Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 256

Drag Queens, Tambourines and Mom's Apple Pie

Ching-chinga-ching-ching, ching-chinga-ching.
Tambourine pounds rhythmically to palm and thigh.
Cheerful, laughing emanations wafting through the air,
Almost as American as mom's apple pie.
Folksy music of a note simplistic in its view,
Dressed in Levis, flannel shirt, bare feet and fishing pole.
"Hardly" understanding or tolerant of any who oppose
What was once her noble sentiments and goals.

The drag queen bursts upon the scene
With fashion and with flare,
Traveling a vast uncharted sea.
Being what he has to be and
Answering the dare,
Taking up the challenges
To set his spirit free.

Tambourines pound chinga-ching,
And folk songs fill the air,
Waving flags and ragging "fags"
With righteous indignation.
Commentary saddened through
A lack of understanding.
Sad obituary to a closed imagination.

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Save Me Wolfman Jack

Deep into the night he sauntered,
Seeking souls of restlessness,
Saint or sinner,
Priest or pirate,
Cure for the insomniac.
Gravel cords to pierce the darkness
As the meek and weak confess.
Crying out in desperate measure,
"Help me!  Save me! Wolfman jack"

Sneaking in a dedication,
Lonely hearts a specialty.
Howling to a moanful moon
He spins another stack
Of unbridled joy and romance meant
To wile the night away.
Screaming loud into the darkness,
"Help me!  Save me!  Wolfman Jack."

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If... Then...

If the chicken came first,
Then where did the egg come from?
If the egg was first,
How did it get laid?
If life gives you roses,
Enjoy the profusion.
If life gives you lemons,
Make lemonade.

If freedom is paid for
By loss of a life,
Then whose freedom was it
You sought to attain?
If reason is lost,
Then freedom means little
When nothing but
Bittersweet memories remain.

If Jesus was man,
Then are we immortal?
If sin is a curse, then
Why is there such blight?
If questions abound unspoken, unanswered,
Then our quest lies deep
In the heart of the night.

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The Tribute

It seems so unfair 
That we should pay tribute
To those who from all but
Our memories are gone.The stars that glow brightAre not all in the heavens,All through our midstThey are scattered and strewn.
We as a race get to Choose our own heroes,Canonize saintsLong after they've passed.Tributes and monumentsGrace our cathedrals andSquares end to end,The first to the last.
There are heroes among us,Saints by our sides.Slaves to compassion abound.So, here's to the livingWho give of themselvesEverywhere love can be found.
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What Do You Want?

What do you want out of life?
Do you want fortune or undying fame?
Do you view life as a pretending game?
Tell me,
What do you want out of life?

Do you know why you are here?
Don't you think it's a bit queer?
Can you insist that you truly exist?

Do you know why you are here?
Such philosophical mush
Must put your mind in a rush.
If you've an answer, please,
Don't fear to flaunt it.
Tell us all.
Just what do you want?

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The Other Shoe

We sat befuddled and bemused
At news too curious to ignore,
Wondering what great misfortune
Dropped its' shadow at our door.

It seems there's always something
Brewing, stewing, simmering.
It comes in pairs or sometimes threes,
At times full-circling.

So, here we sit, our minds agog,
Backed firm against the wall,
Braced and ready, waiting for
The other shoe to fall.

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Teacher Teacher

Who taught the teacher who
Taught the teacher who
Taught all those treasures to you?
Who gave them knowledge and
Foresight to realize
You must know everything
There is to know?
What makes the ages evolve
In their wisdom and
Keep adding more as the
Eons pass by?
Who fills the oceans with
Waters of learning,
Understanding the
Ebb and the flow.

Questions need answering.
Curious minds
Deserve to be fed
With the figures and facts.
Starving minds falter
When teachers don't teach them,
Leaving them prey
To the reapers attack.

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Peanuts...

Peanuts, peaches, pulp and pine.
Up at sun up... Bed by nine.
Preaching Jesus... Cursing wine...
Always hoping for a sign
From up above to offer hope...
Ever trying hard to cope and
Justify a life so fine as
Peanuts, peaches, pulp and pine.

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Top Dog

Top dog holds the handle.
Top dog pulls the strings.
Top dog keeps the biggest part,
The best of everything.
Top dog never feels the pain
Or taste the bitter sting.
Top dog is the champion who
Gets to wear the ring.
Top dog gets the grandest view,
The chance to taste it all.
Top dog rides the rooftops with
The farthest to fall.

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The Expert

The expert stands in the midst of a pasture
Surrounded by cow pies and other manure,
Spreading advice like jelly on toast
Until hardly an ear can escape or endure.

Who could amass such a trivia trove?
Why must we listen?
When will it end?
Experts and bullshit hand in hand,
One washing the other, their only true friends.

Knowing it all is a cumbersome burden,
One that I hope never settles on me.
Hopefully there's always more for the learning.
"Expert" is one thing I don't want to be.

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