Dennis S. Martin's Blog, page 80

My Easy Chair

Having come to the end of a long hard day,

Where frustrations have tangled my mind in a knot,

Where my sleeves have grown long

From the pulling and tugging

In every direction 'til self is forgotten,

I slip off the armor of workday combatants,

Running my fingers through, mussing my hair,

Slipping in silence into calm oblivion,

Wrapped in the comfort of my easy chair.

 

Rolling

Rolling 'cross the highways

And the byways of the nation;

Every condition

Every trial and situation

Passes by the big rig's window

As it rumbles on its way,

Counting miles on miles on miles

As night turns into day.

 

Another town goes speeding by;

Another up ahead.

A hundred more go rolling by

And not a word is said.

The lonely droning of the wheels

Against the asphalt line

Accompanies the singing

Of the mighty engine's whine.

 

Five hundred miles. A thousand miles.

How many more ahead?

Rolling, rolling, rolling on.

A nation to be fed.

 

Cynicism

When we bypass cynicism

Leaving prey to criticism

From an unknown outside source,

Falling victim to remorse,

There is something to be missed,

Something trivial dismissed,

That will come back down the road

Hauntingly to prod and goad,

Best we look with watchful eye

Everything that passes by;

Every little witticism

Scrutinized by cynicism.

 

Singing

There's nothing more thrilling than the triumph of song;

God's perfect gift to the world.

The human companion to grand celebration,

Or when in despair we are hurled.

 

Whether it's singing the praises of god,

Or desperately crying the blues,

Or rocking the house with a dance of delight,

Or expressing alternative views,

The spirit of song is the spirit of life;

The soul of expression in man.

The reason the trumpeter blows reveille

And the bandleader strikes up the band.

 

To bring on the singers...

To bring on the songs...

To feed and replenish our souls.

So, let there be singing,

And let it inspire us

To go about reaching our goals.

 

Hearts and Flowers

Should I give you hearts and flowers?

Should I sing a sweet love song?

Fond forgiveness bodes forever,

Loving blindly, right or wrong.

 

Treachery is not your calling,

And its test you truly fail.

You are more adept at loving.

Winds of mercy fill your sail.

 

In your eyes I find a spirit

Of compassion reaching out.

Oh! So gently it caresses

As it spreads its' arms about.

 

Should I give you hearts and flowers?

You, whose love belongs to me.

I shall give you hearts and flowers;

Enough for all eternity.

 

Wafting

Gently rolling, floating, falling,

Riding calmly on the breeze.

Not a care or caution lingers.

All concerns are met with ease.

Rising slowly, swaying freely

On a cushion in the air.

Feeling fluffy, smooth and silky.

Not a worry. Not a care.

In it's measure dissipating.

Where it goes to, no one knows.

Bringing back a sweet remembrance:

Springtime blossoms... Winter snows.

Lingering for just a moment.

Soft aroma, never strong,

Comes a haunting lovely memory

For an instant. Then it's gone.

 

Trinkets

It's funny how we humans

Grow attached to little things,

Like baubles, bangles, beads and bracelets,

Necklaces and rings,

Little statues, candle holders

Tiny little toys,

Cuff links, tie clips, broaches,

Earrings for both girls and boys.

These tiny little trinkets,

Usually of little worth,

Can oft become the greatest treasures

We have on this earth.

And who's to say that we are wrong?

It's not a money thing.

The value of our trinkets

Is in the joy they bring.

 

The Last Hurrah

And so we greet the last hurrah

With bittersweet emotion.

We face the greatest challenge

Of a lifetime of devotion.

So, do we end it with a bang

Or with a quiet whimper?

A mask of solemn dignity?

A violent fit of temper?



How you want to be remembered

Doesn't count for much.

Human memory is too short.

It can't account for such.

Just getting to the last hurrah

Is what makes it worthwhile.

At journey's end you can reflect

On each and every mile.

Emulation

I can dothat. Oh! Yes.

So can you.

We can do evenbetter.

It's not sodifficult.

I'd do itbackwards,

Even withboth feet in fetters.

I'll be yoursounding board.

Bounce itoff me.

Let's see ifthis dog will hunt.

Then we'llmake copies;

A million orso.

We'll fakethem out with a bunt.

Others will strainto be

Like you andme,

Aping ourbrilliance

And stealingour show.

But we havea secret confession to make;

Somethingthey really don't have to know.

There reallyare no

New ideas inthis world;

No secretsto steal from a friend.

It all ties together,

No one wins,no one loses.

It all evensout in the end.

 

Departure

'Parting is sweet sorrow'

Claims the bard of days gone by.

Yet, he never bothered to

Explain the reason why.

Anticipation gives us hope

That we may start anew, but

It doesn't make departure any

Easier to chew.

That dark gray moment,

Sad goodbye,

No sweetness there abides;

Only frantic breathless hope,

The place where chance resides.

Faith that, come tomorrow,

We'll return from whence we started,

And if it be our fate

We never will again be parted.