Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 172

Reminders

Tie a string around your finger.

Write yourself a little note and

Place it where you're sure to see it,

Pin it to your overcoat!

Ask a friend to call you later.

Cause a memory to stir.

Looking out beyond tomorrow,

Write it on your calendar.

Tricks and stunts abound aplenty

In the old reminder game.

Those who use them will succeed.

Those who don't... Well, who's to blame?

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Recollections

The mind plays tricks

On mundane recollections from the past.

It bogs down in a swamp

Just when it's needed to run fast.

Fleetingly just out of reach,

It wants to be unmasked,

And when it's caught, it breathes a sigh

As it is shared at last.

Recollections told by friends,

Such sweet apparitions.

Calling up a smiling past,

A memory transmission.

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Remembrance

Floating ghosts of yesterday,

Background crawlers coiled to spring.

Frosting on a memory

Sweetly comes recycling.

Spurred forth in a second's flash,

Keyed by senses, sound or sight.

Spilling out in conversation

Or reflected cool and quiet.

Thoughtful longings for the past,

Tucked in memory, not by chance.

Keepsakes treasured, never spent,

Shrines of fond remembrance.

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The Quarry

Deserted now...

The old granite quarry where

Boulders the size of elephants

Grazed in herds on red clay and sand.

Beached whales washed up on the shore

Of the lake-filled canyon formed unexpectedly

From an underground spring.

Crystalline water as pure as the dew drops

Affording a view of the bottomless pond.

Formidable and invitingly clear,

Cool and refreshing from summertime's heat.

 

Hovering battlements tall as the tree tops

Surrounding three sides with lake castle walls.

A child might imagine the parapets riding the crest

With cannon and catapult ready to fire.

 

The old stone quarry, deserted now.

How many stories do you have to tell?

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Quid Pro Quo

Swapping baseball cards when I was young

Was not a business.

Sentimental value was the only valid key.

Even up and fair exchange had nothing whatsoever

To do with money. It just seemed

The way it ought to be.

 

Values change like seedlings into saplings into trees.

Quid pro quo grows less important

As the leaves turn brown.

Even up no longer is the goal

Or the safe haven.

Motive turns to greed

Before the leaves come crashing down.

 

Why is it never quite enough

To reap just what you sow?

Why can't we just be satisfied?

What's wrong with quid pro quo?

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Pretending

Little Joey plays so hard at being what he sees,

Imagination racing like the rhythm of a train.

Making temporary worlds inspires as it frees

His soul to grow like new mown grass after the rain.

 

Susie tries to catch a star and hold it as a treasure,

Growing up so quickly that she causes heads to spin.

Stepping into mother's shoes, trying hard to measure

Up to expectations of both kith and kin.

 

Animations learned in youth

Become a lifetime folly.

Pretending soon becomes a vivid point of reference.

The wise will quickly learn to use escape

To keep them jolly.

The unwise simply cannot see

To tell the difference.

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Pistols, Slingshots and Mason Jar Lids

A carved out pistol of pliable pine

Tucked away neatly in the belt

Made me the toughest hombre in town,

King of the hill, the fastest draw,

Cop to their robbers, hop-along kid,

Equal to whatever hand might be dealt,

Eager to challenge the forces of evil,

Ready with lightning to face one and all.

 

Sturdy piece cut from the fork of a sapling,

Strips of old inner tube tied to each end,

Tin cans and bottles lined up on a boulder

To practice an art form as old as dirt.

Pebbles fly with the speed of a rocket.

Bottles smash and tin cans bend

As mother admonishes, ranting and scolding,

Wildly afraid that someone may get hurt.

 

Pilfered ring from a Mason jar lid,

And fifty three tons of imagination,

I've license to drive, spinning wheels, popping gears,

Changing course and direction but never speed.

I become Richard Petty, or Bobby or Cale,

The winner's circle my one destination.

Not looking back as I race the wide oval,

Desperately trying to stay in the lead.

 

Life is so simple with youth as companion.

Imagination is all that you need.

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Perception / Misconception

Looking out on a level plain

And asking the question "does anyone care?"

Silently longing to break with tradition

Without ending up alone in despair.

Perception from angles acute and obtuse,

Varying versions of justice and truth,

Backgrounds and foregrounds, shadows and glare,

Break down the barriers formed in our youth.

 

Plans thought out, though ill conceived,

Treasures sought for a rainy day,

Pleasures of the world surrounding

All our simple folksy ways.

Trouble comes and, unprepared,

The burden stings like iron gloves

Smashed upon the cheek of wisdom,

Crashing down from high above.

 

Perception of our misconception.

Embarrassment to noble thought.

Deeds will out and battles count

When we perceive them to be fought.

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Only Time

How long is forever?

When did it begin?

Is existence a recurring thing?

Does anything really ever end?

Do spirits live inside our shells?

Do lonely souls continue on?

Is everlasting peace a dream

Or just another fabled con?

Do you have all the vivid answers?

Does reason plague your mortal mind?

Does life slap back at you when you

Pose questions seemingly unkind?

Is it our place to understand

The fleeting rhythm or the rhyme?

Or does the answer lie beyond this life?

Who knows?

Only time.

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Out of Step... Out of Place

The army steps in step by step,

Each footfall neatly mapped.

With twelve to the front

And eight to the rear

Each arm swing has been choreographed.

Eyes straight forward,

Posture checked,

Weapons neatly held in place,

No syncopation is allowed

In this display of rhythmic grace.

No one allowed to miss a beat...

No one allowed to wander...

No time for stopping to reflect...

No time to pose or ponder.

Always in a rush,

Though I don't understand the race.

No wonder I feel out of step...

And even out of place.

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