Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 75

The Forest

When I was young

I loved to take off

Strolling through the woods;

Especially in autumn when

The leaves began to turn.

To watch the rabbits scamper

As they forage through the brush,

While squirrels stockpile food before

The weather gets too stern.

The tall trees tower over me

A hundred feet or more.

The babbling brook sings out its' cheerful song.

The life that fills the forest

Overwhelms the mortal mind.

It touches deep the soul

And lets you know that you belong.

 

Candles

We burn candles in our house.

It's kind of a tradition.

Not so much for the light they give,

Although the glow is nice.

We light them for the cleansing

They provide; the sweet aroma

Of vanilla, lilac, potpourri or spice.

Every fragrance you imagine

In your wildest dreams,

Plus a few of which you're not aware,

Placed in candles, sealed in wax

Until the fire screams,

Insisting you release them in the air.

Slowly melting, softly dying,

Giving of itself;

Flame that flickers, dancing to and fro.

Mesmerizing, hypnotizing

As it casts its spell.

There's something special in a candle's glow.

 

Eating

Eating is fun!  I likeit. In fact

I do it all the time.

Perhaps at times I do a bit too much.

Munching on those tasty morsels:

Candy, cakes and pies,

Ice cream cones, bananas, cheese and such.

It's pure delight;

A welcome sight

When hunger's little pangs

Come strolling up to me on beggars' feet.

Perhaps I'd even lose some weight

If I ignored his plea;

If I didn't oh so dearly love to eat.

 

Brat

You can be such a bitchy brat

When life doesn't go your way.

I would console you,

But no matter what I do or say

It all gets twisted, turned around,

Mixed up, misunderstood;

As if you were expecting

Ill advice instead of good.

 

No matter what occurred to put

That scowl upon your face,

It's time to lighten up

And make your world a happy place.

No need for making everyone else

Miserable as well.

You just create a wash

Of your own private little hell.

 

So, don't take things too serious.

Don't dwell on this or that.

Life's too short to spend it

Being such a bitchy brat.

 

The Traveler

He can't sit still for long at a time.

His feet get itchy to roam.

Mind wandering to far off places;

His walking boots are his home.

A malcontent? I'm thinking not;

Just curious is all.

He simply must investigate

That mournful distant call.

It beckons like the sirens

Calling out to passing ships.

Its lure becomes obsession

As the frenzy stirs and whips.

There's nothing to control the urge;

No way he can evade.

The traveler must follow.

The journey must be made.

 

Building Blocks

Construction workers use them.

So do children at their play.

Housewives, clergy, taxi drivers

Use them every day.

 

Half a life is spent in learning;

Building a strong base.

When we try to run without them,

It's a losing race.

 

A life without foundation

Is often filled with strife.

Pinnacles are reached by using

Building blocks of life.

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.

 

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.

 

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.

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?