe tank til there’s no more reserve,

Andgiving much more than those bastards deserve.

 

But…

Atthe end of the day

Itall goes away.

Allthe worries and flurries

Removedfrom the fray,

Anda soft prayer of thanks

Tothe One up above

Forthe privilege to live

Inthe land that I love.

 

Tattoos

I’mnot a grand fan of tattoos.

Mytastes are a bit more subdued,

Butif you like pain

Andhave little to gain

Isuppose there is nothing to lose.

 

Ayoung man from Kalamazoo

Demandeda tiger tattoo.

Thefeline attacked,

Madethe young man his snack

Thenthe tiger went back to the zoo.

 

Afather thought tatts were taboo,

Agarishly bold bugaboo.

Thedaughter cried, “Bull!”

Theninked on a skull.

Itwas a fine how-do-you-do.

 

Adrunken tattoo scribed in haste

Wasconsidered a dreadful mistake.

Saysthe artist in question,

“MayI make a suggestion. It’s

Amatter of personal taste.”

 

Priorities

Whatto do and when to do it,

Helpme, Lord, find my way through it.

Justkeeps getting tougher all the time.

Asmany needy palms beseech

Aspebbles strewn upon the beach,

Asmuddled as a syncopated mime.

 

Needan organized triage

Totreat this maddening barrage

Insuringmost important tasks get done.

Caffeinemay help clear the brain

Todeal with lessers that remain

Andmaybe leave a little time for fun.

 

Ifwe can swift prioritize

Eventsthat come into our lives

Withall the logic each must quantify,

Thenas we opt which way to go

Weseek the wisdom of Thoreau

Andlog his sage advice… simplify.

 

Tangled,tossed priorities

Buzzinglike the busy bees,

Aneasy one word summary…

Simplify.

 

Learn from Yesterday

“Those who cannot rememberthe past are doomed to repeat it.”

                                    George Santayana

 

Weclearly keep making the same mistakes.

You’dthink we’d learn our lesson.

Couldit be we’re not paying attention, or

Isit some kind of mem’ry regression.

 

Itcould simply be habit, or

Maybewe’re lazy.

Perhapswe should blame the occult.

Wejust do the same thing again and again

Expectinga different result.

 

Youmight think with all of our rational thinking

We’dlearn to look back on the past

Andlearn from the errors of yesterday

Andthe caution their warnings forecast.

 

Paintedon a larger canvas,

Juxtaposedand brought to scale,

Theerrors of the past deliver

Advicefor these perplexing travails.

 

Nationsturn and history records

Thegruesome résumé, and

Hopesbecome fantasy if we fail to

Learnfrom yesterday.

 

Believe in Tomorrow

Thegilded game of life is finite;

Alltoo soon it comes to end,

Andthe promise on tomorrow

Holdsno faithful guarantee.

Butthis affords no reason for

Forsakingfondest dreams. There are

Fartoo many wondrous episodes

Themind cannot foresee.

 

Fortunepales without tomorrow’s pledge of

Life,in all its finery,

Thatpromenades the passageways

Offondly fashioned destiny.

 

Andbrave imagination grows its promise

Ofa hope-filled fate

Wheresplendid fruitful gardens of desire

Patientlyawait.

 

Disquietfor the future

Isadept at stealing joy away,

Butbelieving in tomorrow is no reason

Toforsake today.

 

So,here’s a plan: to make a plan,

Toplead, pilfer or borrow,

Toface the trials of today

Believingin tomorrow.

 

The Color of My Skin

Please,I ask, don’t hate me for the color of my skin.

Thissuperficial coating isn’t really all I am.

Ipromise I will judge you not;

Mighteven call you friend

Inan all-inclusive parallelogram.

 

It’snot my fault that I was born to

Parentswho are white;

Amatter over which I’ve no control.

Andthough I cannot understand

Yourstruggle or your plight,

Perhapswe’ll find some commonality inside our souls.

 

Traditionsdemand loyalty to generations past

Toperpetuate the evil as well as the sublime,

Makingchanging attitudes a glacierous affair,

AnotherEverest implausible to climb.

 

Wewait, we pray the world will grant us favor

Thattransgressions of the past may be absolved.

Wereach a hopeful hand across the table

Andthe interaction softens our resolve.

 

Iwon’t apologize or ask forgiveness

Forthe prior generations of my kin.

Ionly want to meet you looking forward,

So,I ask you, please,

Don’thate me for the color of my skin.

 

Respect

Yes,sir. No, Ma’am. Excuse me. Thank you. Please.

Onlywords.

Onlywords?

Alla sign of a disappearing breed.

Tooseldom heard.

Seldomheard.

 

Takeyour hats off. That’s the colors passing by.

Silence,please.

Silence,please.

Millionsfought and many died so she can proudly fly

Inthe breeze,

Thegentle breeze.

 

Keepsafe distances else we intrude a neighbor’s space.

“Offmy case.”

“Outof my face.”

Findthe proper interval for comfort’s interface.

Showsome grace.

Ownyour place.

 

Worthis but a drifting ship and

Valuesvague and circumspect,

Butwe are lost without a sail

Whenwe lose respect,

Whenwe lose respect.

 

My Enemy, Myself

Areyou my enemy 

Orare you friend?

Wherewill we be

Atthe end of the day?

Ourpathways are certain to

Crossmany times

Inthe struggle and scuffle

Oflife’s great mêlée.

 

Weface across battle lines

Strangerto stranger

Inxenophobic eccentricity

Foregoingthe foreboding that

Logiccommands, or anything

Thatmight escort tranquility.

 

Reasonsuggests that

Accordis in order.

Garnerfresh compromise

Downfrom the shelf.

Isearch in the mirror

Tofind your reflection.

Epiphanyunveils

Myenemy.

Myself.