Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 268

Wot’s–A–Matta–w’you?

You say, “Wot’s-a-matta-w’me?”
I say, “Wot’s-a-matta-w’you?”
Covert sneaking, peeking around
Trying to get a better view.
Just stay simple. Keep your alert.
No need to skulk around looking for dirt.
There’s bountiful muck and mire to be found
For those who keep their ear to the ground.
You seem to want to keep to yourself,
Secrets you used to share, now on a shelf
Hidden behind innuendo and stealth.
I hardly know you anymore.
Whatever happened to truth between friends?
That magical unspoken bond without end.
A matchless cliché on which I could depend.
I feel as though we are at war.
“Truce,” I say. A truce must be.
You mean far too much to me to
Bash our skulls on the rocks below.
Wot’s-a-matta?
I think you know.

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Last Call

First one in.
Last one out.
The barkeep isn’t keeping track.
Just keeps on wiping down the bar
With beer-stained rag, coming back to
Fill each glass with golden wisdom,
Keep the conversation flowing,
Hanging close on every word.
Knowing all but never knowing.
All too soon the room is spinning.
Voices come from far away.
Sweet control is soon abandoned.
Body parts do not obey,
Disconnected from the brain,
Drugged and numbed to disrepair.
Someone took away my keys.
I may have soiled my underwear.
Oh! Dilemma.
Oh! Disgrace.
Such a long and lonely fall.
Can I ever show my face,
Or make it to last call?

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A Battle of Witlessness

Would you like to make a stand?
Would you like to be my friend?
Would you like to make some sense
Out of this crazy world we’re in?
In the mire of dissension
Will common sense prevail?
In the legislative process
Does simple logic fail?
When your best friend begs to differ
Do you seek a common ground?
Do you rant and rave above him,
Or demure without a sound?
When a restless world stops listening,
Tell me, who will save the day?
Who can we depend upon to
Come and put our toys away?
Battles rage on multi-fronts
And you and I alone can see that
We can only stay the course
In this futility.

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Tying a Knot in an Angry Bull’s Tail

Sometimes trying to reason with you is like
Tying a knot in an angry bull’s tail.
Notwithstanding super-human efforts
I’m still doomed to fail
When you shut down, stop listening.
Turning your receptors down to
Mute the muse of simple logic,
Silencing her every sound.
I’m not sure just why I try
To meet your measure in these days
Of metered madness, inverse logic,
Wild untempered fits of rage.
Must be something in the water
Keeps me coming back for more.
Maybe it’s the Stockholm syndrome.
Maybe I’m your prize of war.
Big whatever! Keeps me trying.
Keeps me in your cruel game.
One more effort. Just one triumph.
One more angry bull to tame.

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Lethal Madness

Serial snipers on the roadways,
Child molesters in the Priesthood,
Street-gang drug wars killing children
Or dragging them into their lowly ranks.
Who’d have thought a group of zealots
Would capture airplanes turning them
Into a weapon of destruction?
Obviously, someone did.
Today another mother lost her mind-
And she killed her children.
No excuses. No regrets. Just
Couldn’t take it anymore.
One more case of lethal madness,
One more act unjustified by
The simple act of common sense.
One more jar that’s lost its lid.
This world is such a wondrous place,
I just can’t understand
How madness becomes commonplace
And wins the upper hand.

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Gator by the Tail

Cripes! I really did it this time.
Grabbed that gator by the tail.
It’s snapping jaws a menace
Not just to me, but any soul
Who enters in his sphere of reach.
Taste the fury of a creature
Who survives without emotion
In his murky world below.
I knew when I waded in his lair
The possibilities were there
For vile entanglement, but there’s a large
Reward for taking chances.
I know you wouldn’t want to see me spurn,
Simply turn and walk away
While the constant music plays
And the competition dances.
But now that I’ve found the Holy Grail,
Took this gator by the tail,
While his massive body flails,
Tell me, what am I to do?
If I hold, can I compete?
If I let go, am I dead meat?
Now’s the time for super heroes,
Time to pay the Devil’s due.

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Blunders

Oops! There I go again.
Turn the pencil upside down to
Correct one more mistake.
Damn! I should have seen that coming.
That’s why pencils have erasers
In the first place. Just so
Fools like me can blunder foolishly,
Aimlessly while strings are strumming
Dancers dancing, singers singing,
Such distractions, hard to focus.
Television droning, droning without
Substance. Such a loss.
Pesky gnats that swarm about me
Eating at my contemplation,
Breaking bread upon my skin
Til they become my albatross.
Stop the swatting. Focus! Focus.
Concentrate on tasks at hand.
You can make a world of difference
If you choose to take a stand.

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Blusters

Bodacious, blustery bags of wind.
Oh, superficial blunder-buster,
Must the world in pain endure
Another of your eerie flusters?
Flailing listlessly about in
Costumed plumage meant to hide
The masked profusion of confusion
That the truth holds deep inside.
Why must you purvey deceit?
Why such armor after all we’ve shared
In our brief history?
There’s no need to keep this wall
Between us when in simple terms
The kinder unembellished tale
Makes sweeter pudding for dessert,
Plays gentler winds upon the sail.

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Blisters

Take these blisters away from me.
I’ve worked so long, so hard. Too hard
It seems, or else
My weary flesh would be as fresh
As mountain streams,
Sweet and cool and comforting
Like an early morning dream
Staring your sweet loving smile,
Lingering a little while.
Tarry on these premises
Awaiting candlelit romances,
Summer walks, cotillion dances.
Far too much work left to do,
Fences felled is disrepair,
Roofs to patch, walls to paint,
Gardens needing tender care.
I’ll have time when work is done.
Then we’ll both have time for fun.
Then we’ll both have time….

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The Twelfth of Always

So many roads to get to always.
Such an elusive capture is she.
No net will hold to ensnare her beauty
Or bid her to linger in bad company.
Vainly I’ve traveled in quest of her glory.
Dozens of byways have beckoned my soles.
Futile in pilgrimage, seeking her counsel.
So many questions.
So many holes.
Yet always prevails,
A foraging fugitive, live and immortal
As I long to be.
Sheltered by universe,
Vast in the knowing,
Twelfth star in heaven’s
Unreachable sea.

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